The Proof House Part 19

It had been a long time since Poliorcis had been shocked by anything, and he wasn't sure he remembered how to deal with it. 'You're joking,' he said.

Gorgas shook his head. 'No, I'm not,' he said. 'I'm practising what I preach. I'm sparing my people the horrors of a war we could never hope to win, and getting to pay my debt off at the same time. If you want me to abdicate, I will - well, look, you can see for yourself, I'm not exactly comfortable as a military dictator. All I want to do once I've settled that old score is to live here and work my farm; I'm sure the provincial office won't mind me doing that. Now then, you think of the advantages; think of Tornoys and the Mesoge as a base for your conquests in this region, how much easier it'll make it to pick off the neighbouring states one by one. Think of what it'll mean to you personally - you came here to get a rebel, you succeed, and you take home a new province for the Empire into the bargain. Can you possibly imagine a better outcome? Well?'

It was the enthusiasm, above all; the waggy-tailed-dog boisterousness of the man. It was almost more than Poliorcis could bear. But, 'No,' he replied, 'I can't say that I can. Well, you've certainly given me a lot to think about. Will it be all right if I rest here tonight and start for home in the morning?'

Gorgas gave him a smile as big and bright as sunrise. 'Whatever you say,' he replied. 'After all, you're the boss.'

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

They woke Temrai up in the middle of the night to tell him the news. The messenger had ridden all the way from the battlefield to the camp beside Perimadeia; he was exhausted, and his boots were full of blood from the halberd cut in his groin. Chances were he'd be dead by morning.

Temrai woke up in a panic, grabbing wildly at the covers and wrenching his damaged knee. They told him it was all right, there was nothing to worry about; then they brought in the messenger, all b.l.o.o.d.y, hanging off the shoulders of two men. Temrai was still groggy with sleep and shocked by the pain in his leg, and he couldn't quite make out everything the dying man was saying; he heard words like ambush and seventy per cent casualties and driven back in disorder and hit again before they could regroup. It was only when Kurrai started chattering excitedly about making the most of the opportunity and following up with a ma.s.sive counter-attack that Temrai realised he'd just been told about a substantial victory, not a catastrophic defeat.

'We won,' he mumbled. 'I'll be d.a.m.ned. So how did that happen?'

By this time the messenger had pa.s.sed out; they took him away and wrapped him in blankets, and he died just after dawn. Instead, Temrai heard the story from Kurrai, with the added benefit of the general's strategic and tactical insights.

It had all started when the Imperial army, carefully mopping up after their victory in which Temrai had been hurt, stumbled across a small party of plains renegades who'd been running from Temrai's men ever since their side had lost the civil war. To the provincial office, however, plainsmen were plainsmen. Their cavalry chased the renegades, pinned them down in a high-sided canyon and sent for substantial infantry reinforcements.

It was hot and dusty; there was water in the bottom of the canyon, where the renegades were, but not higher up, where the Imperial stakeout was settling in. The messenger sent to the Imperial field HQ made a point of stressing the urgency, and a column of just under two thousand men, led by a Son of Heaven, set out the same day.

Their own remarkable stamina and fitness caught them out. If they'd been slower, or not following the optimum route, it's unlikely that they'd have run into Temrai's reserve mounted infantry, who'd broken, run and been cut off from the rest of the army at an early stage in the first battle and had only just managed to find their way out of Imperial territory. The two forces coincided in a valley between a forest and a river, and purely by chance the plainsmen found themselves in a position that gave them an overwhelming tactical advantage. The Imperial infantry were hemmed in by the river, which was in spate and impa.s.sable; a bend in the river closed off one of the plainsmen's flanks, the forest masked the other. The Imperial commander was left with a choice between sitting still and being pecked to death by hit-and-run attacks from the enemy archers or mounting a direct frontal a.s.sault against volley fire. Basing his decision on the superior quality of his men's armour, he opted for the a.s.sault.

In his defence, the other option would probably have been equally disastrous. Doubtful, though, that this was much consolation, as he watched his advancing lines crumple up, like flawed metal under the hammer. After four detachments had failed to get within seventy-five yards of the enemy before collapsing in a tangle of metal and bodies, he fell back on the river in the wild hope that he might prompt the plainsmen to charge and give away their advantage. It didn't work. The plainsmen held their position and sent out small parties to hara.s.s and disorganise the men on either flank. Eventually, in spite of all their training and discipline, the Imperial soldiers started to edge away from the attacks towards the perceived safety of the centre, opening gaps between themselves and the river bank wide enough for a sudden encircling rush. With mobile archers now surrounding them on all four sides, all they could do was huddle behind their s.h.i.+elds and watch the arrows slant in at them. They made a few half-hearted attempts at sorties to break through the cordon, but it was pointless; the archers in front drew back as they approached, while those behind closed in, and the sortie parties were shot down before they could lumber more than a few yards.

The battle lasted six hours, five of them in the circle. If the Imperial commander had hung on for another half-hour, the plainsmen would have run out of arrows and pulled out, but of course he had no way of knowing that. He surrendered and his men were marched away, leaving twelve hundred of their number behind.

(A day or so later, a party of itinerant pedlars wandered on to the battlefield, stared in wonder at what they'd found, and spent the next two days stripping armour off the dead, beating out the holes and dents and cramming it all on to their wagons. In the end they sold the whole consignment to a sc.r.a.p dealer in Ap' Idras for more money than they'd ever imagined existed; in turn, the dealer sold it on to the Imperial armoury at Ap' Oule at a hundred and fifty per cent mark-up, proving that even the most dismal tragedy is somebody's opportunity of a lifetime.) 'We won,' Temrai repeated, when Kurrai had finished. 'That's amazing.'

'Don't sound so surprised,' Kurrai replied. 'And whatever you do, don't start thinking our problems are over, because they aren't. I don't want to worry you unduly, but are you aware that every single nation that's managed to inflict a significant defeat on the Empire over the last hundred and fifty years is now effectively extinct? They get awfully upset when they lose. There used to be a saying among the Ipacrians: the only thing worse than getting beaten by the Empire is beating them.'

Temrai nodded slowly. 'Thank you very much,' he said. 'One more victory and we're done for, is that it?'

Kurrai looked uncomfortable, and shrugged. 'I just feel it's important not to let one success go to our heads, that's all. And we have to remember, fighting the Empire isn't like fighting anybody else.'

'I think I get the message,' Temrai said.

By now, of course, he was far too wide awake to go back to sleep. Under normal circ.u.mstances he'd shake off the fit of depression by getting up, bustling about, finding something to do; but of course, he didn't have that option. Tilden wasn't there; she was on the other side of the straits with the rest of the non-combatants, camping out among the ruins of the City. The more restless he became, the more his knee hurt. Finally, he gave up even pretending to rest and yelled for the sentry.

'Go and wake somebody up,' he said. 'I'm bored.'

The sentry grinned, and came back a little while later with a couple of very sleepy-looking council members, apparently chosen at random - Joducai, in charge of the transport pool, and Terscai, deputy chief engineer. Then he saluted and returned to his post.

'Temrai, it's the middle of the night,' Joducai said.

Temrai frowned at him. 'I can't help that,' he said. 'Now then, those two Islanders, the old wizard and the boy-'

'Islanders?' Joducai looked confused, reasonably enough. 'Sorry, you've lost me.'

'We picked up a couple of Islanders wandering about down south,' Temrai explained. 'They said they'd been s.h.i.+pwrecked and just wanted to go home, but they could be spies, so I had them brought here.'

Terscai grinned. 'Since when have you been bothered about spies?' he said.

'Since a spy saved my life, I guess,' Temrai replied. 'I'm thinking of recruiting my bodyguard exclusively from spies. Do me a favour, go and round them up and bring them here.'

'Why us?' Joducai asked.

'You're up and about,' Temrai said. 'Everybody else is asleep.'

Joducai sighed. 'You're feeling better, I can tell,' he said. 'It was wonderful when you were dying, a man could get a good night's rest around here.'

A little later they came back with the two Islanders, Gannadius and Theudas Morosin.

'Morosin,' Temrai repeated. 'That's a Perimadeian name, isn't it?'

The boy said nothing. 'That's right,' the older man replied. 'We're both Perimadeians by birth. I'm his uncle.'

Temrai thought for a moment. 'Gannadius isn't a City name, is it?'

'It's the name I took when I joined the Perimadeian Order,' he replied. 'It's traditional to take another name, usually borrowed from one of the great philosophers of the past. My given name was Theudas Morosin.'

Temrai raised an eyebrow. 'The same as him?' he asked.

'That's right. Morosin's the family name, and Theudas is a name that runs in the family, if you follow me.'

'Not really,' Temrai admitted, cupping his chin in his palm. 'It strikes me as showing a lack of imagination.'

'Like having everybody's name ending in ai,' Gannadius replied. 'It's just the way we did things, that's all.'

Temrai nodded slowly. 'And you used to be Perimadeians,' he said, 'and now you're Islanders. I see. I imagine you feel pretty uncomfortable here.'

Gannadius smiled. 'He does,' he said. 'I'm a philosopher, so I don't worry about that sort of thing.'

Temrai m.u.f.fled a yawn - a genuine one, though it was well timed for effect. 'Really,' he said. 'And what was a philosopher doing wandering about in our territory?'

'We were s.h.i.+pwrecked,' Gannadius said.

'I see. On your way where?'

'Shastel.' Gannadius suddenly realised that he couldn't remember what relations were like between the plainspeople and the Order; he couldn't think of any reason offhand why there should be bad relations, or indeed any at all, but rationalising isn't the same thing as knowing. Temrai, however, didn't seem concerned.

'And may I ask why you were going to Shastel?' he said.

'I live there,' Gannadius said.

'Oh. I thought you said you were an Islander.'

'I am. I'm a citizen of the Island.'

'A citizen of the Island, born in the City, living in Shastel, with two names. You must find life confusing sometimes.'

'Oh, I do,' Gannadius replied. 'As I think I may have mentioned, I'm a philosopher.'

Temrai smiled, as if conceding the match. 'What about him?' he said. 'I'm asking you, because he doesn't seem very keen to talk to me.'

'He's shy.'

'I see. Does he live in Shastel too?'

Gannadius shook his head. 'On the Island. He works for a bank.'

'Really? How interesting. And before that, did he go straight to the Island from the City after the Fall?'

Gannadius' expression didn't change. 'Not exactly,' he said. 'He spent a few years abroad before that. You know all this, don't you?'

Temrai nodded. 'He was Bardas Loredan's apprentice,' he said. 'Colonel Loredan rescued him from the sack of Perimadeia; from me, in fact, personally.' He turned his head and gave Theudas a long, hard stare. 'You've grown,' he said.

For the first time, Gannadius' air of affable rudeness waned a little, but not by much. 'So what are you going to do to us?' he asked.

'Send you home, of course,' Temrai answered, with a brilliant smile. 'Though in your case, Mr Philosopher, I'm going to have to ask you to specify which one. You seem to have so many.'

'The Island will do fine,' Gannadius replied quickly. 'Or Shastel. Whichever's the most convenient, really.'

'Anywhere but here, in fact?'

'Yes,' Gannadius admitted.

'I quite understand.' Temrai winced, as his knee twinged. 'Please excuse me,' he said. 'I managed to damage my knee the other day.'

Gannadius nodded. 'Strangling an Imperial trooper with your bare hands, so I gather,' he said. 'No mean feat, I'm sure.'

'With a helmet strap, actually,' Temrai replied. 'Well, I think that's everything. I believe there's a s.h.i.+p sailing for the Island in a few days' time; I don't know the name offhand, I'm afraid. I strongly suggest you get on it; sea traffic's more or less at a standstill at the moment, ever since the Empire hired all the s.h.i.+ps on the Island.'

Gannadius clearly hadn't heard about that. 'Really?' he said. 'May I ask, do you know why?'

'They're going to attack us by sea,' Temrai replied, 'and the Islanders are lending them the s.h.i.+ps to do it with, since the Empire hasn't got any of its own. Sorry; hiring, not lending. I'd hate to offend your Island sensibilities by suggesting you'd ever do anything like that for free.'

'That's quite all right,' Gannadius replied. 'As you know, I'm really a Perimadeian, so I don't mind.'

Temrai looked at the young man, Theudas (strange to be able to put a name to the face after all these years of nightmares). He was as white as a sheet, his hands balled into tight fists. 'If you should happen to see Colonel Loredan before I do,' he said, 'please give him my regards and tell him to keep as far away from me as possible.'

Theudas was about to say something, but Gannadius was quicker. 'We'll be sure to deliver your message if we see him,' he said, 'though I would think that's quite unlikely, really. After all, the only reason we're here - no offence to you or your admirable hospitality, your people couldn't have been kinder - is that the Imperials were trying to kill us.'

Temrai smiled. 'Because they mistook you for Shastel.'

'Oh, we are. At least I am. At least,' Gannadius added gravely, 'some of the time.'

'It must be wonderful to be so many different people,' Temrai said. 'I've only ever been me. I envy you.'

'Really?'

'Absolutely. If I'd been able to choose my ident.i.ty, I wouldn't have had to do the things I did, and I wouldn't be faced with the problems that are facing me. Everything I've ever been or done or had to suffer's been because of who I am; but you - well, you're lucky.' He beckoned to the guard, who opened the tent-flap. 'Thank you for stopping by,' he said. 'It's been interesting talking to you.'

'Likewise,' Gannadius replied. 'It was a pleasure meeting you, after all this time.'

'Ap' Calick?' said the Son of Heaven. 'Then you probably met my cousin.'

The column had pitched camp for the night, and the cooks were starting the evening meal. They'd just killed and paunched a sheep the foragers had brought in, and were putting up a trestle to hang it from. Being a Son of Heaven, Colonel Estar was taking a personal interest.

'Your cousin,' Bardas repeated.

'His name's Anax,' Estar replied. 'He runs the proof house. Short, bald chap in his late seventies. You'd remember him if you'd seen him.'

Although Bardas hadn't been in the Imperial army for very long (at least, not by Imperial standards) he had an idea that it was unusual, to say the least, for the commanding officer of a column to sit under a tree beside the cooking-fire chatting amiably with an outlander, even if the outlander was nominally his co-commander. Either he was bored, or he found Bardas an unusually fascinating companion, or he was taking an opportunity to a.s.sess the army's secret weapon in plenty of time before actually deploying it against the enemy. From what little he'd been able to gather about the Sons of Heaven, it was most likely a combination of all three.

'Oh, yes,' he replied, 'I met Anax all right. He made me the armour I've been wearing today.'

'Really?' The cooks had managed to get the trestle to stay up, and were threading a rope between the bone and the sinew of the sheep's back legs, just above the ankle. 'I haven't seen him in years. Really, I ought to make the effort and go to visit him next time I find myself out that way. How's he keeping?'

'Pretty well,' Bardas replied. 'Remarkable, for a man of his age.'

'Good,' Estar said, his eyes fixed on the work in progress before him. 'He's - let's see, he's my father's mother's eldest sister's son. I expect you were surprised to find - well, one of us, working with his hands for a living.'

Bardas nodded. The cooks had strung up the dead sheep and were starting to skin it; one of them knelt down and pulled on its front legs, while the other made a delicate cut around the leg just below the point where they'd pa.s.sed the rope through, taking care not to nick the tendon. 'I a.s.sumed it's what he likes doing,' Bardas said. 'I can't imagine any other reason.'

Estar smiled. 'Not really,' he said. 'The truth is, Anax has led what you might call an interesting life, one way and another. At one time he was a deputy prefect in the commissioner's department, right in the heart of the Empire. That was when he made a mistake.'

Now the cooks were slitting the skin down along the legs, following the bone with the specially shaped points of their knives until they reached the wide opening they'd made in the belly when they scooped out the guts. 'Mistake,' Bardas repeated. 'I'd better not ask about that.'

'Oh, whyever not?' Estar grinned. 'I'm not so cruel as to drop a tantalising hint like that and then leave you hanging, so to speak. He was in charge of a district, and a rebellion broke out. Well, it wasn't even a rebellion, properly speaking; there was a tax-collector who was a bit too heavy-handed in his methods, and he came to a bad end. It should have been perfectly possible to sort it out. But for some reason, Anax got it wrong; first he let them get away with it for far too long, and then he sent in a platoon of soldiers to demolish the village. After that, there really was a rebellion.'

Now they were cutting away round the vent; one of them caught hold of the tail and twisted sharply, until the bones cracked. 'I see,' Bardas said. 'What happened?'

'It dragged on for ages,' Estar replied. 'Anax sent more troops, the rebels burned their village to the ground and hid in the woods. The soldiers tried to bring them out by attacking the other villages in the district, but that just made matters worse, because all the people they displaced went to join the rebels. It wasn't long before there were several thousand men in the woods; enough to inflict a serious defeat on us if we tried to go in after them and messed it up. On the other hand, Anax couldn't just ignore something like that, and in the end he had no option. The whole thing was a disaster from beginning to end, really.'

They were peeling the skin off the sheep's back, pressing down into the opening flap with their fists to keep the flesh from being torn off. There's no other sound like it. 'I a.s.sume he won, though,' Bardas said, watching the cooks as they worked. 'In the end, I mean.'

'Well, of course. The Empire always wins; what matters is how it wins. And in this case, we didn't win well. I forget how many men he lost cras.h.i.+ng about in the woods before he finally managed to pin them down, but it was a couple of hundred; that's pretty disastrous in any context, but for a police action in a supposedly quiet and peaceful inner province-' Estar shook his head. 'He had to burn them out in the end; he cleared firebreaks right the way round the part of the wood they were ensconced in, stationed guards in the drives and set fire to everything in the middle. None of them even tried to come out. Apparently the smell was quite revolting.'

To get the skin off the ribs without tearing it, the cooks were shaving the membranes between the hide and the bone, going carefully so as not to nick the skin and start a tear. 'I can imagine,' Bardas said, pulling a wry face. 'So what happened to Anax after that?'

Estar poured himself a drink from the little cherry-wood flask Bardas had seen tucked into his sash. 'They were going to put him on trial,' he said, 'but the family pulled some strings; instead, he was officially censured and posted to the western frontier - what was the western frontier then, forty years ago; of course, it's moved on since then, but Anax stayed where he was. Officially he was the deputy master of the proof house; in reality, he was shoved in there and told he was never coming out. And there he's been ever since, amusing himself as best he can. He brought it on himself, I suppose, but I can't help thinking it was a pretty harsh way to treat a man for what was, after all, an error of judgement.'