The Blood-stained Belt

by Brian H Jones

  We stood there facing each other, with thoughts between us that couldn't, or wouldn't, be spoken. I decided to take the plunge on one of them and said, 'The united kingdom should have only one supreme commander of the army.'

  Sharma stroked his chin and looked at me shrewdly. He responded, 'Perhaps not. Perhaps there could be a dual command.’

  ‘A dual command!’

  ‘Yes. For example, one general for the western sector and one for the eastern sector.'

  'One king and two generals? That would be a happy state of affairs!'

  Sharma was still looking at me in the same appraising way, head to one side. He said softly, 'Perhaps you are right. But, if not --' He stopped.

  I said, 'If not, then perhaps Jainar is superfluous already.'

  'Yes, Jina, that could be so -- ordinarily.'

  ‘Ordinarily?’

  ‘Yes, ordinarily. But these are extraordinary circumstances.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘We will have obligations to Jainar.’

  ‘Only because that’s how he’s arranged things.’

  Sharma looked at me through narrowed eyes, pursing his lips. He said, ‘But if Jainar is superfluous to the plan --?’

  'Then, Sharma, perhaps he's nothing more than an impediment even now.'

  'Yes, perhaps that's true. We will have to think about it.'

  'Why think about it? There’s no time like the present.'

  Sharma moved closer to me and said quietly, 'No time like the present, eh? That’s true.' He put a hand on my shoulder and pressed it firmly.

  We shook hands and I left without saying anything more. I knew what had to be done.

  Immediately, I sent a message to Jainar in Sharma's name recalling him for further discussions. When he arrived about two hours later, I met him at the city gateway and took him aside, saying that I had a confidential message from Sharma. Two of my men were waiting there. They stepped forward and seized Jainar's arms, pinning them behind his back. At the same time, I stabbed Jainar in the stomach, twisting the blade and forcing it in right up to the hilt, while the men held the squirming Jainar upright. Jainar died with the third thrust but I stabbed him twice more, just to make sure.

  I had avenged the death of my brother and had also cleared the way for Sharma to ascend to the throne that had been promised to him. What was more, I had eliminated any possibility of dissension over the position of army commander in the re-united Kingdom of Keirine. It was a good day's work.

  It was also messy work. Jainar’s blood stained my tunic and even spattered over my legs and sandals. As I was washing and changing my clothes, I noticed that the blood had stained my belt. Although I soaped the place and rubbed it vigorously with a towel, the outline of the stain, ink-dark against the dark leather, never disappeared. While I was cleaning the belt, I thought of Sharma saying to me many years ago that I should wear the belt as a sign of our friendship. Well, I thought, today I have done him a great service, much more than even the closest bond of friendship would require.

  I had played my role and now it was up to Sharma to take centre stage. He didn't wait long: within an hour, he called a meeting of his commanders. He was looking composed and his voice was measured but knowing him as well as I did, I could see that behind the veneer he was simmering with excitement and anticipation. Why not? He had traversed the difficult terrain of the escarpment and now the open, uplands plain stretched before him. All he had to do was walk a few more steps and he would attain his goal.

  Sharma said, 'Jainar is dead. A great man of Keirine has passed away.’ He cleared his throat, tightened his hands on the chair in front of him, and pronounced firmly, ‘I had no hand in his death. Before Zabrazal, I am innocent in this matter.' Then he said more than I expected from him, and he said it with such vehemence that I was taken aback. Sharma said, 'May the blood of Jainar fall upon the house of Jina, and on the houses of those who assisted him, and on their fathers’ houses even to the second and third generations.'

  There was a stir around the table. Everyone expected Sharma to deny responsibility for Jainar's death – that was routine -- but no one expected him to curse the perpetrators and, what's more, to curse us so roundly and so thoroughly. I was startled and I was angry. I had been prepared to sit through a ritual denial but to be cursed publicly was humiliating and undeserved. I started to rise to protest but, in the face of the pensive silence around the table and Sharma’s tight-mouthed determination, I thought better of it and slumped back into my chair.

  Sharma caught my eye. He held it only for a moment before he dropped his gaze. In that moment, I saw acknowledgement of our complicity. But I also saw anger -- and that I didn't expect. Was Sharma trying to convince himself that I had talked him into doing something that he didn't want to do? Was he trying to convince himself that he really was innocent?

  Sharma collected himself and said evenly, 'We will bury Jainar this afternoon. I expect every commander to be present.' He looked at me stonily and repeated, 'Every commander will be present.' He paused and then said firmly, 'We will offer the respect that the death of a great man deserves. Rend your clothes and walk bare-footed before the body. All of Keirine must see how we honour one of the nation's great men.'

  Sharma led the mourning procession and put on a good show, walking before the body with the rest of us and prostrating himself, weeping, over the grave. He also sang an improvised song of lament at the graveside. I looked on, feeling both moved and sceptical. Sharma was good at this sort of thing. He reveled in public performances and knew how to catch the popular mood – in fact, he knew how to work it up, how to bring emotions to fever pitch, and how to sustain them there. Today Sharma was acting the role of the populist, aflame with the mood of the people. But it was more than just an act – or, rather, it was a piece of inspired drama. The poet inside Sharma took flame on occasions like this and his spirit soared, just as it did with the bards and the prophets.

  Mecolo also took part in the funeral procession, weeping and lamenting. Was she really weeping for Jainar who, after all, had never been anything special to her? Or was she weeping for a death that reminded her of a vanished time when she had been confident, bold, and headstrong, a princess in the house of her father, the king?

  All through that afternoon, Sharma's denunciation rankled with me. Finally, even although it was late evening, I walked to his quarters to remonstrate with him. However, as I reached his door I turned back, thinking that it would do no good to speak to him while he was in this mood. I returned to my rooms and sat there alone, thinking with bitter melancholy about the people who could have advised and supported me at this time. Dana was dead and so was Abozi. Only Sharma remained of those who I had counted as friends and comrades – and right now there was a fissure of complicity and denial between us.

  For the first time in years, I ordered a flagon of wine. As I sat there sipping at the cup, I consoled myself by remembering how, after Izebol visited him, Sharma said to me, 'I need you. More than anyone, I need you.' Now, as he entered into new territory, surrounded by ambitions, suspicions and intrigues, he would need me more than ever. I sipped at the cup again and thought yes, these things will pass, and Sharma will need me more than ever.

  On an impulse – probably wine--induced ---- I took off my belt, folded it neatly, and gave it to an attendant. I said, ‘See that it is given to the king immediately.’

  ‘Is there a message, sir?’

  ‘No. The king will know what it means.’

  Although I knew that I had done the right thing for the Kingdom of Keirine, I couldn't help thinking about Jainar. My mind replayed the moment of Jainar's death – that moment when he gasped at me, 'Jina, you will never rest in peace' just before I plunged the dagger into his writhing body for the third time. Yes, that's what he said. But what did he know about peace, this man who never lifted a finger when my comrades and I were in prison, this man who ordered us to massacre civilians, this man who killed my brother, this man who hel
ped the usurper to stay on his throne? I tried to drive his words out of my mind even as they returned to me time and again. I told myself to forget about his words and to forget about the subsiding gurgle that he produced as he slumped in death. I knew that I had done the right thing. I had avenged the death of my brother and had cleared the way for the kingdom to be re-united. With Jainar alive, the task of building a peaceful and united Keirine would have been more difficult; now it was simple and straight-forward. What was more important than that? I shrugged, left the cup and the flagon where they were, and went to bed. I hoped desperately for a dreamless sleep, unlikely as it was.

  The next morning, my belt was returned to me. It had been polished and was shining with a deep lustre. With it was a note in Sharma’s handwriting that read, ‘Now as always, wear it as a sign of our friendship.’ As I turned the belt around, wondering what to do, I noticed again that the stain was still visible in spite of all the polishing, buffing, and rubbing. It reminded me of how much bound Sharma and me together. What looked like a fissure from one point of view, from another point of view looked like two crags that were united by bedrock at their base. I shrugged off my anger and buckled the belt around my waist. There was still work to do and there were still slopes to be climbed.

  The next time I saw Sharma, his eyes flickered to my waist and he gave a brief nod of acknowledgement.

  Within a few weeks, Upper Keirine fell into Sharma's hands without us having to do anything more than make a few surreptitious payments to members of the royal court. When the kingdom began to topple, there was no one to rally the army. In fact, there was no army at all. It melted away after Jainar’s death. Abandoned by his soldiers and then by his courtiers, Aebrel fled to Asjolorm, the nearest Dornite city. With him went five wives, seven concubines, more than twenty retainers and a line of donkeys bearing the royal valuables. Only the wives and the concubines reached Asjolorm alive – and they entered the city as captives, lashed to their own donkeys. Aebrel and the rest of his party were murdered along the way and the caravan was looted. It was said that the thieves and murderers were more than just ordinary criminals. Perhaps it was true. Perhaps the Dornites decided to do away with Aebrel when they recognised that he was a spent force who had no value at all, not even as a nuisance factor. Who knew the truth? Anyway, who cared?

  Sharma’s victory was complete. Once again, as we climbed more rungs on the ladder, we were bound together by the heady experience of success. However, there was also a new bond between Sharma and me. Now we were also bound by the complicity of guilt. Although we didn’t think about it at the time, from now onwards the linked trajectories of our lives would no longer be so straight and uncomplicated. However, the fault-lines didn’t show at first, in those heady days of our ascent to power over the whole Kingdom of Keirine.

  CHAPTER TWENTY: THE PRICE

  I entered the room just as Roda gave Mecolo such a shove that she hurtled back against the wall, thumping into it with a sound like a sack of grain hitting the floorboards of a wagon. Roda didn't leave it there – she was onto Mecolo immediately, slapping, spitting, and cursing. Sharma got between them, shoving them apart, yelling at them to quit or he would have them confined to their rooms.

  I stood there embarrassed, not sure what to do. Come over to my quarters for a quiet evening, said Sharma. Come over and we can relax for a while just like we used to do in the old days. God, Jina, do you remember how it used to be, sitting on top of a ridge, spinning the webs of our dreams, lying back in the grass and assuring ourselves that whatever the future held it was going to be good? And now – well, just look at us now. What's happened to us since Orihedrin? Where has the time gone? Councils, stratagems, diplomacy, sitting in judgement, logistics, and goodwill visits – well, that's the way of the kingdom and it's the price we have to pay for getting what we wanted, isn't it, old friend? Anyway, forget about all that, and come over for a quiet evening.

  As he held Roda and Mecolo apart and yelled at them, Sharma suddenly caught sight of me, standing there like a frog that thought it was about to slide into a cosy pond and instead found itself on the edge of a boiling cauldron. Sharma bit his lip and squeezed the shoulders that he was holding so hard that both Roda and Mecolo shrieked in pain. He hissed, 'Quiet! We have company.' He thrust the women apart, turned to me, adjusted his robe, and said as civilly as he could in the midst of his roused emotions, 'Jina! I wasn't expecting you so early. Come inside.'

  'Perhaps if I came back later –'

  'No, no, by no means. Come in and sit down.' Sharma motioned me to a chair by the fire. I settled in while Sharma went around behind the chair and talked to the women in low tones. I heard Roda's voice raised in protest, saying, 'I will not stand for this woman and her –', followed by Sharma hissing, 'Enough! You will not say another word or I will have you confined to your room. Understand?' There was silence and then I heard the women walking out of the room. The footsteps were short, swift, and hard-heeled.

  Sharma sat down, raised his eyebrows at me, and rang a bell. A servant appeared with a flagon of wine and two mugs, poured wine for each of us, and withdrew. Sharma raised his mug, looked at me over the rim and took a deep pull at his drink. Then, cradling the mug, he said, 'Welcome, Jina.' I raised my mug and sipped at the wine, trying to look as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Except for the twitching of his left eyelid, to outward appearances Sharma had regained control of his emotions. However, he sat forward in his chair, head slightly to one side, as if he was tensed to spring at any new disturbance.

  I sipped again and said as easily as I could, 'It's good to be here.'

  Sharma nodded and took another deep pull at his drink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, sighed heavily and refilled his mug. Then he raised the flagon and looked at me enquiringly. I said, 'Not yet, thanks. I'm still busy with this one.'

  Sharma said, 'You drink slowly, Jina. It's not companionable.' He took another deep pull at his mug.

  I replied, 'Oh, you know me, Sharma. I'm a slow starter. But I'm like the last sheep in the flock -- I always get into the pen before the gate closes for the night.' Privately, I thought that this wasn't the first time that I'd seen Sharma drinking quick and deep. When did it start? I couldn't remember him drinking at all when we were outlaws together in the desert. Nor could I remember him drinking much during our early days in Orihedrin. Thinking back, I reckoned that he must have started his drinking towards the end of our time in Orihedrin not long before he ascended to the throne.

  Sharma leaned forward, the yellow flecks in his eyes glinting. He said, 'Well, Jina, it's good to have you here. Just the two of us, eh?'

  I raised my mug and said, 'Times change but friendship doesn't.'

  Sharma grunted in acknowledgement, took another long pull at his mug and refilled it. He sat back, raised an eyebrow, and said, 'When land and people reach the sea, eh, Jina?' I looked at him quizzically. Sharma asked, 'How far do we push the Dornites?'

  'Push them? Man, Sharma, in case you haven't noticed we haven't even got them out of Keirine yet.'

  Sharma waved a hand half in amusement and half in irritation. 'Jina, Jina, you always were the cautious one.' He settled back with his mug held against his chest and asked, 'Do you doubt that we'll push them back over the escarpment within a few months?'

  'Doubt it? Of course I doubt it. I doubt the outcome of every battle and every campaign until we've got the enemy on the run. Then, when I see their backsides retreating at a fast pace, I stop doubting – for a little while at least.'

  Sharma chuckled. 'Maybe you've been doubting a little bit less during these last few weeks, eh?'

  Sharma had reason to be confident. Although we hadn't defeated the Dornites, we were closing the noose on them. When Sharma was crowned King of Keirine, the Dornites not only occupied a sizeable piece of Upper Keirine but were also exacting tribute in lieu of seizing more land. It was the arrangement that they enjoyed when the weak-kneed Aebrel was on the throne and it wa
s the way in which they intended that things should continue. Just to make sure that there wasn't any misunderstanding about their intentions, the Dornites didn't wait for Sharma to settle in. Before he had even been crowned, a Dornite army advanced from the south, burning and looting as it came. Fortunately, we were able to hold them to a stalemate during a day-long battle. However, although there was not a clear victor, it was a moral victory for us. For the first time since Vaxili's last years on the throne, a Dornite army had been halted.

  We didn't wait for the Dornites to regroup. Using the experience that we gained in the desert, I began mobilising the inhabitants of the occupied territory to harass the Dornites. Soon the countryside was so unsafe for their forces that they had to travel in large numbers or not travel at all. More than that, we eliminated the profits of their occupation by capturing traders and caravans. The Dornites were forced to protect themselves by retreating behind fortified positions in the occupied towns and by going to the trouble and expense of sending out large caravans under heavy guard. The occupation of Upper Keirine was becoming an expensive and troublesome business for the Dornites.

  Sharma leaned back in his chair and said in a relaxed voice, 'We've forced them onto the back foot, Jina. Now we have to put a wedge between their garrisons and their heartland.'

  'Easier said than done, I would think.'

  Sharma ran a finger around the edge of his mug and said thoughtfully, 'Another attack on Asjolorm, perhaps?' I raised my eyebrows at him. Sharma continued, 'Why don't we tackle them on two fronts? We could destroy Asjolorm and cut their supply lines while we take on their garrisons one by one.'

  'It might work.'

  'Think about it, Jina.' Sharma waved his mug at me unsteadily. 'We'll talk about it tomorrow, eh? No more business talk tonight. All right?'

  Some time during the evening, Sharma picked up a small bag and took out a sling. Then he shook out some pebbles from the bag and asked, 'How about it, Jina? Are you still up to it?'