The Folding Knife Part 35

A longer pause, and the intensity of the silence made the members nervous. Then he resumed his address. It had come to his attention, he said, that over the last few days, when he had been concentrating all his time and energy on the Voroe crisis and had therefore (much to his regret) not been able to attend sessions of the House, there had been a number of misguided attempts to pa.s.s illegal legislation. He found this difficult to believe. His isolation, made necessary by the requirements of absolute security, had not been of his choosing; it would sadden and disappoint him if he thought that members of the House had tried to exploit a national emergency for party political ends. The Attorney General had advised him that it was his duty to take legal action against those members who had proposed the illegal motions; the law on such breaches of privilege, he was informed, was very clear and gave him no choice but to pursue the offenders and press for the maximum penalty, death by hanging. However, he believed (if he was in error, no doubt the House would put him straight) that his prerogative powers allowed him to pardon those responsible; accordingly, before attending the current session, he had done so. Signing the necessary warrants had made him late for the session, and he apologised to the House for this discourtesy.

Finally (he went on), it was his unpleasant duty to inform the House that, in order to pay for the Voroe expedition, he would be obliged to levy a subsidy tax, in order to raise the sum of two million nomismata. This sum he had personally advanced to pay the costs of the expedition, there being no time to raise the money from the Treasury through the proper channels. As always, it was his privilege and honour to serve the state in any way he could; however, the loan of such a sum had put a degree of pressure on the legally required reserves of the Bank of Charity & Social Justice, whose stability was of vital importance to the Republic at this time. Accordingly, the tax would be levied in the first instance through the banking system, the sums due being taken direct from the accounts of all corporations and individuals with a registered net worth in excess of fifty thousand nomismata. The necessary mandates had already been drawn up, and were being executed even as he spoke. There would, of course, be an appeals procedure, should any person or corporation believe he had been excessively taxed, all appeals to be heard once the emergency powers relating to the Mavortine emergency had expired.

It only remained (he said) for him to propose a vote of thanks to Gnatho and the officers and men of the fleet in recognition of the value of their service to the Republic, and accordingly he commended the motion to the House.

"Well?" she asked him. "Did we actually win, or...?"

"Just about." He was having trouble unbuckling his left shoe; he was using his left hand, which didn't work, because he was too tired to move so he could use his right. "I haven't had time to read the report properly, but it looks like they'd have taken us apart if it wasn't for the artillery. I don't know how long it'll take the Imperials to upgrade theirs, but when they do, we're in trouble." He shook the shoe off his foot. It shot under the bed, and she retrieved it.

"That's bad," she said.

"Tomorrow's disaster," he said. "Don't have to think about it today. If the Empire was all I had to worry about, I'd be a happy man."

She frowned. "But everything's sorted out, isn't it? You'll get the money back, from the tax."

Ba.s.so laughed. "You know what," he said, "that's just a drop in the ocean. There's no money, not anywhere." He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. "Fact is," he said, "the Empire's beaten us just by launching its b.l.o.o.d.y fleet. I was relying on a two-million tax as a last reserve. Now I've had to use it to cover a naval battle I didn't want and can't afford, which hasn't done anybody the slightest bit of good, and my last-ditch rainy-day money's gone for ever. There's an enormous hole in the Treasury, the Bank's this close to going under; if they start production in the mines a couple of days later than scheduled, we're quite probably screwed. And Aelius is in the forest, costing me a fortune, probably going to get himself killed, and then what?" He breathed out, long and slow. "Truth is, I've been stealing from myself for months, just to keep things going. It'll be all right, I kept telling myself, the mines'll cover it, all I need to do is fool people for a few weeks until the ore starts flowing."

"But what's gone wrong with the Bank?" she asked.

"Oh, that. Simple. I ran out of public money-that's real money, not pretend-so I started spending my own. Well, the Bank's. Of course, most of the Bank's money isn't mine, it belongs to the investors. But it was there, and I needed it, and I was writing myself little bits of paper promising to pay myself back. My brilliant idea about paper money was the point where it got out of control. Fifty thousand to pay the corn merchants? Easy, just give them a bit of paper. We can't be bankrupt, I told myself, we've still got reams and reams of paper and gallons of ink." He coughed and caught his breath. "I blame Antigonus," he said. "He had no call to die just when I needed him."

He could feel her looking at him, but avoided her eye. "It can't be that bad," she said.

"Don't you believe it." He stretched out his legs, until he felt strain in his kneecaps. "I've never been one to let lack of money keep me from buying something I want, even in the best of times. Something always happens, and it sorts itself out. I used to think I had drive and vision and a big perspective, and details were for the little people to deal with. Maybe this time I've gone just a little bit too far."

She was still looking at him. "You can't go on like that," she said. "You've got to do something about it."

"Too late." He grinned. "Just got to hang on tight and hope it'll clear itself. In theory, it should. Mavortis is one great big stockpile of valuable materials: metals, timber. If we could have wrapped this war up in half the time, like I thought we would, there'd have been no problem. But as it is, we're stuck."

"If Aelius wins..."

"If," Ba.s.so repeated. "But yes, if he wins, and the insurgency's sufficiently squashed so we can mine in peace, I can probably lie and fiddle and b.u.g.g.e.r around long enough to see us right, more or less; we'll be no better off than if we'd never heard of Mavortis, but at least we won't be completely ruined. If Aelius loses..."

"You're not really worried about the money, are you?"

"No, of course not." He sat up slowly, like someone who's just woken up and doesn't want to go to work. "The thing is, under normal circ.u.mstances I'd be concentrating. I'd be taking a b.l.o.o.d.y interest. As it is, I can't really be bothered with the Republic and the Bank, my mind's not on the job. Which is the real reason it's all got into such a mess. My fault."

"He'll be all right," she said. "You'll see."

That just made Ba.s.so angry. He twisted off the bed, stalked to the door, stopped and turned back; a lion in a cage, in majestic possession of seven paces, ridiculous and sad. "The crazy part of it is," he said, "I chose to do it. I made a conscious decision to put the only human being I love on this earth in mortal danger. Seemed like a good idea at the time. For all I know, he's already dead, in the forest somewhere, with crows picking at his eyes. Of all the b.l.o.o.d.y stupid things."

She didn't say anything (because she agreed with him). He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand, as if everything he'd done was an itch he could scratch away.

The Cardinal of Auxentia wrote him a nice letter congratulating him on the victory. It took him a moment or so to remember who the Cardinal was. Then he remembered: the fat man who'd sat on the throne when he lost the election. Well, he thought. Esteem from such a source is esteem indeed.

Tragazes was most anxious to speak to him. He guessed why, and wasn't available. It occurred to him that hiding from his own employee was hardly the action of a rational man; a bit like lying to himself. Well.

News from Mavortis; from one of the Bank's messengers, just returned. Nothing concrete, but as he'd skirted the southern edge of the forest on his way back to the coast, he'd seen movement and heard shouting, deep inside. He'd stopped (brave man, Ba.s.so thought) and tried to peer between the trees, but he couldn't make anything out. Could've been fighting; could've been a boar-hunt or, just possibly, children playing. He'd hung around as long as he dared, but n.o.body came out. Meanwhile, the soldiers in several of the forts where he'd stopped to change horses were complaining about shortages of food and essential equipment; they were having to clean their armour with gravel, because they hadn't had a delivery of white sand for a month, and the special twine for tying feathers to arrow-shafts was just about to run out. Also, they hadn't been paid for six weeks, not even in paper. They a.s.sumed it was just an administrative c.o.c.k-up, and could he please mention it when he got home?

Other news. An outbreak of plague in southern Permia (see map). An entire city wiped out. He saw map, then initialled the bottom of the page, to show he'd read it.

News from Voroe. The fleet had been patched up and was on the point of sailing home when a freak storm hit the bay. Half the s.h.i.+ps slipped their moorings and were blown out to sea; captured Imperial vessels stayed afloat, Vesani s.h.i.+ps capsized. Only seven s.h.i.+ps sunk, a small miracle, but the whole wretched job of patching up had to be done again. More supplies, more money.

News from Flobis. The Imperial fleet had returned to port and left again almost immediately, to deal with a resurgence of piracy at the other end of the Middle Sea. Hunting pirates (a species misguidedly believed to be extinct) was slow work along the split, frayed edges of the Sea, but it was vital to the security of the Empire's internal trade, and therefore a much higher priority than dealing with the rebel barbarians in the far west.

News from the north. A new warlord had arisen among the Hus, uniting six of the fifteen tribes with a view to conquering the world. This sort of thing happened from time to time. In all probability, the nomad messiah would be murdered by his family and friends; if not, there would be a short, exceptionally b.l.o.o.d.y civil war, the Hus would temporarily unite and the civilised world would be at risk of wholesale invasion. Recommended that large sums of money be sent to the leaders of the other nine tribes to enable them to bribe the new warlord's followers into getting rid of him. A good idea, but not possible at this time.

News from the exchanges. Following the announcement that no orders for new wars.h.i.+ps to replace those lost at Voroe were to be placed, the value of shares in the Severus yard, recently floated by its new owners, lost half their value in a single day. Further substantial losses in all sectors, including military supplies and hardware. Rumours about the status of all the major banks, leading to panic withdrawals, short-selling of bank stocks, securities and loans. A statement from the Chancellor failed to halt the slide. Government stocks being traded at up to ten per cent below surrender value. The last item made Ba.s.so smile; he wrote himself a letter of credit for a hundred thousand nomismata and used the money to buy government stock in the market, which he then redeemed at face value, accepting payment in paper money rather than gold. He lent the ten-thousand-nomismata profit to the government, and used the loan to pay a corn chandler's bill. His intervention halted the run on government stock, which soon afterwards was being traded at fifteen per cent over nominal, and restored confidence in the paper money, which some traders had been refusing to accept.

A by-election in one of the east-side wards; Hortius Columella dropped dead of a heart attack after eating too much salted Blemmyan salmon. Columella's ward, primarily rope-making, cloth-dyeing and financial services, had been marginal, and the Optimates made a frantic bid to secure it, spending over twelve thousand nomismata in the three days of hustings on bribes and sweeteners to the ward marshals, guild officers and other leaders of opinion. In the event, Ba.s.so's candidate was elected with a slightly increased majority.

News from Mavortis: none.

From the Imperial governor at Droesen to Segimerus; intercepted, edited, revised, copied out and forwarded.

... A disappointment, but hardly a setback. The most troublesome outcome has been the resurgence in piracy in the Middle Sea. As far as we can gather, the pirates are aware of and have taken seriously the claims made by the Vesani government regarding our losses in the engagement. This has led them to believe that our naval forces are weak and depleted. It will not take us long to convince them of their mistake; at which time, we shall launch a new expedition and recover Voroe for the Empire.

I confess I am disappointed to learn that you have so far failed to establish contact with the leaders of the insurgency. I feel I might be forgiven for imagining a certain want of energy on your part. It is essential that we form some kind of alliance with these people as soon as possible. Once we hold Voroe, we will be in a position to furnish them with arms and war materiel, military advisers and, if necessary, ground troops. Naturally, our aim must be to coordinate our efforts with them, so as to force the Vesani to fight on at least two fronts simultaneously. My understanding is that once the Cazar hunting and transhumance seasons are over, the Vesani will be in a position to recruit substantial additional numbers of Cazar mercenaries. We must therefore see to it that the field army in Mavortis is destroyed before this can happen. Our researches lead us to believe that should the Cazar forces currently contracted to the Vesani suffer significant losses, their countrymen will not enlist, no matter how great the promised rewards.

There are also political aspects to the timing of the Vesani defeat. The First Citizen's term of office has six months to run. It is considered essential that Ba.s.sia.n.u.s Severus should not be re-elected. Ma.s.sive defeat in Mavortis, followed by a refusal of the remaining Cazars to enlist, should be enough to ensure his fall. As we understand it, his popularity with the electorate is still high, enough to ensure a comfortable victory; he is seen as the champion of the ordinary people against the moneyed interests, and his enfranchis.e.m.e.nts of resident aliens have given him a solid const.i.tuency in wards that would otherwise have been marginal. Of the looming financial crisis, the Vesani electorate know little and understand less; it would be a relatively simple matter for Ba.s.sia.n.u.s Severus to present himself as the only man capable of dealing with the economic crisis, when it comes, and strengthen rather than weaken his political position. The crucial factor will be the development of the Mavortine mines. If Ba.s.sia.n.u.s Severus is able to start production before the election, he is likely to win.

You must, therefore, spare no effort in forming a connection with the insurgents. Once you have done so, you must promise them extensive military aid-please feel free to promise them anything they want-and make it clear to them that the Empire has no ambitions in Mavortis, its only interest being the swift and total defeat of the Vesani. As soon as you have done this, refer back to me immediately. I will then furnish you with a timetable and a summary of our proposed strategy.

You should also offer a personal bounty-say, one hundred thousand hyperpyra each-for the heads of General Aelius and the First Citizen's nephew, Ba.s.sia.n.u.s Licinius. The removal of Aelius will undoubtedly hasten victory, while the death of his nephew will seriously affect Ba.s.sia.n.u.s Severus' ability to govern his people. This should be a perfectly straightforward matter to arrange, and will greatly facilitate our aims in this region.

"It's infuriating that we can't publish it," Sentio said. "Particularly the bit about getting rid of you being essential to their plans. It'd give you the election on a plate."

"Maybe later," Ba.s.so said. "Once Aelius is back from the forest. Right now, I daren't let Segimerus know we're on to him." He grinned. "Ridiculous thing," he said. "After Aelius, Segimerus is the most valuable a.s.set we've got against the Empire. If we lose him, we're screwed."

Cinio said: "I don't like that bit about the looming financial crisis. If they know we're up against it..."

But Ba.s.so shook his head. "The Empire probably knows more about the finances of the Republic than I do," he said. "There never was any chance of keeping our business affairs secret from them. What I'd love to be able to do is find out who their agents are, so we could channel disinformation through them, like we're doing with Segimerus and the war. So far, though, I haven't been able to; killed a couple and scared off half a dozen more, but that's not the same thing." Ba.s.so folded the letter and put it in the steel box on his desk. "One thing that did cheer me up," he said. "They reckon I'm going to win the election. Coming from them, that's a real vote of confidence."

And finally, brought in on a grain s.h.i.+p returning from Voroe (held up in port for a week by bad weather and the logjam of crippled wars.h.i.+ps), a letter. Official military dispatches. News from Mavortis.

Sixteen.

From Ba.s.sano: From: Ba.s.sia.n.u.s Licinius, with the army in Mavortis To: Ba.s.sia.n.u.s Severus I've been trying to decide what order to tell you this in.

Aelius is dead.

We won.

These are supposed to be military dispatches. I'm sorry, I don't know the rules. Besides, my head isn't working properly. Forgive the unmilitary language and structure.

We have sought out and engaged the enemy. After fierce and protracted fighting, involving heavy losses on both sides, we have achieved our objective. The forces of the insurgency have effectively been wiped out. I am confident that I can guarantee security. You may therefore proceed with the next stage of the development plan.

It is with deep regret that I have to inform you of the death of General Aelius. He died in action.

Now, then.

Guess you're wondering why the h.e.l.l you're hearing from me, not a proper soldier. Long story, parts of it not nice at all.

Uncle Ba.s.so, I'm scared and I want to come home. I don't know what possessed me-correction, I do, and if you got my last letter, you do, too. Anyway, my steely resolution lasted till we were out of sight of the edge of the wood. When the trees closed in, I wasn't nearly so brave or so high-minded any more.

Funny thing, being in a forest. Surprisingly warm, quite often dark as a bag. There comes a point where you get some light coming in from overhead but none at all from the sides. Bit like lying in a coffin with the lid off. A lot of the time I was scared, but mostly all I could think about was how much the calves of my legs hurt. Other aspects of life become ambiguous after a while. Take armour. Marching along in the surprising warm, you really wish you could dump this appalling weight that's crus.h.i.+ng your shoulders till you can't b.l.o.o.d.y breathe. Then you see something move in among the trees (probably just a pig or an elk) and suddenly you really wish you had twice as much metal underwear, plus a s.h.i.+eld the size of a door, plus a chain-mail gusset on your trouser fly.

Stopping for a c.r.a.p is absolutely terrifying. You fall out of line and wander a very few steps away from the road-the road is the way, the truth and the light in a forest; three yards off it and you're in h.e.l.l-and you watch the army marching past you while you fumble with your ta.s.set straps and unbuckle your breastplate and take off your cuisses, till you're basically a peeled shrimp; and you squat in the bracken knowing that you'd never see the hand that comes up to cover your mouth while the other hand slides a knife across your jugular vein.

I'm drivelling. Apologies. These are military dispatches, which will be filed in the permanent record. Posterity doesn't need to know about me s.h.i.+tting in the woods.

I have no idea how long we marched for. After the first few days, time just seemed to stop. No way of knowing anything; can't see the position of the sun in the sky, can't see where you are, wouldn't mean anything to you if you could see. Just a load of fairly identical trees, and the road. Sometimes it went up hills, for hour after f.u.c.king hour-if ever I do become First Citizen, I shall have all gradients lined up against a wall and shot-sometimes it went down again. Aelius knew where we were, because he had the map. I've got it here in front of me. It's really helpful. There's this enormous splodge with thousands of little drawings of trees, and a straight line up the middle to represent the road. Only the road wasn't straight, and it didn't go through the middle. Otherwise, you couldn't fault it.

We knew what was going to happen. We all knew. There'd be a place where the road gets constricted by some natural feature, probably in a valley or combe with high, thickly wooded sides. They'd have blocked the road, probably by felling trees across it. We'd come up against this barrier and be forced to stop, at which point the air would fill with savage cries and javelins, the enemy would pour down on us from three sides, they'd slaughter us like sheep and then pull out again before we could get ourselves organised. Repeat the procedure until we're all dead. We all knew it would be like that sooner or later. Naturally, we'd planned for it; been over the drills time and time again. First sign of trouble, the three outer files of the column (heavy infantry) form a s.h.i.+eld wall (kneeling, standing, innermost file hold s.h.i.+elds over heads of other two), the archers marching in the innermost files shoot over the wall to create a no-survivors zone; pioneers at front of column get the obstruction cleared away as soon as possible; under no circ.u.mstances is anybody to leave formation or go off the road. The Cazars have huge forests of their own. They do this sort of thing to each other all the time, for politics or fun. Which isn't to say they weren't brown-trouser scared all the time, but at least they had a procedure to believe in; do exactly what we've practised, and we should be all right.

It wasn't like that.

It started very gradually. First, it was just one man-a lunatic, presumably. We came round a corner, and there he was: stark naked, standing in the middle of the road, waving a single javelin. He yelled something at us-probably something offensive-threw his javelin at the front rank (hit a s.h.i.+eld), then ran like b.u.g.g.e.ry back into the trees. How we laughed.

Next day there were more of them-groups of two or three. They came out of the trees, stood in the road, yelled at us, threw javelins, missed, ran away. Day after that, it happened twenty-six times. Aelius had given an order not to waste arrows on these clowns. Next day, they chucked their javelins from cover, not the open road. One man wounded, several others minor grazes and bruises. That night, more javelins chucked into the camp, at extreme range. Next day, same, but more and more. We told ourselves we didn't give a s.h.i.+t; they chuck spears, the spears bounce off, is that really the best they can do?

Asked Aelius: what's this in aid of? He was taking it very seriously. The enemy, he said, was far more patient and intelligent than he'd at first a.s.sumed. All this pantomime was just a series of gradual extended experiments, to gauge our discipline and nerve. He'd been counting; the number and duration of attacks was increasing steadily. We were supposed to notice this. Observe, the enemy was saying, how we can annoy you, round the clock, and you can't do anything at all about it. True, we're only irritating you; but you're the ones who have to win. All we have to do is not lose. And the deeper you go into our woods, the worse it'll be for you.

Days four and five, it was pretty much continuous: a constant drizzle of javelins, rocks, logs rolled down hillsides, trees felled across the road, holes dug in the road; they'd got a river from somewhere and diverted it, presumably quite some time previously, because it turned a quarter of a mile into knee-deep ooze, which we had to squelch through, and there's nothing on earth more physically exhausting than wading through really deep mud. All to the accompaniment of sharp things being thrown at your head by b.a.s.t.a.r.ds you can't see.

Aelius said it was to wear us down. Well, yes.

Day six, early hours of the morning; we'd all been awake the last two nights, so were past caring, fast asleep. They came out of nowhere. First I heard was the screaming of b.l.o.o.d.y great trees falling, all around. Clever b.u.g.g.e.rs, they must've sawn them half through a day or so before, so all they had to do was chop the back-cut, and down the trees came. It was like being in a room and the walls cave in on you. So much for our s.h.i.+eld wall. As the trees fell, so they came out of the woods, straight at us. Now we've got G.o.d only knows how many casualties dead or pinned down screaming under the fallen trees, we can't move up or down the f.u.c.king road, they're coming in from the sides; they've got us penned in like sheep between the tree trunks, hardly any room to move; they throw in two volleys of javelins at point-blank to mess us up real good, then follow up with the sword.

The Cazars have been fighting in forests for a thousand years, but they never thought of that.

The javelins didn't kill anybody much; weren't meant to. They were just to deprive us of our s.h.i.+elds. Stick a javelin in a s.h.i.+eld, you nearly double its weight. They didn't bother with s.h.i.+elds, or armour. They came in with long, stiff swords and b.l.o.o.d.y great big felling axes; stick you through the joints of your armour or bash your head in. Our archers never got off a shot.

It was at some point during this stage of the engagement that Aelius was killed. I didn't see it, haven't found anybody who did. I like to think he died sword in hand, making himself a mat of dead Mavortines to lie down on. Or maybe a tree fell on his head, I don't know.

It says in the Book that military command is transmitted instantaneously: soon as one officer dies, his next-in-line is automatically in charge. I guess it was like a line of beacons. Aelius dies; Brigader General Phaselis is in command; Phaselis dies; General Euthyphron is in command; Euthyphron dies; and so on. Might not have happened in score-card order; maybe Phrontis died before Acanthides, G.o.d only knows. Fact is, there came a point, probably about ten minutes into the proceedings, where there was n.o.body left. Thinking about it, they knew exactly where in the column the senior officers were likely to be, and they made a point of getting them killed straight away. Cut off the head and the body dies. You know it makes sense.

There was this colonel-dead now, poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d, so I won't say his name. He was running up and down, scrambling over tree trunks, dodging spears and savages, desperately trying to find an officer more senior than he was, so he wouldn't have to be in command. You can understand that. Anyway, the stupid b.a.s.t.a.r.d found me.

What had I been doing all this time? Not a great deal. Stood there, looking at the tree trunk that had come this close to squas.h.i.+ng me to mulch. Savages all around me; Cazars fighting them, getting killed. It was only some time later I stopped to wonder why those Cazars hung around there and fought, rather than scrambling over the tree trunk and getting away. They were fighting to save me. Aelius' orders: safety of Ba.s.sia.n.u.s Licinius top priority. They were letting themselves get killed, being my human s.h.i.+eld, and I was too preoccupied to even b.l.o.o.d.y notice.

When the colonel found me, there was a bit of a lull. I'd even pulled myself together sufficiently to get my sword out of its scabbard and look round for someone to hit, only by then the Cazars had killed them all. Colonel asks me if I've seen so-and-so; no, I haven't, and incidentally, what the f.u.c.k is going on? Aelius is dead, he tells me, and so's everybody else, the entire chain of command. Then he looks at me, and I can practically hear little tumblers click into place in his brick-thick skull.

No way, I tell him. I'm not even a soldier, I'm a civilian.

You're the First Citizen's nephew, he says (and if I give him any lip, he's going to smash my face in); that practically makes you royalty. Anyway, someone's got to do it, and it's f.u.c.king well not going to be me, he says.

(And I thought: well, can't do any harm, we'll all be dead in the next twenty minutes anyway. Why not? Seriously, that's exactly my train of reasoning. Why not?) Of course, my mind immediately went blank. Really blank, blanker than blankness itself. All I could think was: well, so far we've done exactly what they've expected us to do. Therefore, if we do what they aren't expecting, no matter how stupid, it's got to be better, hasn't it?

All right, I told the colonel, get me a horn-blower. A trumpeter. Why? he asks. Don't f.u.c.king argue, I say, get me a f.u.c.king trumpeter.

He stares at me like I'm mad, then he hauls himself over the tree trunk and he's gone. Well, I thought, probably won't see him again, and I sort of froze-waiting for a savage to come and kill me, I guess. But a few moments later, back he comes, dragging this poor b.l.o.o.d.y trumpeter.

How loud can you get that thing to blow? I ask. He doesn't answer. Make as much noise as you possibly can, I tell him. So he does. Then I tell the colonel: get up on that tree trunk, yell as loud as you can: at the next horn-blow, everybody go left up the hill, double quick, pa.s.s it on.

That's crazy, he says, we can't leave the road.

I bent down, picked up a bit of broken-off spear-shaft, and smacked him round the head with it. Do as I say, I told him.

So he did-up on the tree trunk, yelled; some b.a.s.t.a.r.d savage hit him with a javelin and he came tumbling down, stone dead. Never mind that now. I told the trumpeter, Blow, and he made this noise like the Invincible Sun farting into a bucket, and I turned round and started to run up the hill.

For a moment, it wasn't going to work; they were just standing there, too scared to leave the road. I was jumping up and down yelling, Come on, for f.u.c.k's sake. They started to move; a few, then a lot, and then the whole army, what was left of it, was running up the hill.

We met savages, sure. But suddenly it was all different. It wasn't what they were expecting; and you know what? There weren't nearly as many of them as we'd led ourselves to believe. Really there was just a thin cordon-they'd spread themselves thin the whole length of the column, and we couldn't see them so we never knew how thin. We ran into them, messed them up a bit and punched through. We had armour, they didn't. It really does make a difference.

I say we. Overstatement of case. I was running, looking over my shoulder, yelling Come on, follow me, stuff like that, and suddenly there's this horrible man bang in front of me-the enemy, face to face, so close I can smell his sweat.

I am a graduate of the Republic's finest fencing school. I have a bit of paper that certifies that I'm invincible. I froze. He didn't. If some Cazar hadn't barged into him and knocked him off his feet, he'd have cut my head off and I wouldn't have done a d.a.m.n thing to stop him. It was only some time later I realised I'd dropped my sword, at which point I picked up a big thick bit of stick. Some time later, I bashed a Mavortine over the head with it, so that was all right.

How long we ran I don't know. Quite some time. Then I remember hearing someone in the distance yelling, Hey, they aren't chasing us any more; and I thought, can that be right? So I called a halt. Amazingly, people stopped running, like I was in charge or something.

Then I tried thinking. Well, of course, I thought. They've stopped chasing us, sure. They don't want to get too far off the road. Get away from the road in a forest, you get lost.

But we were so definitively, so absolutely and perfectly lost, it really didn't matter a toss. Also, having accidentally done one thing right, that one thing had suddenly become the cornerstone of my new religion. Whatever we do, we don't go back to the road. Any f.u.c.king road. We're alive precisely because we're lost; because we've wandered into the depths of the forest, and no b.u.g.g.e.r knows where to find us.

There's probably a deep philosophical truth in there somewhere.

So we stopped, and pulled ourselves together, figuratively and literally. Found there were a h.e.l.l of a lot of us, even though a h.e.l.l of a lot of us were missing, if you see what I mean. Of course, we had no map, but that was hardly a death blow. We'd gone left off the road so we were heading sort-of-north. My plan, my master strategy, was to keep on going till there weren't any more trees; and if the savages came after us, run away.

I put a bit more effort into it than that. I went round looking for officers-mostly hoping to find someone who'd relieve me of command, but no such f.u.c.king luck-and I told them I was in charge now and this is what we're going to do, and any suggestions very gratefully received. Of course, half of them couldn't speak Vesani.

It was the officers, not me, who got the men back into some semblance of order and looking like a bunch of soldiers rather than refugees from a costume party. Well, some of us had s.h.i.+elds, most of us had weapons; those that didn't went in the middle, with the s.h.i.+elds on the outside. Then we advanced. Well, you honestly couldn't call it an advance. More of a sort of heavily armed stroll.

Now, the next bit is extremely important. I want you to make sure that whatever else they cut out, they leave the next bit in. Please.

I did not, repeat not, know where we were at this point. I had no idea. I was a little boat cast adrift on an ocean of leaf mould under a dappled green-and-brown sky. I thought I was heading due north; in fact, I was proud of the way I was managing to steer us by the very occasional glimpses of the sun I could s.n.a.t.c.h through the canopy, and the direction of the shadows of the trees, when there were any shadows, which was hardly ever. The one thing I had no intention of doing was returning to the scene of the ambush and sneaking up on the enemy while they looted the baggage and the dead. Though the idea might have some transitory, meretricious appeal to an over-imaginative armchair tactician, in real life it'd be the dumbest thing I could possibly have chosen to do.

The enemy thought so, for sure. Which is why, when I contrived to lead us right round in a f.u.c.king circle, they weren't expecting us.