The Deed of Paksenarrion

by Elizabeth Moon

  “She’s awake,” said Kolya. “So—they call you Paks, eh? I’m Kolya Ministiera, one of the witnesses. We need to take your testimony on this. Can you speak?”

  Paks tried again and managed a hoarse croak.

  “Water might help.” Kolya turned away and reappeared with a mug. “Can you hold the mug? Good. Now drink and try again.”

  Paks took a swallow or two of water, gingerly felt the inside of her mouth with her tongue, and managed to say, “I can speak now, Lady.”

  Kolya snorted. “I’m no ‘lady,’ child: just a pensioned-off old soldier.”

  “But—didn’t he say—you are on the Council?” Paks stumbled over the words. Even after numbwine, it hurt to move her mouth.

  “That’s nothing but the Duke knowing I’m the Duke’s man still. No, I farm now, and raise apples. I’m no fine lady.”

  “I—I didn’t know you were a soldier,” said Paks slowly, trying not to look for the missing arm.

  “Yes—I was a corporal, same as Stephi, when I lost my arm. Don’t look so solemn, child. That was just bad luck—or good luck, if you like, that I lived. And the Duke’s treated me well: a grant of land, and a seat on the Council.”

  Paksenarrion thought briefly of being as Kolya was, beyond warfare, pensioned off to a farm. She shivered. “But—what do I call you, if not lady?”

  “Well, if you want to be formal, you could say Councilor Ministiera, but with you full of numbwine I doubt you’d get your tongue around that. Kolya’s fine. I won’t bite.”

  “Yes—Kolya.”

  “Now, Sergeant Stammel gave me the outline of your story, but I still have some questions for you. Had Corporal Stephi spoken to you at any time before he entered your barracks?”

  “No—in fact, I didn’t really see him before. Only out of the corner of my eye as they rode in, and then Armsmaster Siger thumped me for not paying attention.”

  Kolya chuckled. “With good cause. Take it from me, you never look aside when fighting. But you didn’t see him at supper?”

  “No—I was talking to Saben.”

  “I see. I understand that he showed up in your barracks and said he wanted to speak to you. Then he tried to get you to bed him, and tried to force you when you refused. Is that right?”

  “Yes. He tried to push me down. Then when I said some things my cousin taught me, he put his hand over my mouth and I bit him. And that’s when he got very angry—”

  “He hit you first with his belt, Stammel said—”

  “And I tried to get past him and away. I really did, Kolya. I wasn’t trying to hurt him, or fight, just get away.”

  “All right, calm down. He’d be too much for you, I imagine.”

  Paks began to tremble again. “I—I couldn’t get free—and he was hitting me, again and again. I couldn’t get my breath, and someone was holding me, so I couldn’t hit back or get away, and—it hurt so much—” Tears ran down her face. “I—I’m sorry—I don’t mean to cry—”

  “That’s all right. A hard beating takes it out of you.” Even in her misery, Paks noticed that Kolya spoke as someone who knew. “You’ll be all right in a few days. Paksenarrion, have you ever bedded anyone here?”

  “No.” Paks fought against the sobs.

  “Have you ever bedded anyone?”

  “No—I never wanted to.”

  Kolya sighed. “Paks, we need to know if you were raped as well as beaten—do you know?”

  Paks shook her head. “I—I don’t know what it would be like. I know it hurts, but I don’t know what kind of hurt.”

  “Well, then, we’ll have to take a look. Maia will help me, and I think another swallow of numbwine won’t hurt at all. If you sleep all day, so much the better.” Kolya fetched the flask of numbwine and poured some into the mug Paks held. “Drink all of that.” Paks swallowed, almost choking on the heavy, sweet wine. In a few minutes she felt a soft wave of sleep roll up around her, and drifted away, unknowing.

  A few minutes later, Kolya left the infirmary, and almost fell over Stammel who was waiting at the door. “Well?” he asked harshly.

  “No,” said Kolya. “She wasn’t. They put enough bruises on her, and if they’d had another two minutes—but as it is, she wasn’t raped. That may save Stephi’s hide—or some of it.”

  “It won’t save Korryn’s,” said Stammel grimly. “That was a neat catch you made, Kolya.”

  “Thanks. Some things I can still do. I agree you’re well rid of that one. I wonder if we’ll ever know which of them actually did what—probably not. I presume Korryn’s will be a public event.”

  “Very. That—” Stammel growled and spat. “I can’t think of a word. Filth. I should have run him out weeks ago.”

  Kolya tapped his arm. “Now, Matthis Stammel, you know you aren’t that kind. You had to have a good reason. I’d better go on and report to the others. Cheer up—she’ll be all right in a few days.”

  “I hope so. She’s a good one, Kolya—almost as good as who she looks like—Tamarrion—if nothing goes wrong.”

  Kolya looked thoughtful. “Does she? I couldn’t tell, with all those bruises. You know you can’t protect the good ones, Stammel; it ruins them in the long run.”

  “I know. But this kind of thing—”

  “If she’s that good it won’t stop her. Nothing stopped Tamarrion. Wait and see—I’d best go.”

  Chapter Six

  By the time Captain Valichi returned, Paksenarrion was up, though her right eye was still swollen shut. She had not returned to her unit; Stammel wanted to report to Valichi, and give him the chance to talk to her if he wished, before she talked to her friends. Instead, Valichi made his decisions on the basis of the witnesses’ reports, conferences with Sejek, Stammel, and Stephi, and an interview with Korryn, the last for form’s sake only. So early one morning Maia helped Paks back into her recruit uniform, now cleaned and mended, and sent her to join the others in formation to witness Valichi’s decisions.

  Paks had scarcely time to find her place before they were called to attention. A heavy timbered framework on a low platform was centered before them; on the right stood the witnesses, and on the left was a quartet of guards near a smoking brazier, one holding a straight razor, and one a whip. Paks recognized the dark guard who had held her. She looked at the razor and whip, and shivered.

  She heard the noise of boots and chains as Korryn and Jens were brought out of the building into the courtyard. Memory of her own ordeal made her choke. She thought hard about Korryn, about all the things he’d done, to keep from feeling sympathy she wasn’t supposed to feel. After all, she’d wanted to beat him herself, in the past.

  The prisoners passed in front of the formation. Jens hung back, having to be prodded, half-carried. She could hear his soft fearful moans. It was disgusting. Korryn had new bruises on his face. She wondered who had hit him, and why. Probably the guards, she thought. They halted in front of the platform. Captain Valichi, shorter than Captain Sejek, looking almost square in his armor, moved toward them, facing the assembly.

  “You are here to witness the punishment of two former recruits of this Company,” he began. “For their crimes they have been expelled from the Company; after their punishment, they will be taken beyond the bounds of the Duke’s domains. Should they ever return, they will be liable to additional punishment, as the Duke may direct. Should any of you see them within this domain, you are required to report it to your officers. Their crimes are known to most of you, but I proclaim them. Korryn Maherit was charged with assisting in an assault on another recruit—”

  “It’s not fair!” yelled Korryn. “It wasn’t my fault!” Even before Valichi’s command, one of the guards holding him had slugged him.

  “—with conspiracy with Jens Hanokensson to prevent detection of this assault,” the captain went on, “and with lying to the witnesses called to take testimony in the case. All the evidence and testimony so far indicates that Korryn Maherit did assault and injure Paksenarrion Dorthansdotte
r, and did instruct Jens Hanokensson to warn him of the approach of any authority, and did attempt to instruct Corporal Stephi of Dorrin’s cohort, a veteran member of the Company, in a lie explaining the assault, while Corporal Stephi was temporarily unaware of his own actions, probably through the action of some drug or potion. We have no proof that Korryn Maherit supplied this drug or potion. Jens Hanokensson stands charged with conspiracy with Korryn Maherit to prevent detection of Korryn Maherit’s crimes. Both of these men have a bad record in the recruit cohort. The following sentences are imposed by me, as Duke Phelan’s lawful representative and cohort commander of recruits. For Jens Hanokensson: five strokes"—Jens moaned again; the guards holding him shook him—"a shaved head, and expulsion. For Korryn Maherit, the Duke’s brand on the forehead, forty strokes well-marked, and expulsion tinisi turin.” Korryn writhed, trying to break free from his guards. “Strip them,” said Valichi. Two of the guards by the platform came forward and ripped the recruit tunics from neck to hem, then turned the prisoners to face the formation. The guards forced Jens to his knees, and the one with the razor stepped up behind him. When he felt the first tug at his cinnamon-brown hair, he yelped and flinched.

  “Hold still, ye fool,” said the guard. “If ye jerk around, I’ll cut ye.” Tufts of hair fell; Jens had shut his eyes and was rigidly still. The barber worked quickly and roughly; soon nothing was left of the thick hair and mustache. A few shallow grazes oozed blood on his scalp, which was pale above his tanned face. The guards hauled him up the platform to the posts and crossbar, and bound him to it, feet dangling. Then the guard with the whip mounted the platform behind him.

  “One,” said Captain Valichi. The whip smacked against his back; Paks saw his face twist in pain. “Two.” Another smack. He gave a strangled cry. “Three. Four.” The captain paused. “Sergeant Stammel—do you want the parting blow?”

  “No, sir. Not for this one.”

  “Five.” The last blow fell. Jens’s screams softened into sobs as the guards untied his arms and dragged him from the platform. Paks could see the welts standing out on his back; only one was bleeding. The guards moved him away from the platform and held him facing the assembly.

  It took four of the guards to hold Korryn as one of them took the brand from the brazier where it had been heating. Paks looked down. She didn’t want to see this. She could hear Korryn’s muttered curses, the scuffling feet, the hiss and sizzle as the brand etched his forehead. He gave a short cry, followed by gasping sobs. She glanced up for a moment. The guard with the razor was taking off his hair; Korryn’s face was white under its tan. The brand showed stark, a stylized foxhead. Without his hair and beard, his face looked different; he hardly had a chin. His eyes met hers; he snarled a curse at her, and the guards cuffed him. Paks stared over his head; she didn’t want him to think she could not watch.

  The guards dragged him up the platform—still struggling to break free—and bound his wrists to the crossbar after removing his chains. Then they bound his ankles to bolts Paks had not noticed, and the guard with the razor stepped up to him. Korryn paled even more.

  “What are you—?”

  “Tinisi turin means shaved—all over—” said the guard, grinning. “Like a shorn lamb, remember?” And shortly the hair on chest, belly, and groin made a heap on the platform. When that guard was through, he stepped back, and the one carrying the whip came forward.

  By the tenth stroke, Paks no longer cared what Korryn thought; she stared straight at the mess hall windows. No one had reminded her that she might have been on that platform, but she remembered well enough what Stammel had said when he first came to her cell. She loathed Korryn—would be glad to see him gone—but she could not watch. The blows went on—and on—each counted out by the captain’s calm voice. They sounded different now. Korryn sounded different too. She tried not to hear that, and lost the count. Suddenly it was very quiet. She looked up. Korryn hung from his bonds, head drooping; she could see the blood streaking his legs and staining the platform below.

  “Well, Sergeant Stammel?” asked the captain.

  “Yes, sir, with pleasure.” Stammel left his place and mounted the platform. The guard handed him the whip, now glistening along its length. Paks watched, fascinated and horrified, as he braced himself and gave Korryn five powerful blows. Korryn’s body jerked, and he gave a last scream and fainted. Stammel ran his hand down Korryn’s back and returned to his unit, holding his bloody hand out. He faced Paks, and touched it to her forehead as her eyes widened in shock.

  “By this blood your injury is avenged,” he said, and took up his position again. Meanwhile one of the guards had taken a pot of blue dye, and was daubing it on Korryn’s back. Then he was untied, and lowered to the ground. His back and legs were covered with welts and blood; the blue stain looked ghastly mixed with blood. A guard checked his pulse.

  “He’ll do,” he reported. “Cold water, sir?” The captain nodded. After several minutes, and a bucket of water, Korryn stirred and groaned. When his eyes opened, Captain Valichi nodded, and the guards pulled him to his feet and bound his hands in front of him. Jens, meanwhile, had been dressed in a nightshift, with a rope noose around his neck; his guards looked to the captain.

  “Go ahead; take him out.”

  “West, sir?” The captain nodded in answer, and the guards led Jens away. Korryn now had a rope around his neck too, and at the captain’s second nod, his guards tugged, forcing him forward. He could barely keep his feet. Paks looked away, stomach churning. She heard horses’ hooves behind the formation, near the gate, muttered voices. Then the hoofbeats moved away, through the gate, and the courtyard was left in silence.

  Captain Valichi looked at them for a long moment. “Some of you,” he said with a grim smile, “seem impressed by what you saw—I hope you all are. The Duke will not tolerate anything that jeopardizes the strength of the Company. In a few months you will be depending on each other in battle. Each of you must be worthy of your companions’ trust, both on and off the field. If you aren’t, we’ll get rid of you. If you injure a companion, you’ll be punished. It may be that some of you don’t have the stomach for army life; if so, speak to your sergeant. We don’t want cowards. Sergeant Stammel, assign a detail from your unit to clean up this mess, and I’ll want to speak with Paksenarrion. The formation is dismissed.”

  In the unit’s duty room, a few minutes later, Paks tried to act calm. “Sit down, Paksenarrion,” said Captain Valichi. She sat across the desk from him. Her stomach was a solid knot of apprehension. “Have you talked to any of your friends since this happened?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Good. Paksenarrion, you have a good record, so far. This is the first trouble you’ve been in, and from the evidence none of it was your fault. Stammel did say that he thought you should confine your use of strong language to terms you knew the meaning of—though calling someone a jacks-hole full of soured witches’ milk—” Paks gasped and felt herself reddening; the captain smiled and went on, “—is not an excuse for an attack, it can cause trouble. Did you even know that was Pargunese? No? Well, stick to Common or whatever your native language is. Anyway, you’re blameless of the brawl itself. Now—you’ve been injured in the Company, though not, we think, permanently. If you wish to leave, you may. We will give you a recommendation, based on your record, and a pass through the Duke’s domain, and a small sum to tide you over until you reach home or find other employment. I can suggest several private guard companies that might hire you with our recommendation. You’ll be on light duty until you can see out of that eye again: you may have that long to make your decision—unless you are already determined to leave. Are you?”

  “No, sir. I don’t want to leave at all.” Paks had had a lingering fear that she might be thrown out.

  “You’re sure?” Paks nodded. “Well, if you change your mind before you’re back to full duty, let me know. I’m glad you want to stay in; I think you’ll do well—if you stay out of fights like this. Tell me
—do you think Korryn was sufficiently punished?”

  “Yes, sir.” Paks could hear the distaste in her own voice.

  “Ah. It bothered you, eh? I see it did. Well, it’s supposed to, and if you stay in, you’ll see that again—though we all hope not to. Now—about Corporal Stephi. I’ve agreed, with Sejek, to let him go south for his trial by the Duke. We’ve kept the scribes busy, and have the witnesses’ testimony and the rest written down. We think this will be sufficient, and the Duke won’t need to see any of you. We hope. Anyway, Stephi has been quite concerned about you—did Stammel mention it?” Paks nodded; Stammel had told her a lot about Stephi. “He’s asked how you were, and he wanted to see you and apologize. He’s a good man, really. We’re sure that some outside influence—probably magical—affected him that night. But—it’s up to you—will you see him before he goes south?”

  “Sir, I—I don’t know. Should I?”

  The captain frowned slightly, lacing his hands together. “It would be kind, I think. He can’t hurt you now, you know, even if he wanted to. It won’t make any difference to his trial, but it would reassure him, to see you up. You don’t have to, of course.”

  Paks did not want to see Stephi ever again, but as she thought about it, she realized that she would have to, next year in the south. They might be in the same cohort; he might be her corporal. Best get it over, she decided, and looked up to meet the captain’s gaze. “I’ll see him, sir. But—I don’t know what to say.”

  Valichi smiled. “You needn’t say much. It’ll be short. Wait here.” He rose from behind the desk, and went out, shutting the door. Paks felt her stomach churn. She swallowed once, then again. It seemed a long time before the door opened again. Paks rose as the two captains, Valichi and Sejek, and Stephi came in together, crowding the little room. The mouse under Stephi’s eye had faded to a sickly green.

  “I’m very sorry, Paksenarrion, for the trouble I caused you,” said Stephi. Paks could not find her voice, and merely nodded. “I want you to know that—that I don’t do things like that—not usually. I never have before.” His voice shook a little. “I—I hope you won’t leave the Company, because of it—”