Evil for Evil e-2

by K. J. Parker

  "The infantry'll hold them," an old man was saying. "It's a known fact, horses won't charge a line of spear-points. They shy away, it's their nature. And then our archers'll pick 'em off. They'll be sorry they ever messed with us, you'll see."

  Behind her, nothing but still, brown water. Would it hurt less to swim out and drown, or stay and be slashed or stabbed? It was a ludicrous choice, of course, not the sort of thing that could ever happen. To be sitting here, calmly weighing up the merits of different kinds of violent deaths; drowning, probably, because she'd swim until she was exhausted and then the water would pull her down, and the actual drowning wouldn't take long. She considered pain for a moment: the small, intolerable spasm of a burn, the dull, bewildering ache of a fall, the anguish of toothache, the sheer panic of a cut. She knew about the pain of trivial injuries, but something drastic enough to extinguish life must bring pain on a scale she simply couldn't begin to imagine. She'd seen the deaths of men and animals, the enormous convulsions, the gasping for breath that simply wouldn't come. She knew she wasn't ready for that; she never would be, because there could be no rapprochement with pain and death. She felt herself swell with fear, and knew there was nothing she could do to make it better.

  She looked round instinctively for an escape route, and saw the old man and the old woman. They weren't looking at her; they were staring at a man walking quickly toward them.

  ("Isn't that the Duke? What's he doing here? He's supposed to be-"

  "Shh. He'll hear you.")

  Valens; of all people. It was a purely involuntary reaction; all the breath left her body, her mouth clogged and her eyes filled, because Valens had come to save her. At that moment (she hadn't forgotten Orsea, or the fact that she didn't love him, or that the sight of him made her flesh crawl and she didn't know why), she knew, she had faith, that she wasn't going to die after all. Valens would save her, even if he had to cut a steaming road through the bodies of the Mezentines like a man clearing a ride through a bramble thicket. She knew, of course, how little one man could do on his own, how hopeless the situation was, how even if they escaped from the Mezentines they had no chance of crossing the desert on their own. Those were unassailable facts; but so was his presence-her savior, her guarantee, her personal angel of death to be unleashed on the enemy. She tried to stand up, but her legs didn't seem to have any joints in them.

  "We should try and get over to the left side," he was saying. "I've been watching, and their left wing's trailing behind a bit." He stopped and frowned at her. "Well? You do want to get out of this, don't you?"

  "Yes, of course."

  "Fine." He nodded. "I've left a couple of horses. Can't go quite yet; if they see us making a break for it, they'll send riders to cut us off. But when the attack's gone in, they won't be so fussy about stragglers." Suddenly he grinned at her. "I'm running away," he said. "No bloody point hanging around here. The trick's going to be choosing exactly the right moment to make the break."

  The old woman was staring at him; she'd heard every word, and her face showed that her world had just caved in. "Well?" he said. "Are you coming or aren't you?"

  The infantry screen lasted longer than expected; longer than it takes to eat an apple, not quite as long as the time you need to bridle a horse. A quick glimpse out of the corner of his eye as they rode for the little gap on the left flank told him that the Vadani were fighting like heroes. He scowled; the timings were precise, and if they held the Mezentines up for too long, they could screw up everything.

  "We'd better go now," he shouted, not turning his head, hoping she could hear him.

  He kicked the horse on. It was a big, sullen gelding, civilian rather than military but all he'd been able to find. It sidestepped, pulling hard on the reins. He slapped its rump with the flat of the hanger, and it bustled angrily forward. He felt the hanger slip out of his hand; his only weapon. Oh well.

  "Come on," he yelled, and gave the horse a savage kick in the ribs. He saw its neck rise up to smack his face, felt his balance shift and his left foot lose its stirrup. He hung for a moment, then knew he was falling backward over the horse's rump. As he fell, he saw her fly past; then his shoulder hit the ground and his body filled with pain. He felt it take him over, driving every thought out of his head. Hoofs were landing all around him-his horse, the enemy, he neither knew nor cared. He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out.

  He heard a scream, assumed it was his own, realized it wasn't. He opened his eyes and tried to move.

  It didn't hurt at first; he'd managed to prop himself up on one elbow before he made one slight movement too many and the pain flooded back. It took seven or eight heartbeats to subside.

  Next to him, he could see now, lay a Mezentine. There was an arrow lodged in his temple; it had driven through the steel of his helmet but hadn't managed to get much further, since Valens could see the tips of the barbs. Not deep enough, evidently, to kill outright; the man's lips were moving, and his eyes were huge with enormous strain. For good measure his left leg was bent at the knee almost at right angles, the wrong way. That'll have been the fall, Valens decided. Falling off horses can be bad for you.

  It occurred to him to wonder who'd been here shooting arrows at the Mezentines.

  Then he felt the thump of hoofs, jarring up through his elbow into the complicated mess of pain. Instinct made him turn his head a little, and though his shoulder punished him for it, he shifted a little further to get a better view.

  A horseman. He was rising elegantly to the trot, an eight-foot lance couched in the crook of his elbow. He wore glossy brown scale armor-leather, not steel-from collar to ankles, and under a high, pointed conical helmet his face was as pale as milk. A bow and quiver lolled beside his right thigh, and his horse's legs were short and thick. He came to a halt, stood up in his stirrups to look round, then slid into an easy, loping canter. Unmistakably, he was Cure Hardy.

  27

  The trial of Lucao Psellus before the Security Commission was a strangely muted affair. Given the nature and quality of the material, it should have been the showpiece of the autumn term. In the event, it was generally held to have been a botched, unsatisfactory affair which would have solved nothing, had it not been for the melodrama that followed it.

  Partly, of course, the problem lay in the almost indecent haste with which it was conducted. None of the up-and-coming prosecutors had time to lobby for the brief, which was awarded to an elderly time-server by the name of Basano Philargyrus, who had previously specialized in minor default cases and undefended adulteries. Inevitably, the hearing was restricted; members of Necessary Evil and the Security Commission only. Even so, a few previews of some of the more sensational evidence would normally have been released through the usual channels. As it was, the only hard data to seep through was the charge itself, and that was so nebulously phrased as to be meaningless: neglect and dereliction of duty, unauthorized contact, failure to apprehend a fugitive. To a public desperate for some kind of reassurance after the disaster, it was too little, too grudgingly supplied. Worse, instead of making capital out of the general resentment, none of the opposition factions seemed prepared to take up the matter or even acknowledge that there was an issue.

  The charge actually recited before the hearing (held, for reasons nobody could quite understand, in the cloister garden where Necessary Evil held their regular alfresco meetings) was somewhat more detailed:

  That the accused, Lucao Psellus, had exceeded his authority in negotiation with the abominator Ziani Vaatzes; that in doing so, he had knowingly or inadvertently allowed Vaatzes to use him as his agent in designs against the Guilds and the Republic; that he had exercised insufficient care and diligence; that he had failed to report relevant information to the proper officers of the Commission…

  "Which are grave enough charges, fellow Guildsmen, even when stated so plainly. The facts that underlie these charges, however, are infinitely more serious. For the avoidance of doubt, allow me to summarize as follows."


  Prosecutor Philargyrus hesitated for a moment, to wipe his forehead on the back of his hand and shift his weight to his other foot. Someone at the back of the group whispered to his neighbor that, if anything, the prosecutor looked more nervous than the accused.

  "Under direct instructions from Commissioner Boioannes himself-which instructions are freely admitted; we shall be entering a full transcript into evidence at the discovery stage-Commissioner Psellus traveled to the Vadani border in an attempt to open negotiations with the abominator. The extent of his authority was clearly defined; essentially, he was to offer such inducements as were necessary to deceive Vaatzes into returning of his own free will into territory under the control of the Republic. Any promises made to him would not be considered binding. Any information helpful to the Republic which Psellus could obtain from Vaatzes would be welcome, but was not of the essence of the mission. Commissioner Psellus has at no time claimed that he did not perfectly understand these instructions, and therefore they may be deemed to be undisputed evidence."

  On the back row, someone had started to fidget. This sort of solid, pedestrian opening summary might be all very well at defaulters' sessions, but political juries had a right to expect daintier fare. It was almost as though someone was deliberately trying to make what should have been a thrilling occasion as dreary as possible. But who would do such a thing?

  "Arriving at the border, Commissioner Psellus quickly established contact with Vaatzes and a face-to-face meeting was arranged. Note that, although having the resources to do so, Psellus neglected to inform your Commission of this development before the meeting took place. Having traveled to Civitas Vadanis, Commissioner Psellus found the city deserted. Again, note that he did not immediately retrace his steps and communicate this momentous fact to the military authorities, but proceeded to attend the meeting."

  Frowns in the second and third rows. These minor derelictions should have been left to the end, where they wouldn't have cluttered up the flow.

  "Now," Philargyrus went on, his voice flat and only just audible, "we come to the meeting itself. For what took place we have only Commissioner Psellus' own account; but that account, even if it represents a full and fair summary of what was said and done, constitutes in our view a clear admission of guilt as far as the charges are concerned. In brief, Commissioner Psellus and the convicted abominator Ziani Vaatzes together concocted a scheme to discredit the fugitive and war criminal Orsea Orseoli, former Duke of Eremia, in the eyes of the Vadani government. It was an elaborate, rather fanciful business, involving the fabrication of compromising documents, the suborning of a Vadani merchant venturer and her cold-blooded murder. As matters have turned out, it would appear to have been successful; and you may be tempted to credit Commissioner Psellus for exacting some kind of crude justice on an acknowledged and declared enemy of the Republic. Before doing so, however, we invite you to consider the real cost of the bargain."

  (He keeps looking at somebody, someone in the third row observed to his neighbor, but I can't quite see who. It's like he's taking a cue, or looking for approval.)

  "Note, in passing, the malignant subtlety of the abominator Vaatzes; and, by the same token, the culpable simple-mindedness of your colleague, Commissioner Psellus. As an inducement to persuade us to allow him to return home, Vaatzes offered Psellus information about the likely itinerary of the Vadani convoy. It was in his power, Vaatzes claimed, to persuade Duke Valens to change course and head across the desert, making for the home territory of the Cure Hardy. He was aware of a safe route, made passable by a string of oases. He gave Commissioner Psellus a copy of a map showing the route, together with further notes and commentaries that would allow a substantial force of cavalry to cross the mountains at the edge of the desert with relative ease while avoiding observation by the Vadani. Meanwhile, he would lead Duke Valens and the convoy over the mountain by another, harder route, thereby forcing them to abandon their armored wagons and much other essential equipment, and reduce their food supplies to an inadequate level. Softened up by these privations and taken unaware in the middle of the desert by our forces-who would have been realistically provisioned and adequately briefed on matters of geography and topography-the Vadani would prove easy prey, and could be eliminated once and for all."

  Pause; or was it hesitation?

  "Commissioner Psellus," he went on eventually, "would seem not to be familiar with the expression, too good to be true. Arguably, it was not his fault that Vaatzes had already arranged through other contacts for our forces to ambush the convoy at an earlier stage; as we all know, the ambush was beaten off with heavy losses, as Vaatzes fully intended it should be. The fact remains that, had Commissioner Psellus reported his deal with Vaatzes promptly and to the right quarters, the first ambush could have been countermanded and valuable lives saved. What is both indisputable and unforgivable, however, is the Commissioner's simple stupidity-you may care to regard it as willful blindness-in not appreciating the quite appalling implications of Vaatzes' proposal-namely, that a safe and practical route across the desert exists, and that, should the Cure Hardy become aware of it, the security of the Republic would be hopelessly compromised forever."

  Even Philargyrus, with his dreary delivery and unfortunate style, couldn't fail to get a frisson of horror out of his audience with that. It was, of course, the only point that mattered, and the only thing on anybody's mind, ever since the news broke. It was what Psellus had been brought here to be condemned to death for; the question was…

  "You may argue," Philargyrus went on, perhaps a shade too quickly, "that since Vaatzes had come across this terrible information, it was inevitable that he should convey it to Duke Valens in the hope that he would pass it on to the Cure Hardy, to use against us; that Psellus' part in this debacle was not wholly instrumental in bringing this disaster down on us. I beg to differ. As a result of Psellus' criminal stupidity, we have sent an army into the desert, demonstrated to the Cure Hardy-a vicious and irrational race-that we too know the secret passage across the supposedly impassable barrier; we have sent an army that has engaged and been completely destroyed by Cure Hardy forces. It is highly likely, given the paranoid mentality of the barbarians and bearing in mind their reaction to our forces' incursion, that they will choose to view what has occurred as an act of war. In short; even if it was done innocently and without malice, Commissioner Psellus has left us at the mercy of the only power on earth with the capability and the will to inflict serious damage on the Republic, perhaps even-it has to be said-to destroy it. There can only be one possible response on the part of your Commission; you must find Commissioner Psellus guilty as charged and impose the severest penalty available in law."

  "Well," said one commissioner to another during the recess, "he got there in the end."

  His friend looked round before replying. "If you care to tell me what that performance was in aid of, I'll be very greatly obliged to you. Who was sitting at the end of the fourth row? I couldn't see; that stupid fountain was in the way."

  "I couldn't see either. But you're right, he did keep looking up and glancing in that direction." A deep frown and another glance round. "You didn't happen to notice where Boioannes was sitting? I can't remember seeing him."

  Before his friend could reply, the bell rang for the votes to be cast. That didn't take very long; and, after the sentence had been passed and the prisoner led away, the usher called them back into the cloister for an announcement.

  This time everybody knew where Boioannes was; he was standing right in the middle, holding a crumpled piece of paper. His eyes were very wide, and he spoke entirely without expression.

  "I have just been informed by the Chief of Staff," he said, "that the council of delegates representing the officers of our mercenary forces have unilaterally canceled the contract of employment between themselves and the Republic. Their grounds…" He had to repeat the words several times before he could make himself heard again. "Their grounds for so doing are that
they were engaged to fight the Eremians and the Vadani, not the Cure Hardy; and the arrival at our newly established frontier station at Limes Vitae of an emissary from the Aram Chantat bringing a formal declaration of war-"

  It took the ushers several minutes to restore some sort of order.

  "We have pointed out to the council of delegates that, under the penalty clause in the contract, a unilateral breach of this kind entitles us to withhold any and all further payments, in money or kind, including all arrears and agreed bonuses. I have to inform you that the council of delegates accepts that the contract has been forfeited and that they will receive nothing from us, but refuse to change their minds. In short, at noon tomorrow the Republic will no longer have an army, and must look for its defense to its own citizens, at least until some alternative source of manpower can be-"

  They could hear the shouting down in the cells.

  "I can see why he was reprieved," the tall, thin commissioner said to his short, stout colleague. "And reinstated, come to that. Though if you ask me, he shouldn't have been convicted in the first place. After all, what'd he done, except follow orders? It was all there in writing…"

  "Ah yes." The short, stout commissioner nodded wisely and helped himself to cinnamon and grated cheese. "It was all there in the copy in the minute book they found in Boioannes' office when they searched it. What we got shown at the hearing was something quite other. Besides, I don't seem to remember you voting for acquittal. It was unanimous."