Princeps: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “They’ll still fight over the food,” predicted Meinyt.

  “No … they won’t. We’ll take enough men to protect the wagon, and we’ll make everyone line up if they want the bread. We’ll have men every ten yards in each area, and they’ll have orders to stop anyone who tries to steal from those given bread. If they have to kill a thief, so be it.”

  “People won’t like that.”

  “If we don’t do it, then whoever gets food will likely be robbed or end up killing those who try to rob them. Oh … I’ll be with you, and I’ll make an announcement first about how things will work.”

  “That will help … for about a quint,” replied Meinyt.

  “Then I’ll make it again after we make an example of someone, as many times as we have to. I just hope it doesn’t happen too often.”

  “You do have a way of persuading people, sir, “ offered Meinyt, “but still…”

  “I know. It won’t be easy, but it won’t get easier, either, especially if we wait any longer. But if we establish order that way, the Civic Patrol, once it’s back on the streets, shouldn’t have quite so much trouble.”

  “I hear we’ve already gotten more supplies,” said Fhaen. “How did you manage that?”

  “I just told them that Lord Bhayar wouldn’t be very happy if they tried to profit excessively when his ancestral home had been prostrated … and that I’d make sure he knew it, if it came to that.”

  “That won’t make you popular with the High Holders, sir.”

  “No. But I’d rather have them unhappy than have Bhayar being the unhappy one.” Especially now and in his ancestral home.

  Meinyt gave a sardonic laugh. “That’s being caught between lava and a flood.”

  Quaeryt didn’t dispute that.

  26

  In the end, on Samedi morning, Quaeryt decided to take twenty bushels of potatoes along with all the bread that the bakers had turned out and, just in case someone wanted it, two barrels of flour. The column left the post later than Quaeryt had planned, partly because he had to draw out golds for Major Dhaeryn for the Civic Patrol building repairs and go over the notices to the former patrollers with Jhalyt. Even so, it was just before eighth glass before they reached the point on the avenue a mille north of the post gates, where the dwellings began to cluster together—what most would have called the southern edge of the city proper. The two majors and Quaeryt had determined that he and Meinyt and the troops would ride to the south market square first, where they would surround the wagon and then let small numbers of people walk inside the perimeter of mounted troopers to the wagon to get bread … and potatoes, if they wanted them.

  As he rode beside Meinyt, with a company directly behind them, followed by the heavily laden wagon, flanked by men with bare sabres, and then by another company, Quaeryt could see that the sky over Mount Extel was clearer than it had been since he had arrived, and the air was cool, but not chill. The patrols that he had sent out on the previous days appeared to have had some impact, because the sidewalks were largely swept clear of ash, although the occasional puffs of cool wind blew ashes off the slate roofs. There were a few people—invariably men—moving about, if with deliberate caution. Some second-story windows were unshuttered, but most ground-floor shutters remained fastened.

  “How many do you think will come out?” asked Meinyt.

  “Very few to begin with. Then we’re likely to be swamped, and that’s when the trouble will begin.” As a boy in Solis, Quaeryt had seen how mobs behaved … and later as an apprentice quartermaster when his ship had docked in Liantiago during the rice riots there.

  “That’s the way I see it. The men will be ready for anything. Told ’em that things would start slow.”

  A gray-faced woman with stringy hair scuttled along the stone sidewalk, trying to keep pace with Quaeryt, who wondered from where she’d appeared so suddenly. “Food! Food … please, sir!”

  “We’ll be providing bread at the south market square,” Quaeryt called out. “The south market square. If you want food, meet us there!”

  On the other side of the avenue, beyond Meinyt, an old man cackled. “Food … they got food.”

  People began to appear, staying well clear of the armed troopers, but following the column and the wagon toward the square.

  “Word spreads fast,” observed Meinyt.

  “Especially if they think they don’t have to pay for it. That’s why we’re only doing this once. On Lundi, we’ll be selling bread, flour, and potatoes in both the main market square and the south market square at the same prices as before the trouble.”

  “Some folks will be unhappy that it won’t be free,” said Meinyt.

  “Some are always unhappy, and that includes High Holders as well as the poor,” replied Quaeryt dryly. “We’ll give out some bread to women with children, maybe outside the post gates, and from a wagon when we’re selling.” He paused. “Do you think your squad leaders will have trouble keeping it to ten at a time?”

  “There don’t look to be as many as there could be. I told them not to hesitate to use their blades, flat side if they can, edge if they can’t. Can’t let a mob get out of control.”

  More than several hundred people were already waiting when the wagon, surrounded by two companies of armed troopers, pulled into the center of the square.

  As Meinyt supervised the deployment of troopers in a perimeter around the wagon square, Quaeryt rode over to the squad leader in charge of distributing the food. “You set, Squad Leader?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’d like you to pass the word to everyone who gets food. They can buy bread, flour, and potatoes…” Quaeryt repeated what he’d told Meinyt. “We won’t be passing out much free food after today, and they need to know that.”

  “Sir?”

  “We’ll still give some to women with infants, but we can’t feed the whole city, even part of the city. Not for long. We will keep the prices as they were.”

  “Yes, sir. We’ll tell ’em.”

  “Thank you.”

  Making sure his shields were firm, Quaeryt rode out through the troopers on the west side of the square and reined up. Using his imaging, he did his best to project the words he’d already discussed with Meinyt. “We’ll let a few of you at a time past the troopers, and we’ll start with women and children. We’ll start with you.” He pointed toward a woman with two children, one in her arms, and one who clung to her free hand. “No more than ten. No one else gets past here until someone leaves. Every time a person leaves, someone else gets in.”

  Then he rode to the north side, the east, and then the south, delivering the same message, before returning to a position near the wagon, but from where he could observe both those approaching the wagon and those in the square beyond the troopers.

  After watching for more than a quint, Quaeryt was surprised that while groups of men gathered beyond the square, some of them gathering and then separating, there were no efforts to break the perimeter. Nor did any of the men attempt to attack others—not within sight of the troopers. Most people who received food made a show of eating it inside the perimeter, although Quaeryt noted that more than a few women surreptitiously hid bread in their garments. He could also see that almost all the women also accepted the potatoes, and several had bags that they used to take flour.

  The first woman he’d pointed to took her time feeding her children. Quaeryt didn’t see her take a bite herself. He called out. “Squad Leader!”

  “Sir?”

  “Give another loaf to her.” He pointed to the tired-faced woman.

  The woman looked up as one of the rankers vaulted down and extended another loaf to her. Then she looked to Quaeryt. Her face showed nothing, but he thought there might be a brightness to her eyes before she took a bite out of the second loaf. Then, it just might be your imagination.

  Almost a glass and a half passed before Quaeryt noted that people were trying to get back inside the perimeter for seconds. He signaled M
einyt that they needed to move on.

  When the two companies re-formed around the wagon, and the column headed north along the avenue to the main market square, Quaeryt watched several of the men begin to follow. “That crew over there is following us.”

  Meinyt turned and looked. “They know they can’t break the perimeter without taking casualties.”

  “You think they’ll try a diversion.”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Maybe I’ll drop back to ride alongside the wagon.”

  “I’ve already got it flanked, sir.”

  “I know. But it can’t hurt.”

  Quaeryt did slip the half-staff from its leathers, although he couldn’t have said why, as he eased to the west side of the avenue and let the teamster catch up with him before matching his pace to that of the high-sided wagon.

  Immediately north of the south market square, there were only a few people on the streets, and all those appeared to be hurrying away … except for the small group of men on the east side of the avenue who kept pace with the wagon.

  After riding several blocks more toward the center of Extela, Quaeryt saw a group, almost a small crowd, ahead on the west side of the avenue. When they saw the column and the wagon, they began to cry out.

  “Food! We need food!”

  “All the food is gone…”

  “Food…”

  As he rode closer, he saw that the group looked to be composed entirely of women, many with scarves covering their hair and faces, especially those at the sides and rear of the crowd. Quaeryt frowned. He hadn’t seen women crowded together so closely in Extela. Still … he’d only ridden the streets less than a handful of times.

  “Please … food…”

  “We’re starving…”

  He looked at the thronging women again. Only the ones in front had their heads uncovered, and most of them were young … and relatively attractive. They didn’t look to be starving, unlike the gaunt older women who had trudged into the south market square, or even the tired-looking women with babes in arms who had taken bread and seated themselves on the stones and fed their children right in the square.

  “Please … kind sir,” begged a young woman, barely more than a girl, for all of the cleavage she let show as she turned to face the approaching governor.

  Quaeryt glanced away from her toward the women with covered faces and hair, then immediately called out, “Arms ready!” He knew that the troopers already had their sabres out, but he didn’t know the short command to alert them to an imminent attack.

  Abruptly, the younger women dropped back, and the hooded “women” rushed toward the wagon and the troopers. There were also shouts on the other side of the avenue, but Quaeryt barely had time to bring down his staff on the sword arm of a burly man whose hood had fallen back as he rushed toward the ranker in front of Quaeryt. The ranker was already dealing with another attacker and didn’t see or sense the second man.

  Then an impact triggered his shields, and he turned in his saddle to strike at another assailant. No more than had he slammed the half-staff across the man’s forearm, dislodging the blade, than both the women and the attackers fled down an alleyway less than three yards away. Quaeryt thought that the second attacker he’d struck was cradling an injured arm.

  Abruptly, the avenue was empty except for the troopers and their equipment … and two women lying half on the sidewalk and half on the west side of the avenue and two men facedown on the street, one in a pool of blood.

  Quaeryt rode around the rear of the wagon, slowed to almost a halt, to see another body on the stone pavement, and two troopers tying up a man with slashes on his arms and blood running from his scalp.

  The dead man on the pavement wore a stylish and tight-fitting silk jacket. Quaeryt couldn’t help but stare for a moment, then looked up as Meinyt rode up.

  Quaeryt pointed to the dead man. “Quite a coat.”

  “Pimp’s jacket,” said Meinyt. “Haven’t seen one of those in years.”

  “That can’t be why they put the women up to it. I can’t believe that they were starving.”

  “Most likely they weren’t. I wager they thought there was coin in the wagon.”

  “Why?”

  “Sometimes, when times were hard, the governors in some provinces would toss coppers and silvers along with the bread. You looked like you might be doing the same thing. The whole city probably knows you recovered the treasury.”

  “Do you think they’ll try again?”

  “You never know. I doubt it. They got close enough to the wagon to see that the barrel was a flour barrel, not one filled with coppers.”

  Quaeryt had never thought about the fact that someone would think he was going to toss coins to the crowds. He shook his head. “Toss the wounded one in the wagon for now.” Glancing back, he could see that one of the fallen women had either gotten away or been dragged off. The other one’s head was twisted at an odd angle that indicated she was dead. “Put the dead woman in the wagon. Leave the dead men.”

  “You heard the governor,” said Meinyt, adding in a lower voice, “Good idea. The men’s bodies will remind them.”

  Neither mentioned the fact that they didn’t want to leave a dead woman, especially a young one, lying on the street.

  While a few people watched from windows, no one approached the column or the wagon closely for the rest of the way to the main market square … or even immediately after Meinyt stationed the troopers into a tight perimeter around the wagon.

  Given the momentary quiet, Quaeryt rode to the wagon to see what he could discover from the wounded captive, who, he noted, wore a tight-fitting jacket similar to that of one of the dead men.

  “Who ordered the attack?” asked Quaeryt.

  “Frig you,” muttered the captive.

  The ranker holding the man’s left arm twisted it. The captive winced, but didn’t speak.

  “He won’t say anything,” said Meinyt, who had just reined up. “If he does, the others will kill him, and it won’t be pleasant.”

  Quaeryt smiled coldly. “Then I think we should carry him outside the perimeter, cut him free, and thank him very publicly.”

  The wounded man swallowed.

  “Of course, if he has something to say, we could take him back to the post, lock him up for a time, and then let him go some night.”

  “… tell you … not here.”

  “We’ll have to take him back, then,” Quaeryt said.

  “FRIG YOU!” screamed the captive, winking as he did.

  Quaeryt didn’t like it, but he understood. He also hadn’t said where he’d release the captive. He nodded to the ranker holding the captive, then turned the mare and rode out near the perimeter, where, now that a few older women had gathered, he made the same statement he had at the southern market square.

  After a slow beginning, the process of handing out bread and potatoes in the main market square went almost in the same fashion as it had at the south square, with the exception that not nearly so many men stood around looking on. Of the few handfuls who did, Quaeryt wondered how many, if any, had been in disguise in the group that had been part of the diversion in the attempted attack on the wagon. Were they looking for another opportunity … or waiting to see what happened to the captive?

  In the end, though, the men drifted away, except for one, who kept looking at the wagon where the captive sat, trussed up.

  After another glass and two quints, Quaeryt ordered Meinyt to re-form the column and head back to the post. While several handfuls of people watched them ride back southward, no one approached, and no one begged.

  The first thing that Quaeryt noticed when he entered the courtyard of the post was that the anomen was unlocked, the ancient oak doors had been oiled, and the brasswork polished … and that Vaelora stood by the door, smiling, along with three rankers. Her riding clothes were smudged and stained in places.

  Quaeryt rode across the courtyard and dismounted, then tied the mare to one of the
ancient hitching rings.

  The rankers eased away.

  “I see you’ve been busy.”

  “They did most of the work, but I knew what had to be done and how to do it.”

  Quaeryt raised his eyebrows.

  “Did you think that Father would train his son and not train his daughters?”

  “But why?” Quaeryt’s voice held far more exasperation than curiosity.

  “I can explain … I can…”

  At that point both Heireg and Commander Zhrensyl strode quickly across the courtyard toward the two of them.

  “Governor!” called Zhrensyl. “The rest of your regiment will be here by fourth glass.”

  “I’ve got the cooks ready to feed them. Do you know how many?” asked Heireg.

  “The entire regiment is four battalions of four companies each, with an extra company of engineers. All the battalions are mounted.”

  “No archers?” Zhrensyl’s eyebrows lifted. “No foot?”

  “Governor Straesyr’s predecessor in Tilbor only had a company of archers. They were dispatched to Lord Bhayar with the first regiment to leave Tilbor. Another two companies are being trained, but they weren’t ready. They’ll come with the next regiment. The northern regiments don’t have foot.”

  “The next regiment? I thought there was only one regiment in Tilbor, two at the most. How many were there in Tilbor?”

  Abruptly, Quaeryt realized that Zhrensyl wouldn’t have known, because Commander Myskyl had taken the southern route to Ferravyl, and there was no reason for Bhayar to have circulated what had actually happened in Tilbor. “Governor Rescalyn had been expanding the regiment there in order to train more recruits. That was because of the possibility of trouble with Bovaria.” All of that was true, if not quite in that context. “Governor Straesyr has been continuing that effort.”

  “You’d think they’d let us know.”

  “It could be that Lord Bhayar didn’t want Rex Kharst to know until the men were trained and battle-ready. He certainly never explained his reasons to me.”

  Zhrensyl shook his head. “Don’t know what this world’s coming to, Governor.” He smiled. “But we’ll do our best.”