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The Emperor of Nihon-Ja

John Flanagan

Toscana 'Avanti!'

The command rang out over the sun-baked earth of the parade ground and the triple files of men stepped out together. At each stride, their iron-nailed sandals hit the ground in perfect unison, setting up a rhythmic thudding, which was counterpointed by the irregular jingle of weapons and equipment as they occasionally rubbed or clattered together. Already, their marching feet were raising a faint cloud of dust in their wake.

'You'd certainly see them coming from quite a distance,' Halt murmured.

Will looked sidelong at him and grinned. 'Maybe that's the idea. '

General Sapristi, who had organised this demonstration of Toscan military techniques for them, nodded approvingly.

'The young gentleman is correct,' he said.

Halt raised an eyebrow. 'He may be correct, and he is undoubtedly young. But he's no gentleman. '

Sapristi hesitated. Even after ten days in their company, he was still not completely accustomed to the constant stream of cheerful insults that flowed between these two strange Araluans. It was difficult to know when they were serious and when they were speaking in fun. Some of the things they said to each other would be cause for mayhem and bloodshed between Toscans, whose pride was notoriously stronger than their sense of humour. He looked at the younger Ranger and noticed that he seemed to have taken no offence.

'Ah, Signor Halt,' he said uncertainly, 'you are making a joke, yes?'

'He is making a joke, no,' Will said. 'But he likes to think he is making a joke, yes.

Sapristi decided it might be less confusing to get back to the point that the two Rangers had already raised.

'In any event,' he said, 'we find that the dust raised by our soldiers can often cause enemies to disperse. Very few enemies are willing to face our legions in open battle. '

'They certainly can march nicely,' Halt said mildly.

Sapristi glanced at him, sensing that the demonstration so far had done little to impress the grey-bearded Araluan. He smiled inwardly. That would change in a few minutes, he thought.

'Here's Selethen,' Will said and, as the other two looked down, they could see the distinctively tall form of the Arridi leader climbing the steps of the reviewing platform to join them.

Selethen, representing the Arridi Emrikir, was in Toscana to negotiate a trade and military pact with the Toscan Senate. Over the years, the Toscans and Arridi had clashed intermittently, their countries separated only by the relatively narrow waters of the Constant Sea. Yet each country had items that the other needed. The Arridi had reserves of red gold and iron in their deserts that the Toscans required to finance and equip their large armies. Even more important, Toscans had become inordinately fond of kafay, the rich coffee grown by the Arridi.

The desert dwellers, for their part, looked to Toscana for woven cloth – the fine linen and cotton so necessary in the fierce desert heat – and for the excellent grade of olive oil the Toscans produced, which was far superior to their locally grown product. Plus there was a constant need to replenish and bring new breeding stock to their herds of sheep and goats. Animal mortality in the desert was high.