There was a strong ‘Or else’ implicit in his tone.
Ibris, however, affected a relieved indifference. ‘Ah, the Whendreachi again,’ he said knowingly. ‘I'd not heard of any trouble there recently, but it doesn't surprise me. But I am surprised that you've come to me about it, Grygyr. Whendrak's a neutral city as you know. And not without good reason.'
He shook his head and looked up at the ceiling as if contending with a flood of old memories. ‘It's been fought over so often that half the citizens are of Bethlarii stock and half of Serens, and neither knows which. And there's more than a few foreign mercenaries stamped their features on them as well. The Hanestra knows well enough that they can be a quarrelsome people who pick whatever ancestors best suit their immediate squabble. And when Bethlar and Serenstad have fought themselves to a standstill over them, as, god knows, they've done often enough in the past, what happens? They go their own way as they always have. Curse us both and solemnly vow to be neutral-again.'
There were murmurs of agreement from the crowd but Grygyr seemed unmoved. ‘I'm not here to debate this matter,’ he said, still assiduously avoiding using Ibris's title. ‘The treaty binds us to protecting our citizens wherever they might be. I have come here openly and honourably to ask you to fulfil your obligations by restraining your people in Whendrak. If you do not do this then we will have no alternative but to do it ourselves.'
Ibris frowned paternally and waved his hand gently as if to quieten a petulant child about to commit some folly. ‘Grygyr, the Whendreachi are the Whendreachi. As I've said, they're neither Bethlarii nor Serens and, apart from its strategic position, that's why their city was declared neutral when the treaty was negotiated. Declared neutral I might add with their full compliance. If either of us takes troops there, for whatever reason, and it'll need troops if they're fighting among themselves again-then it's a major breach of the treaty and will be considered an overt act of war.'
Grygyr pursed his lips impatiently. ‘That is not our reading of the treaty,’ he replied tersely. ‘We…'
'Whose reading?’ Ibris interrupted sharply.
Grygyr faltered. ‘Our lawyers and scribes,’ he said irritably, after a momentary hesitation.
Ibris nodded as if something had just been made clear to him. ‘The same lawyers and scribes who were responsible for that?’ He pointed to the letter lying on the floor amid the spilt food and broken dishes. ‘Lawyers and scribes who know so little about the treaty that they didn't have your message signed by the senior Handiran? Indeed, didn't even have your letters credential signed correctly and could have had you executed as a spy as a result? So ignorant of the treaty that they breached almost every major clause, sending you here both secretly and armed, without even a token of concession towards the agreed procedures; the issuing of notices, the exchanging of heralds? You'd trust their reading of the treaty in this matter before mine, who helped draft it? Before your own?'
He paused briefly. ‘You can read, can you, Grygyr?'
Though spoken with the concern that had filled all Ibris's words so far, the question hissed through the atmosphere like an ice-chilled dagger.
Even Arwain winced. No small part of the Bethlarii's hatred for the Serens lay in the latter's scorn for what they considered to be the impoverishment of Bethlarii culture and with it the implications of stupidity, barbarism and general oafish inferiority. It was an attitude not without an element of truth in that many Bethlarii did despise such matters as reading and learning except in so far as they were associated with warfare. But it was also an attitude that the Duke disapproved of, and he would not let it go unrebuked if it was expressed in his presence. ‘The simplicity in some of their art has a profundity that you'll search long to find in many a piece of Serenstad ostentation. And though their philosophy isn't ours, it's valid and consistent and not without intellectual merit.'
Nonetheless, the attitude was widespread and indeed had grown over the recent years as Serenstad had continued to prosper while Bethlar had remained static and, by comparison, declined.
Maybe you came here prepared to die, warrior, or maybe you didn't, Arwain thought. But whatever you expected I doubt it was such a death by humiliation. He felt anger, pity and admiration for his father all at the same time, and knew again why he had little desire ever to be Duke in his stead.
The Duke's sudden thrust had destroyed the Bethlarii utterly. What answer could he give? No, and bring down the ultimate mockery on his head? Yes, as if he were some chastened schoolboy with an ill-prepared exercise? Both were unthinkable. Nor could he walk away with stony dignity for that would cause him to lose face in front of his own men and these gleeful enemies.
Would he perhaps strike down the offender? Would he indeed use this as an opportunity to sacrifice himself to ensure the destruction of the treaty?
No, Arwain concluded. Not unless his father had pushed him totally beyond reason. There were too many unidentified witnesses here for the truth to be hidden. The Bethlarii would know that at such a gathering there could well be visitors and dignitaries from the border communities present; people from Herion, Veldan, Nestar, any one of a score of towns and cities whose allegiance to either side was both uncertain and critical in the event of a war. No, his death would have to be away from such extremely public view if subsequent rumours were to be effective.
As these alternatives flitted instantly through Arwain's thoughts, Grygyr's eyes widened in a combination of fury and disbelief. Arwain watched him being swept away by the avalanche that his father had so successfully ridden.
His hand came out and pointed at the Duke and his mouth opened to speak, but for some time, though his lips quivered, no sound emerged. When it did it was raw with emotion and again Arwain found it difficult to maintain his expression of indifference.
'I read well enough, Ibris,’ he managed eventually. ‘I read the history of this land, our land, to the shores in the east, the west and the south and beyond the shores to the islands. I read enough to know of the treacheries through the ages that your forebears used to usurp our divine authority to rule here, and which you, apostate, continue.'
Released, Grygyr's rage did not spend itself, but rather seemed to gather momentum, growing upon itself, and sweeping its creator along with it.
His voice grew more powerful and a strident quality began to edge it. ‘Mark this well, Ibris, vassal regent for the moment of this, our city. The day of retribution is at hand. The Bethlarii are turning again to the true way, the old way, and soon you and your corruption will be swept away for ever. And so total will be your destruction that the very memory of you and all your kind will be gone utterly before the year is passed.'
There was a brief, stunned silence, then a single raucous cry of denunciation from someone released the crowd's fury and on the instant there was uproar. Immediately, two ranks of the guards that had escorted the Bethlarii through the city lowered their pikes to form a protective ring around their charge, while his three companions moved to protect the envoy himself. But they were forestalled by the other guards, who seized and disarmed them with an overwhelming suddenness that bore the hallmark of Ciarll Feranc's planning. The envoy too found himself politely but rapidly disarmed and surrounded by a double ring of guards, one facing inwards, the other outward and both with swords drawn.
The arc of guards at the rear of the Duke's entourage moved rapidly round in front of him and Arwain stepped forward, knife in hand, to be by his father's side.