They mounted the walls just as the ladders were about to crash against the stones. The catapult rolled slowly along the main thoroughfare towards the gate, still embedded with scores of arrows, which stuck into its wooden beams like so many pins. At the moment that Kven finished his speech, Plant Man addressed Tesh-Khan.
“We have waited long enough and no surrender has come. Send in the ladders. It’s time to enter the city!”
“Deaffûl-zen (ladders)!” Tesh-Khan cried. “Ffam-im rafflî-krâ (enter the city)!”
“Ishein heikra! Ishein hei!” the soldiers boomed in unison.
Thousands of infantry began to mount the walls on all sides. The Ffantplain watchmen fired arrows, slingshot, rocks and stones. Pots of boiling pitch rained down on unfortunate Shaffu warriors. Yet no matter how many were killed or maimed, more ladders hit the wall and more siegers climbed up. Ladders knocked backwards were raised again. The catapult hurled great rocks at the galad, felling several beasts, but the army remained firm, neither alarmed nor dismayed by the counter-attack.
“Battering ram!” Plant Man commanded.
“Mevtash (battering ram)!” Tesh-Khan repeated.
A large limbatv-log, two feet wide and three okshas long, with a meb-ram head, was pulled out by sixteen large and stout men who wheeled it to the gate. Suspended by metal chains, they swung it back and then, like a massive hammer, it pounded on the jyag-wood gate. Defenders rushed to hold it from the other side, but the ram knocked them flying with every blow.
“Aim for the ram!” Kven cried.
He was on the wall, engaged in swordfights with Shaffu warriors, here slaying and maiming one, ducking blows and severing arms from limbs of another.
“The battering ram!” he repeated.
“On it!” repeated Ffelka as he picked off the warriors operating the ram.
Yobid tried his best also, sometimes hitting a Shaffu warrior in the shoulder, sometimes in the leg and sometimes the ram itself. Ffelka turned suddenly to find a large Shaffu warrior bearing down upon him with axe and sword. Drawing his dagger, he stabbed the foeman in the groin. The man grasped downwards in agony, tripped and fell off the wall to his doom. More came at him.
“Retreat!” Kven cried. “The wall is taken!”
Chapter XXIV.
The Hidden Heir
They rushed to the steps, fighting every inch of the way as their pursuers slashed and hacked at them. When they reached the ground, mounted knights rushed to their aid, helping the lord, as did Yobid and Ffelka who were fast behind. The knights cut down the warriors as they approached, the ffentbaffs struck them with their mighty tusks and tossed aside the dead ones.
Pound, pound, pound! The gate began to splinter and crack as the incessant blows of the ram beat upon it. While Shaffu troops swarmed about, slaying all who stood against them, the gate burst with a thunderous crack that sent splinters flying, the great door breaking free from its hinges and crashing down on half a dozen watchmen who were crushed to death like ants beneath a durdy leather heel. The ffentbaffs of the galad charged in, led by Plant Man himself. He had left the royal ffentbaff bearing his wife and charged through along with Tesh-Khan, Ffen and Jyoff. Kven, Ffelka, Yobid and Tvem Liksh readied themselves for one last stand against the enemy. As they rushed forward to meet their doom, Plan Man raised his hands and a grove of trees burst through the stones of the street and circled the remaining defenders. More than two thousand strong, they were utterly imprisoned and unable to resist. Lifting himself into the air upon a tree throne which burst up beneath him, he addressed the encircled enemy.
“Ffantplain is fallen!” he said triumphantly. “This is your last chance, Kven. I shall spare thy people and thee if thou bend the knee before me and renounce the Theocracy. I am the true king of all Tremn. I am the new Ishmael—the new Kubba Gven. A new age is dawning. Submit to my command and all shall be well. If thou dost not do this, these very trees shall strangle the life out of you. What then of your tribe? The flower of its youth shall die here and now. Understood?”
“These are my people,” replied Kven. “What good are we if we bow the knee to a tyrant?”
“Tyranny is that men should bow the knee to theocrats, who oppress the people through ignorance, who overtax the poor and rich alike, who usurp the rightful line of kings. Wouldst thou not prefer to be a lord in thine own right?”
“We are children of the Holy Theocracy of Tremn. We cannot change who we are,” said Kven.
“Where is thy wife, Kven—thy children?”
“I have none. I have nothing; just these people you see around me. And I shall die to save any one of them.”
“You!” Plant Man pointed to Yobid. “Do you wish to taste the cup of death?”
“No, my lord,” said Yobid, terrified.
“I am sorry, boy. Death comes to us all.”
The tree branches reached out and grabbed Yobid firmly, squeezing him, wrapping around his throat. He choked and coughed but could not resist the inevitable constriction which aimed to squeeze him to death.
“No!” Ffelka cried as he unsheathed his dagger and began to cut and slice the branches.
“Shall two taste death?” asked Plant Man as yet another tree wrapped itself around Ffelka and began to squeeze him until he felt his ribcage would burst and spill his innards like an over-ripe banana.
“Plant Man!” Kven screamed. “Cease this cruelty!”
“Very good!” said Plant Man. “Thou hast a moral backbone!”
“Release them and I shall submit.”
“Very well.”
The trees let go of their victims.
“I renounce the Holy Theocracy of Tremn forever and swear allegiance to thee, Ifunka Kaffa, son of Kandaspu, as my king and the King of all Tremn.”
The others repeated in unison, even Ffelka and Yobid, who practically choked on the words, so filled were they with choler and indignation. With a sweep of his hand, the trees were swept away and Plant Man released the defenders.
“Tesh-Kan,” he commanded. “Find the armoury; ensure each of these men is fully armed and then incorporate them into the galad. They shall march with us. A residual force of a thousand Shaffu shall remain here to ensure the city’s subjugation, even in our absence.”
“Is that really necessary?” asked Kven.
“It is not for you to question the king,” said Tesh-Khan authoritatively.
“Take me to the bishop,” Plant Man ordered him.
“The bishop?” Kven tried to postpone his reply as they both walked towards the Episcopal Headquarters.
“Yes,” said Plant Man. “The bishop! Ffesh!”
“That will be a problem.”
“Why?” asked Ffen, who accompanied them, along with Jyoff.
“The bishop has fled the city!”
“What?” exclaimed Ffen.
“I expected as much,” said Plant Man. “The Theocracy is a nest of cowards. Bishops and priests are like jyuk-roaches. They scatter at the first sound of approaching steps. Where is he headed? Tell me truthfully, Kven, as your honour depends upon it.”
“The tunnel is located under the Episcopal Headquarters. It goes north-east for three kobotvs, to the edge of Shivka, on the outskirts of a hamlet called Biffda. He will reach it before you can send a force to retrieve him and will then be able to procure a ffentbaff and ride for Ritvator. I doubt that you will reach him in time.”
“No matter,” Plant Man shrugged. “But we shall try. Ffen, tell Tesh-Khan to send a detachment of five ffentbaff cavalry after the bishop.”
“As you wish, Majesty,” Ffen bowed.
“And then return with your clerks to survey the treasury. One third shall be taken for our campaign and loaded onto biffbaffs; another third shall be distributed to the citizens as tax relief and three thousand zelana shall be used to rebuild and repair the city. The rest s
hall remain as a surplus for Kven to use as he sees fit.”
“For me?”
“Yes, Kven, you shall remain as Lord of Ffantplain, but now you shall be the sole ruler, in allegiance to me and my heirs. After me, all authority rests with my queen, Arwa, and then my Lord Chancellor, Ffen. Obey this chain of command. A thousand troops shall remain here to protect Ffantplain from any theocratic reprisals or any uprising in favour of the Theocracy. Nevertheless, ye are all free citizens of my new kingdom. All taxes shall be reduced to one tax—the fealty tax. Each villager or farmer shall give ten percent of his income or one tenth of his harvest to the local chieftain and each chieftain shall give ten percent or one tenth of all his earnings to the lord or duke of the city, as shall all the denizens of the city. Each lord or duke shall then give ten percent to the king of each province and each king shall give ten percent to the High-King of all Tremn. In this way, all citizens shall pay an equal tax and the High-King shall receive ten percent of all tax revenue, with the poor paying the least because they have little or no income and the rich paying the most because of the abundance of their income. Thus shall equity be maintained and justice established in all the realm.”
“What about poor relief?” asked Kven.
“The poor who receive less than the cost of living, which may be set at two hundred patsim per year, shall receive however much they lack of that amount from the city treasury or the treasury of the nearest town, village or hamlet, as a negative tax.”
Having relayed the orders, Ffen returned to his side.
“I have already explained all this to my Lord Chancellor. Now, the episcopal seats shall be burnt to the ground, all bishops and priests arrested until their loyalty can be guaranteed or, if not, they shall all be beheaded. All lands belonging to the episcopal sees shall be confiscated by the state and given to landless peasants.”
“How will the church be run, then, your Majesty?” asked Kven.
“All believers are one assembly—one body. In each area, they shall select a council of presbyters who shall swear loyalty to the High-King before they take office. These shall not be paid but shall preside over all ceremonies. Monasteries shall remain untouched, for now. They are important for the transmission of learning and are the bedrock of rural communities. However, celibacy shall no longer be enforced and all abbots and assistant abbots, as well as all monks, shall swear an oath of loyalty to me and renounce the Theocracy. Any who fail to do so shall be rounded up with the priests and beheaded.”
“Very well,” said Kven, though he secretly felt that the bloodshed was unjustified. To protest, however, would have been tantamount to disloyalty, and disloyalty would bring only death to him and all others who followed him. It was a risk too great to take so, for his own sake and that of his House, he kept mum.
“Lord Kven,” Plant Man addressed him. “You shall remain here, with your people, to maintain order in my absence. Tesh-Khan’s lieutenant, Tesh-Mashda, shall watch over the city forces. Go to your people and explain the new situation, including the new rules regarding taxation and poor relief, even if you must speak to every guild and district, as I wander the city.”
Kven bowed and left his company. Ffen headed for the treasury with his clerks. The royal ffentbaff approached and Arwa descended to accompany her husband. Jyoff, Ushwan and Shem, with Meyla at his side, also accompanied him. Tesh-Mashda approached his king.
“Tesh-Mashda,” said Plant Man. “You are the commander of all my forces in Ffantplain and shall remain here. Round up the priests, let them swear loyalty to me and behead those who refuse. Burn the Episcopal Headquarters and silence all opposition with the edge of your sword. Is that understood?”
“Yes, your Majesty,” he bowed.
“Very well, leave us!”
“Ifunka the Conqueror,” said Ushwan, congratulating him. “Is that what they shall call you?”
“I do not know how historians shall appraise me,” he replied. “Nor am I certain that I shall continue to use the name ‘Ifunka Kaffa’. Do I honestly want to share a name with that brute, Ifunka Kunug? Come, let us see Ffantplain in all its glory.”
Of the four men, only Ushwan had been to a theocratic city before. In fact, other than Khanshaff, Ifunka and Ffen had never entered a city of any kind, and Jyoff had only seen one from afar. They visited the market, where business continued as usual, even during the siege, as frightened citizens purchased pitchforks, knives, trowels and other garden implements to defend themselves—a boon for the garden supplies salesmen. All eyes were on them as they passed, overawed citizens bowing as they saw the victorious conqueror approach. They passed by the Episcopal Headquarters and saw Tesh-Mashda and his soldiers throwing torches through the windows of the tvagshaff, hacking at the stone with steel hammers and hitting its walls with the catapult which hurled large rocks against its solid walls.
“Was that really necessary?” asked Ushwan.
“It is a symbol,” explained Plant Man. “Which must be destroyed so that the Theocracy dies in the consciousness of each individual. More powerful and lasting than bricks and mortar are ideas, and ideas die slowly. As long as the symbol exists, the idea can perpetuate. Remove the symbol and the idea shall fade away. Every trace of the ‘Holy Theocracy’ shall be effaced; every bishop defrocked or executed, all their statues of priests and theologians smashed, so that the idea dies with them.”
“A wise man once said, ‘the weed outlives the gardener’.”
“That’s why I shall incinerate the garden,” replied Plant Man. “And kill every plant within it.”
They passed through residential districts and wandered across parks lined with wooden benches, admiring the statues and fountains. Finally, they reached the alleyways and workshops of craftsmen and apprentices attached to the city guilds. Eventually, they passed by a humble stonemason’s shop at the edge of the district: a small workshop manned by a grizzled old man with a grey moustache, deep blue eyes and grey, shoulder-length hair, his face wrinkled with deep lines, his body small and frail, his strong hands covered with scars and accumulated grit and dirt, grease and sweat. He wore a tattered old apron of meb-skin, thick with grease stains and stone dust. He was hammering away at a hunk of rock while his apprentice, a young man of no more than thirty, held it in place, his attire similarly tatty and appearance unkempt, with a misshapen nose—fat and bulbous at the end—like a deformed turnip, wearing the brown woollen tri-cornered hat of an apprentice, called a wiksha, and dusty besmirched overalls. Plant Man gave him a cursory glance and the boy let go of the stone in shock, fell to his knees, cowering before the conqueror, while the old man dropped his hammer on his foot, cried out in agony and the stone fell crashing to the ground, splitting in twain to form to uneven slabs of no value whatsoever. Looking up at the plant-like lord, he lowered his gaze.
“Hail the King!” said the young man, while the old man said only, “Welcome back!”
Plant Man paused.
“Didst thou just say, ‘welcome back’?”
He was uncertain whether to laugh or be wroth with the man. “Dost thou mock the king?”
“He’s only a poor peasant,” urged Ushwan. “Let’s leave him be. We have obviously startled them.”
“Here is a silver zitv for your troubles,” said Plant Man, handing him the coin.
The man looked up at him.
“One zitv?” he asked. “For all my services?”
“For all your services?” Plant Man eyed him suspiciously.
“I may be a forest-dweller,” Jyoff remarked. “But I’ve never heard of such impertinence. Shall we cut off his head and feed it to the forest worm?”
“Kvelikutim alyaog kaikavtilei (haste leads to sin), as the Tamitvar says,” Plant Man replied. “Tell me, old man. What is thy name?”
“I am called Yon Kaffa,” he said. The companions were taken aback.
“How comedst thou by
the name Kaffa?”
“It is my family name,” replied Yon. “My father was Ben Kaffa and his father Wen Kaffa, all the way back to Kaffa himself.”
“And do you know any others called Kaffa?” Plant Man was intrigued.
“We are the only ones of our line, I and this boy, Ken, who is my nephew, and thou of course, your Majesty, Ifunka Kaffa.”
“And what of Kandaspu Kaffa?” he asked, pressing for more information.
“There was no Kandaspu Kaffa,” the man replied. “Though there was a Lord Kandaspu what lived with us, with his wife, Sapya, some twenty years ago, or thereabouts. He came to us forty years before that, hiding his identity and such-like. Here he lived as my own son and worked as an apprentice stonemason, just like Ken does now, and I arranged a dowry for him such that he could marry Sapya Bishkwa, the youngest daughter of Effi Bishkwa, the local priest, himself the nephew of Bishop Waltva, the father of Bishop Ffesh, and son of Gutvku, who vied with Waltva for the episcopal see some eighty years back. In any case, they had a son called Ifunka Kaffa, whom I took as my own grandson. Kandaspu died when you were only a week old and your mother, fearing that you might be endangered, or your identity discovered, took you to a family in Shivka forest called the Wobgas who had no children of their own and they were sworn to secrecy, telling all the forest-folk that Matuka was her brother.”
Plant Man grabbed the old man’s shoulders and stared at him intensely.
“Where is my mother?” he asked, emotion flooding him.
“She died some years ago,” he explained, sadly. “But I can take you to her grave.”
The Rise of Plant Man, Lord of War, Conquest and Revenge: Green Monk of Tremn, Part II (Coins of Amon-Ra Book 2) Page 24