by K. J. Parker
‘Oh. Are you a doctor, then?’
‘What do you mean, am I a doctor? Dammit, Temrai, I was your doctor before you were even born.’
Temrai smiled weakly. ‘Just kidding,’ he said.
‘Like hell you were,’ the doctor replied. ‘Did you get bashed on the head during the battle?’
‘Can’t remember.’
‘Well no, quite possibly you don’t. It’s my fault, I should have examined you more thoroughly. Feel sick at all? Headache, lights flashing in front of your eyes?’
‘You think I’ve lost my memory,’ Temrai said.
‘Bits of it,’ the doctor said. ‘It happens that way sometimes.’
Temrai smiled, and the smile widened into a broad grin. ‘If only,’ he said cheerfully. ‘If only.’
Poliorcis the diplomat shivered and wiped rain out of his eyes with the back of his hand.
‘Are we nearly there yet?’ he asked. The carter grunted without looking round. The rain was dripping in soft, fat drops off the broad brim of his leather hat. He didn’t seem to be aware of it. Quite probably, by his standards, this constituted a sunny day.
Usually Poliorcis trusted his sense of direction, a valuable attribute for a man who spent so much of his time travelling in unfamiliar places. On this occasion, however, he was completely lost. The route the carter was taking was completely different from the one Gorgas Loredan had taken; either because Gorgas had been showing him the scenic route, or because Gorgas wasn’t aware of the short cut. He’d also lost track of time, which was most unlike him. He put it down to the effect this country had on him. It reminded him rather of swimming in the lagoon off Ap’ Sendaves; floating on his back in still water, gradually ceasing to be aware of his body, of anything around him, until he was nothing but a consciousness without context, an awareness with nothing to be aware of. That had been a bizarre feeling but a pleasant one. The Mesoge, in his opinion, certainly wasn’t pleasant, and it didn’t strike him as interesting enough to be bizarre; but it left him feeling disorientated in much the same way.
He even felt too bemused to rehearse what he was going to say, or run through in his mind the arguments he was going to use. That was unfortunate – he felt more uneasy about this meeting than any number of far more important negotiations he’d been involved in – but the harder he tried to pull himself together, the more his mind wanted to wander. If it wasn’t for the rain he could close his eyes and get some sleep; but nothing helps you stay awake better than the feeling of rainwater seeping under your collar and down your back. He pulled the sodden wreckage of his own hat a little further down and gave up trying to think; instead he gazed sullenly at the wet green all around him, the hedges dripping rain, the pools of brown water filling the wheel-ruts in the track ahead, the leaves of the docks and ferns glistening. The air was moist and tickled his throat, and he was painfully cold.
Must be easier ways of making a living, he muttered to himself, a man of my age. It was ridiculous for one of the provincial office’s senior departmental negotiators to be squelching and bumping along in a carrier’s cart in the rain, risking pneumonia and pleurisy at the very least, on his way to try to reason with a lunatic who had no official standing, whose authority wasn’t even recognised by the Empire, in order to secure the person of a minor troublemaker who’d happened to be taken up and turned into some kind of popular hero by a bunch of malcontents who probably wouldn’t recognise him if he was sitting at their kitchen table.
The cart had stopped. He lifted his head and looked up, but all he could see was rain.
The carter didn’t move. ‘Stay here,’ Poliorcis said. ‘I’ll need you to take me back to Tornoys.’
He started to ease himself down off the cart, but with a movement faster than anything he’d have imagined the man was capable of, the carter grabbed him by the elbow.
‘Two quarters,’ he said.
Poliorcis nodded and burrowed about in his drenched sleeve for the money. ‘Stay there,’ he repeated, and tried to reach the ground with his feet. He was too high up; but the hem of his robe caught in something, and he ended up kneeling in the mud. ‘Stay there,’ he said, one more time; then he got up, muddying his hands in the process, and headed for the gate he could just make out through the rain. While he was grappling with the catch (which was rusted up – presumably Gorgas and his brothers clambered over, and never bothered opening the thing; that would explain why it sagged so desperately on its one good hinge and the tangle of coarse hemp twine that did service for the other one) he heard the reins crack behind him, and the sound of wheels slowly rolling through a puddle.
The farmhouse door was open, but there didn’t seem to be anybody about. ‘Hello?’ he called out. Nobody answered. He stood for a moment, watching rain drip off him and on to the stone flags, then decided that this simply wouldn’t do. He might not be a Son of Heaven, but he represented the Empire; the Empire doesn’t stand dripping in doorways, it marches in and puts its feet up on the furniture.
At least it was dry inside the house, and what remained of the fire gave off a little warmth. He parked himself in the chimney corner, still wrapped up in his travelling coat, which was now three parts water to one part cloth. The settle was more comfortable than it looked. He let his head rest against the back and closed his eyes.
He woke up to find Gorgas Loredan leaning over him, a slightly scornful expression on his face. ‘You should have let us know you were coming,’ he was saying, ‘I’d have sent a carriage for you.’
‘Doesn’t matter, really,’ said Poliorcis, who’d just realised that he’d woken up with a splitting headache. ‘I’m here now.’
‘Good.’ Gorgas Loredan sat down next to him on the settle, so close that he had to budge along a little to avoid being in contact with him. ‘In that case we can cut the small talk and get down to business. I assume you’re here to make me an offer.’
‘Well, yes,’ Poliorcis mumbled. ‘And no.’ His mind was foggy and furred up, and he couldn’t remember a single one of the principal bargaining positions he’d been working on over the last few days. ‘It’s more a case of asking what you want from us. I think you’ll find we’re willing to consider any reasonable proposals.’
Gorgas sighed and shook his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I must have misunderstood. You see, I was under the impression that we were going to work this thing out together in a constructive and sensible fashion, instead of playing games. Goodbye.’
‘I see.’ Poliorcis stayed exactly where he was. ‘After I’ve come all this way, you’re throwing me out.’
‘I’d never dream of being so rude,’ Gorgas replied. ‘Still, since you don’t appear to have anything to say to me, I must confess I can’t see any point in your being here; and since you’ve already seen all the sights, and our climate doesn’t seem to agree with you—’
‘All right.’ Poliorcis had an unhappy feeling that he’d given away the initiative in the negotiations before they’d even begun, and had no real chance of getting it back. ‘Here’s a firm offer, no ambiguities at all. Money: how much will you take for your prisoner?’
Gorgas laughed. ‘Please,’ he said, ‘let’s at least pretend to respect each other. You’ve seen the Mesoge; what possible use would money be to me in a place like this?’
Just outside the back door, a dog was barking furiously. The noise picked at the pain in Poliorcis’ head like fingers plucking harpstrings. ‘Very well then,’ he said. ‘Not money. What else? Something we have, presumably, that you need. Tools? Weapons? Raw materials?’
Gorgas shook his head. ‘You’re making fun of me,’ he said. ‘Personally, I don’t regard that as very diplomatic. Tell me, do you really despise us that much? Do you really think we’re nothing but bandits and thieves, little better than the gangs who go around fishing through open windows with a hook on the end of a pole? I thought you’d have understood, when I took the trouble to show you; we’re farmers, peaceful people who want to make friends with ou
r neighbours. Show us just a little respect and I’ll give you your damned rebel for free.’
‘You’re talking about the alliance,’ Poliorcis said. ‘I can only say that I’m extremely sorry, but the provincial office feels that a formal alliance at this time would be inappropriate.’
‘Inappropriate.’
Poliorcis felt as if he was slowly sinking up to his knees in mud. ‘I’d just like to point out,’ he said, ‘that what you’re asking is entirely without precedent. We have no formal alliances with anybody; not Shastel or the Island or Colleon. Please try to understand our concerns; if we made an alliance with you, what sort of message would that send to them, after we’ve turned down overtures from all of them? Quite simply, it’s not the way we do things.’
‘All right.’ Gorgas yawned. ‘If there’s one thing I pride myself on, it’s flexibility. Flexibility, realism, always look for the deal that’s good for both sides. Now, you’re telling me the Empire doesn’t have any allies, and I’m sure you’d never lie about a thing like that. Well then, we’ll forget all about an alliance, and I’ll tell you straight exactly what’s in my mind. The truth is, whether or not we’re formal allies, all I want is for you, the provincial office, to give me a chance to do something I need to do; you think about it and tell me if you can see a way it can be done. After all, you’re the diplomat; I’m just a soldier and a farmer and I’m really out of my depth here. I need to pay off an old debt – no, that’s not it. I need to set right a really bad thing I did once. You see, I made it possible for Temrai to sack Perimadeia. Does that shock you?’
Poliorcis looked at him. ‘I know,’ he said.
‘Oh.’ Gorgas sat still, expressionless. ‘What do you think about that?’
‘I don’t,’ Poliorcis replied. ‘That is, I know why you did it, what your reasons were; it was because your sister owed a lot of money to rich individuals in Perimadeia, and she knew she could never pay them back. It was a business decision. Now, I can give an opinion as to whether that was wise or unwise from a commercial point of view, but if you’re expecting me to say whether I think what you did was right or wrong, I’m afraid I can’t. I don’t think in those terms; it’s as if I was colour-blind and you wanted my opinion about a certain shade of green. So,’ he went on, ‘what has that got to do with us?’
Gorgas breathed out, rubbed his chin. ‘I suppose I’m the one who’s shocked,’ he said. ‘I’m not colour-blind, as you put it. I can see that what I did was terribly wrong. I knew my brother was fighting for the City; I ruined his life and nearly got him killed. That’s what I’ve got to put right. I have to kill Temrai and destroy the plains tribes, fighting side by side with him, paying my debt. Can you see that? Even you must be able to see that. Now, I don’t care what my official standing is, I just need to be there and to do my share, otherwise I won’t be able to live with myself. Because of what I did, I’m already responsible for the death of my own son; I owe it to him as well. Can you see how simple and straightforward this all is?’
Poliorcis thought for a while. ‘One thing I’m sure about,’ he said, ‘you’re an interesting man. And if there’s one thing the Sons of Heaven are interested in, it’s interesting people. But let’s think this through, shall we? With all due respect, we already have all the military resources we need. When we first met, you were talking about archers, how we don’t have enough. The fact is, we do. We have whole nations of archers in the Empire – longbow, short recurve, long recurve, horse archers, crossbowmen, you name it. Our factories can deliver twenty thousand bows and two hundred thousand arrows a week, all made to specification, identical, though the factories might be a thousand miles apart. So really, we don’t need any more archers. Now, you’ve told me why you feel you need to fight this war. Let me tell you why we’re fighting it. We have more regular full-time soldiers than there are men, women and children in all of Shastel and the Island and Colleon and Perimadeia and all the other places you’ve ever heard of put together. We built that army so that nobody – nobody – could ever be a threat to us. Between the Sons of Heaven and the remotest possibility of danger there’s a wall of steel and muscle so thick that nothing on earth could ever break through it. If the ground suddenly opened and swallowed our homeland up, we could fill the hole with human bodies and rebuild our homes on top of them. No, we make war because we need to find our army something to do, to keep them from getting bored and restive and out of shape; so you see, we really don’t want anybody else fighting our battles for us – it’d defeat the whole object of the exercise. I’m sorry, but there it is. I can’t help you.’
Gorgas nodded slowly, as if he’d just had a difficult calculation explained to him. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘And sooner or later you’ll come here, walking the dog, so to speak; and it’d be embarrassing for you to be seen to pick a fight with people you once treated as friends and allies. That’s sound enough reasoning, I can accept that. But it doesn’t solve my problem. Poliorcis, I’m asking you because you’re the expert: how can we arrange it so that you get what you want, this pirate of yours, and I get what I need? There has to be a way. All we’ve got to do is figure out what it is.’
Poliorcis frowned. ‘I must say,’ he said, ‘you’re dealing with the news of your impending conquest and subjugation very well. Most people would probably have got angry, or frightened.’
‘Pointless,’ Gorgas said. ‘You weren’t telling me anything I didn’t know. It’s obvious enough; you said it yourself, that’s one of the reasons I wanted the alliance. But you’re too smart for me, and I accept that; there’s still no reason why we can’t put our heads together and find a way of making the inevitable a little bit less painful than it’ll otherwise be. Flexibility. Realism. That’s what it’s all about.’ He bit his lip, then clapped his hands together so loudly that Poliorcis jumped. ‘I know,’ Gorgas went on. ‘I know exactly what we can do. I hereby surrender the Mesoge to the Empire, and throw myself and my people on your mercy.’ He smiled beautifully. ‘And as a gesture of goodwill, it’d be really appreciated if we could take our place as auxiliary soldiers in your expeditionary force against Temrai. There, doesn’t that cover everything beautifully?’
It had been a long time since Poliorcis had been shocked by anything, and he wasn’t sure he remembered how to deal with it. ‘You’re joking,’ he said.
Gorgas shook his head. ‘No, I’m not,’ he said. ‘I’m practising what I preach. I’m sparing my people the horrors of a war we could never hope to win, and getting to pay my debt off at the same time. If you want me to abdicate, I will – well, look, you can see for yourself, I’m not exactly comfortable as a military dictator. All I want to do once I’ve settled that old score is to live here and work my farm; I’m sure the provincial office won’t mind me doing that. Now then, you think of the advantages; think of Tornoys and the Mesoge as a base for your conquests in this region, how much easier it’ll make it to pick off the neighbouring states one by one. Think of what it’ll mean to you personally – you came here to get a rebel, you succeed, and you take home a new province for the Empire into the bargain. Can you possibly imagine a better outcome? Well?’
It was the enthusiasm, above all; the waggy-tailed-dog boisterousness of the man. It was almost more than Poliorcis could bear. But, ‘No,’ he replied, ‘I can’t say that I can. Well, you’ve certainly given me a lot to think about. Will it be all right if I rest here tonight and start for home in the morning?’
Gorgas gave him a smile as big and bright as sunrise. ‘Whatever you say,’ he replied. ‘After all, you’re the boss.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
They woke Temrai up in the middle of the night to tell him the news. The messenger had ridden all the way from the battlefield to the camp beside Perimadeia; he was exhausted, and his boots were full of blood from the halberd cut in his groin. Chances were he’d be dead by morning.
Temrai woke up in a panic, grabbing wildly at the covers and wrenching his damaged knee. They told him it was
all right, there was nothing to worry about; then they brought in the messenger, all bloody, hanging off the shoulders of two men. Temrai was still groggy with sleep and shocked by the pain in his leg, and he couldn’t quite make out everything the dying man was saying; he heard words like ambush and seventy per cent casualties and driven back in disorder and hit again before they could regroup. It was only when Kurrai started chattering excitedly about making the most of the opportunity and following up with a massive counter-attack that Temrai realised he’d just been told about a substantial victory, not a catastrophic defeat.
‘We won,’ he mumbled. ‘I’ll be damned. So how did that happen?’
By this time the messenger had passed out; they took him away and wrapped him in blankets, and he died just after dawn. Instead, Temrai heard the story from Kurrai, with the added benefit of the general’s strategic and tactical insights.
It had all started when the Imperial army, carefully mopping up after their victory in which Temrai had been hurt, stumbled across a small party of plains renegades who’d been running from Temrai’s men ever since their side had lost the civil war. To the provincial office, however, plainsmen were plainsmen. Their cavalry chased the renegades, pinned them down in a high-sided canyon and sent for substantial infantry reinforcements.
It was hot and dusty; there was water in the bottom of the canyon, where the renegades were, but not higher up, where the Imperial stakeout was settling in. The messenger sent to the Imperial field HQ made a point of stressing the urgency, and a column of just under two thousand men, led by a Son of Heaven, set out the same day.
Their own remarkable stamina and fitness caught them out. If they’d been slower, or not following the optimum route, it’s unlikely that they’d have run into Temrai’s reserve mounted infantry, who’d broken, run and been cut off from the rest of the army at an early stage in the first battle and had only just managed to find their way out of Imperial territory. The two forces coincided in a valley between a forest and a river, and purely by chance the plainsmen found themselves in a position that gave them an overwhelming tactical advantage. The Imperial infantry were hemmed in by the river, which was in spate and impassable; a bend in the river closed off one of the plainsmen’s flanks, the forest masked the other. The Imperial commander was left with a choice between sitting still and being pecked to death by hit-and-run attacks from the enemy archers or mounting a direct frontal assault against volley fire. Basing his decision on the superior quality of his men’s armour, he opted for the assault.