by P J Berman
‘Members of the Demokroi, do you give your approval for the opening of the markets and banks?’
‘Objection,’ Zethun stated firmly as he briefly stood. He knew that opening the markets would only attract the taxmen, who would try to do people further out of the fruits of their labours. The speaker looked stunned but, uncertain about how to react, he carried straight on.
‘Members of the Demokroi, do you give your approval for the opening of the baths and all other public buildings?’
‘Objection,’ Zethun shouted, standing up and quickly sitting down again.
‘Members of the Demokroi, do you give your approval for the opening of the law courts?’
‘Objection,’ said Zethun, getting to his feet again.
‘This is madness,’ the speaker exclaimed. He looked like he was about to remonstrate with Zethun, but a huge lump of what must have been human excrement flew through the air from somewhere within the pulsating rabble and hit him square in the face, knocking him to the stage’s wooden floor and leaving him dazed.
It was all the distraction the crowd needed. Inevitably there had been one or two guards who had momentarily lost their footing while confused by the sight of the faecal missile and the front members of the crowd burst through the fragile line. Seeing that his plan had worked better than he could have ever imagined, Zethun had already alighted the stage and jumped on to his horse, vacating the area with all speed. He galloped in the direction of Naivard’s office as people charged up the steps and on to the stage, wrecking and smashing everything in sight, so great was their anger at the rich.
Zethun knew that the violence would spread to other parts of the city, but it was a necessary evil if they were to be listened to. He would have to congratulate Braldor on an excellent shot, he thought as he rode. He worried for Hoban. Knowing the plan, the old Congressor had deliberately worn plain clothes for this day, but he couldn’t move very fast and spoke with a voice that gave away his nobility. He hoped that they were being escorted by Braldor, as he doubted Naivard would be much use in a fight if they needed protection.
THE PREDDABURG CITADEL, RILDAYORDA, BASTALF, BENNVIKA
The splendour of the feast was matched only by that of the room itself, Silrith decided. All around her she saw a vast array of dragons carved into the mahogany that seemed to cover every inch of the room’s interior, minus the large window at the far end. There were similar depictions on the two display cabinets that sat in one corner of the room, each of which was filled with trinkets, weapons and other treasures that Yathrud had acquired on his extensive travels. Some images of the beautiful creatures had been inlaid into the wood of the chairs on which Silrith, Yathrud, Shappa and Bezekarl now sat, as well as on the table itself and even on the braziers. She had never taken much notice of them before, but now she found the sight of them inspiring. They reminded her of the many legends she had heard as a child, in which brave warriors fought these terrible animals to save the one they love. All had expected to be easy prey for the mighty beasts, but every time it was the demonic creature that had been slain. It was much the same for Silrith now, except that this time the dragons would fly on Yathrud’s scarlet and gold battle standards, standing alongside the green and white of her own emblem, the prancing, snarling stallion of the Alfwyn family. More than that, in this fight, against the beast that was Jostan’s army, she had to save not just one person, but an entire nation.
The room in which they sat eating was the Alyredd family’s personal feasting room; the smaller one that was rarely used for hosting guests’ meals. Yathrud had apparently used this room for a number of private political meetings over the years, but today, it would be used for both. Meeting in this locked and guarded room was the best way to limit the threat of listening ears of spies and, most dangerous of all, the gossiping of Yathrud’s new wife. It had not been a love-match, to be sure. If Yathrud’s first wife, Silrith’s aunt Monissaea, had yet lived, she would almost certainly have been in attendance.
‘So, cousin Bezekarl, I hear that my uncle has been educating you in the political machinations of the Congressate?’ Silrith enquired, taking a sip of wine after enjoying a meal of pork, parsnips, carrots and green peas. It felt so good to be eating well again after a week of barely anything to fill her stomach.
‘Err, yes, I learn as much as I can,’ Bezekarl replied, looking a little abashed.
Silrith was amused by his discomfort.
‘Try not to look so awkward, cousin,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to test you. Anyway, the political situation here is rather more straightforward.’
‘Help the ones you support and stab the ones you don’t. Yes, I suppose the rules of the battlefield are rather less complex than those of the Congressate,’ Shappa mused.
‘Actually, once you consider the number of stabbings, in some ways the battlefield and the Congressate couldn’t be more alike if they tried,’ Silrith quipped, causing the others to laugh.
‘We will not be able to eat like this for much longer,’ she continued, raising herself to stand and starting to pace a little. The room’s main window overlooked the courtyard, which was full of Hentani soldiers and camp followers apparently exploring their new surroundings. She could also see many Bennvikan soldiers who were there to greet the Hentani and to see them to their posts. Expressing no interest in attending the meeting, Chief Hojorak had gone down there to meet his brother when the main army arrived. The citadel was full of soldiers, as the city too soon would be, but were there enough of them? Surely, Jostan would be able to muster five times what she and Yathrud could?
‘The day will come soon when we will have to order all the farmers bring in their livestock and other goods and keep them within the city walls,’ she continued. ‘It won’t be long before Jostan realises I’m here and marches on us, so the moment our scouts in Ustenna report that the enemy has been sighted, the farmers and their animals must be brought inside. If they are fast enough in getting word to us of the enemy’s approach, we should have a few days for the farmers to salvage what they can of their crops for our use and burn what they can’t save. We don’t want Jostan’s army feasting on our own farmer’s produce while we squat in here starving to death.’ The others nodded gravely as they listened.
‘That said,’ she went on. ‘We need to ensure that morale is high, so I propose that, while we still can, we hold a night of celebrations for all the soldiers. We can hold it in the inner ward. Tell them…,’ she put her hand to her chin and thought for a moment. ‘Tell them it’s to welcome our Etrovansian and Hentani comrades. That should suffice. Earlier today I was inspecting some of the new arrivals and I met some young Hentani dancers and musicians. I’m sure they can bring some entertainment. Tomorrow we’ll hold a night of feasting, dancing and general merry-making, but-’ That caught her audience off guard. ‘But’ she said again holding out a finger, ‘from the very next morning, rationing starts, as does an intense period of training for all our troops.’
‘Excellent my Queen,’ Yathrud stated appreciatively. ‘I can have Gasbron devise a suitable regime. He’s even managed to turn young Bezekarl here into a half decent fighter,’ he added, slapping Bezekarl on the back, causing his son to almost choke. Silrith wanted to laugh. Surely in truth Bezekarl’s fighting skills would be as awkward as his social skills. As a nobleman, he’d had to learn the basics of how to be a cavalryman and he was physically fit, but that was about all he’d mastered as far as she’d seen.
‘I should like to be involved in Gasbron’s planning process,’ Shappa put in. ‘I’m sure some of what we do in Etrovansia will be compatible with what is done here.’
‘Of course,’ Silrith nodded. ‘Uncle, please make the necessary arrangements for the feast.’
‘It would be an honour, my Queen.’
‘Good. Now all of you, leave me and see that my instructions are implemented,’ said Silrith.
All three men bowed to leave, then headed for the door.
‘Uncle?’ Silr
ith called. ‘Will you stay with me a moment before you go? I must speak with you.’
‘Of course, my Queen.’
He walked back over to her and waited for the others to leave before speaking.
‘What do you require of me, my Queen?’
‘I want to thank you for your loyalty. Just as I thought everyone in my life had left me for dead, you saved me. There are no words for my gratitude.’
He smiled affectionately.
‘It was my duty, as an uncle and as a loyal subject of the crown. I would never have thought of doing anything else.’
‘Nevertheless, such dependability is rare. I am indebted to you and if we are victorious, Bennvika will be too. What we are doing here is more than just a rebellion. It is a fight against tyranny. Throughout history, the common people have had to be content simply to fight to replace one monarch with another in times of civil war. They must know that this fight is for them, not me. You saved my life. I have been given a second chance and I want to make that worth something.’
‘Of course and I will do all that I can to make sure the soldiers know that,’ said Yathrud.
‘As will I.’
‘Of that I have no doubt, but I can see that something troubles you,’ he said.
Silrith sighed.
‘We will be vastly outnumbered, Uncle. I do not fear for my own life. I shall embrace martyrdom if that is my fate. But I do fear for the people of Rildayorda and the rest of Bennvika. You know of the terrible things I saw in Verusantium. If they are not happening in Kriganheim at this very moment, then they will soon and it will be even worse here if Jostan takes the city. We are all that stands between Jostan and the annihilation of Bennvika as we know it. The people must know that I fight for them and not the other way around.’
‘So you must inspire them. I know your strength and conviction. You must show the army that Bennvika has hope yet.’
‘Of course. But I’ve never led troops in battle before and there is no room for error. I will need guidance. How will I reach the point where the army follows me because they want to, rather than because they feel they have to? They need to truly believe that I fight for them and that things are not the other way around. How do I win their respect?’
‘Lead them by example. I believe in you and when you have a decision to make, you must trust your instincts; they’re good. However, if you need further assistance, you have me here to guide you and it may surprise you that I will start by presenting you with a gift.’
He moved away, reached into one of the cabinets in the corner of the room and produced a small, dusty old book.
‘This book has been in my family for generations. It was of great use to your father and me when we were leading the campaign to conquer this land.’
Silrith looked at the leather cover and gasped.
‘Macciomakkia.’
‘Yes. ‘The Art of Leadership’, her finest work.’
‘I did not believe that any copies still existed.’
‘I do believe this may be the last. It’s a remarkable book. It’s strange how the words of a scholar dead for over five centuries can still ring true in the present day.’
‘Yes, I have often heard it said that the Verusantians might not have been so successful in their invasion of Hingaria, if only the defenders had read the teachings of their country’s own most famous daughter. I do not intend to make the same mistake when dealing with Jostan.’ She embraced Yathrud.
‘Thank you, Uncle.’
At its height, the Republic of Hingaria had been the jewel of both the ancient world and the modern; a bulwark of democratic thinking. For many centuries it had fought off would-be conquerors, keeping their people safe from oppression. Yet, a quarter of a century ago, as Verusantium’s armies had advanced ever westward, Hingaria’s democracy had been crushed forever and the once great nation had succumbed to imperial rule.
However, Hingaria’s legacy had been harder to destroy. Even after all these years, merchants still spoke of what they had seen in that country before its fall; the great feats of architecture, literature, science and technology that had been achieved through the acceptance of new ideas and how all of that had been destroyed when the republic fell and was replaced by the totalitarianism of their fanatically religious new masters. Silrith had often wondered if democracy would ever live again.
With the insight that her private reading of this book would provide, Silrith finally felt genuine confidence that she could do what would be required of her to turn the tables on Jostan. As she pulled away, she wanted to tell Yathrud everything and let him know what he was really committing to by fighting for her, but alas, she could not. He knew well that by fighting for her he was avenging the murder of her father and also fighting to save Bennvika, but could even the affable old Yathrud’s loyalties be swayed if he knew her secret? Certainly, it was a secret that could leave Bennvika’s future uncertain for decades. Silrith didn’t like to consider the implications of that and she forced the thought from her mind.
‘Now,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘I must speak with Gasbron.’
‘Of course. I shall have him brought to you,’ Yathrud replied.
‘No, it’s alright. I shall find him. Where is he likely to be at this time?’
‘Inspecting the wall guard most likely. Or if he’s finished that, he will probably be with his troops in the training area.’
‘Thank you, Uncle,’ said Silrith, opening the door.
After asking a sentry on Preddaburg’s north wall, Silrith found that Gasbron had indeed finished his rounds there and had gone to meet the new Hentani warriors. Silrith thanked the sentry and headed purposefully towards the training area. On the way she spotted Ezrina and Jezna, the two dancers she had met earlier that day and gave them a light smile as she passed.
Such friendly gestures cost nothing and would be very important for making the common people feel valued, as she well knew. She hoped the girls could give an entertaining performance the next day that would go some way to at least providing some shared enjoyment for all her soldiers. This, in turn, would hopefully help them to create bonds so that they could work together effectively when it came to training and fighting. She had noticed though that while Jezna had returned the gesture in kind, waving happily, Ezrina’s smile had been rather more forced and she was perturbed by this. She let it go for now though as she hurried on, making sure to retain a certain grace as she did so.
When she found Gasbron, he and the other soldiers were in the training area, which was a large square with a stone floor. He and a group of Divisiomen were demonstrating some of the Bennvikan fighting styles and troop manoeuvres to the Hentani warriors. The new arrivals would have to work around the Divisios in the coming battle and it would help if they knew exactly how to use the Bennvikan, Etrovansian and Hentani military strengths in tandem in the most cohesive way possible. At this point, wearing full armour and his Chief Invicturion’s transverse crested helmet with its black and white horsehair stripes, Gasbron was addressing his audience while the Divisiomen were demonstrating the ‘tortoise’ formation, before showing how quickly they could switch to a ‘bow’ formation. As Gasbron spoke, Blavak translated his words into Hentani.
‘As you can see, just as the name suggests, this formation is shaped like the upper and lower limbs of a bow and arrow. It is designed so that as the front troops slowly gave ground to the enemy, their opponents would be engulfed as the soldiers on the flanks of the formation advance.’
As he said this, the front Divisiomen, who were in the middle, began to slowly pace backwards, while their comrades on the flanks moved forwards at the same speed, until they had moved into a crescent formation.
‘The beauty of the Divisioman’s fighting style,’ he went on. ‘Is their sheer versatility. Most of the men and women of the Divisios perform the role of heavy infantry, but the elite are selected to serve as heavy cavalry. Up in Kriganheim, they choose a thousand of their best to perform that role, while
every other province such as this one has to make do with half that, but a Bastalf Divisioman is worth at least two from Kriganheim anyway.’ An impromptu cheer rose up from the Divisiomen around Gasbron at the compliment, drawing a wry grin from their commander.
‘In battle, all Divisio infantry carry a pilum, as do the cavalry when it is deemed necessary,’ Gasbron said.
He indicated the tall, thin weapon that was handed to him by the nearest soldier. It looked like a lightweight spear.
‘This is the Divisioman’s first line of defence. A wave of these thrown at any enemy is enough to knock them right back, at least for a few seconds. That gives him or her time to get back behind their shield.’ He handed the pilum back to the Divisioman, then paced on.
‘As you can see, the Divisioman’s shield is quite large. We have round wooden ones for the cavalry and rectangular ones for the infantry, though the cavalry have also been known to ride with a rectangular shield on their back so that they can perform infantry duties if they need to. Every unit’s province of origin is identifiable through the crest depicted on the shield, which will be that of their Governor, or the Bennvikan national flag in Kriganheim’s case. Learn the designs so that you may tell friend from foe.’
He indicated his own shield which, like his comrades, featured a green horizontal strip on the upper and lower thirds, with the Alyredd coat of arms, the three golden dragons on a scarlet background, emblazoned across the middle.
‘Chief Invicturion Wrathun,’ Silrith called from the edge of the square. Gasbron looked round. Silrith hadn’t interrupted him, but he looked surprised by her presence anyway.
‘Yes, my Queen?’ He said with a bow as she approached. The Divisiomen had disengaged from their formation and knelt before their Queen. She felt a little out of place on a military training ground in her scarlet dress and white under trousers, but she noticed Gasbron regarding her with an appreciative eye.
‘Wrathun,’ she said again. ‘I find myself in need of some help and I believe my requirements could be met in kind by your talents and experience.’