‘There were two alternative courses, each equally valid,’ Gannadius said slowly. ‘We chose. But what happened, happened.’
‘If you use the river analogy,’ Alexius said, ‘which I’ve never been happy with. But I don’t see how you can fit all this into the wheel analogy-’
‘Unless,’ Gannadius put in, ‘you see the Principle not as a wheel but as a camshaft.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Just something I heard. I don’t think much of it, either.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Can we shake hands, or hug, or something? I feel some sort of physical expression of leavetaking-’
Alexius thought about it. ‘I can leave you with an impression that there was physical contact,’ he said, ‘but it would constitute an unreliable memory. However, it would be impossible to prove otherwise.’
‘And equally impossible to prove,’ Gannadius replied with a smile. ‘And remember, we’re philosophers. Scientists. To us, proof is everything.’
‘Very well then. Goodbye, Gannadius.’
– Who realised he was awake, and had been dreaming.
It was like the aftermath of a big feast, a birthday or a wedding; they felt exhilarated and exhausted, and the last thing they wanted to do was start clearing up the mess. Unfortunately, a certain amount would have to be done before they could go to bed; a careful search for enemy survivors, for instance, not to mention their own wounded.
‘Iordecai, you organise some work details,’ Sildocai said. ‘Lissai, Ullacai, check the defences, just in case they do attack – I can’t imagine they will, but it’d be a brilliant tactical move, hitting us when we’re at our most relaxed. Pajai, I want you to take twenty men and make sure Loredan’s body isn’t bobbing up and down in the river somewhere. You never know your luck.’
‘All right,’ someone replied. ‘And what are you going to do?’
‘Report to Temrai, of course,’ Sildocai replied with a grin. ‘By the way, has anybody seen him? Last I saw him he was heading back to his tent, but that was when we were still mopping up by the cattle pens.’ Nobody had anything to contribute, so he shrugged and said, ‘I expect he’s in his tent with his feet up; after all, he’s not really fit again after that bashing he took when he got buried.’
There were fires burning everywhere he looked as he crossed the camp; the neatly stacked cords of firewood had got soaked in the rain, so they were using halberd-shafts and Imperial-issue boots for fuel. Everybody he saw was moving at the slow, grim pace of the bone-weary, the dogged trudge, shoes heavy with clinging mud. He knew how they felt; but he was still slightly buzzed with victory. A pity that a victory took even longer to clear up after than a defeat.
The women and children had come out and were doing their best to help; pulling shirts and boots off dead halberdiers, gathering up armfuls of arrows, bustling about the harvest of the dead, the unexpected wind-falls of good things that shouldn’t go to waste. There were children rolling helmets along the ground and laughing (excited to be up so late, burning off energy after being cooped up in the tents for so long); he saw a small girl stop and stare thoughtfully at the body of another child, one who’d run out during the fighting and got in the way; it was half trampled into the mud, and the small girl was studying it without any apparent emotion. Over on the other side, a few men were darting and sliding wildly about, trying to round up some horses that had got loose. One of the men had a saturated-red bandage round his head – but someone had to catch the horses; they were his living, after all. He looked down and realised that he’d just put his foot on a hand.
Ah, well, he thought; it’ll probably be back to work again tomorrow, when the trebuchets start up again, but we might as well get some sleep tonight, we’ve earned it. It occurred to him that he was starving hungry – chances were he wasn’t the only one – but that was going to have to wait too. Had anybody thought to get Temrai something to eat?
The tent-flap was pulled back, and light was soaking out. He knocked against the post, but nobody answered. Asleep, maybe. He ducked and walked in.
Temrai was in his chair, or at least his body was. But his neck had been cut through square, and his head was missing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
‘Please try not to think of it as a retrograde step in your career,’ the Son of Heaven said, his eyes focused an inch or so above the top of Bardas’ head. ‘It’s nothing of the sort. As I said earlier, we’re quite satisfied with your performance. In the final analysis, the war has proved successful; you may have lost a battle, but you’ve negotiated peace on the same terms I’d have found acceptable if you’d won. After all,’ he went on, ‘nobody was expecting you to kill them all.’
Bardas nodded. ‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘My pleasure. We do recognise that you took over command under adverse circumstances, that you couldn’t be expected to handle troops to the same level of competency as an experienced general, and that these plainsmen proved to be an unexpectedly resourceful, tenacious and difficult enemy. You weren’t the only commander they beat. In fact, you did considerably better than we expected.’
‘It’s very kind of you to say so.’
‘Not at all. Which is why,’ he went on, ‘I had no hesitation whatsoever in recommending you for your new position. After all, men with your depth of experience in siege mining operations are few and far between. Not that we expect the situation at Hommyra to last anything like as long as the Ap’ Escatoy business,’ he added. ‘Once the main galleries are completed we anticipate a conclusion in a matter of months.’
Bardas nodded. ‘That’s good,’ he said.
‘And after that – well.’ The Son of Heaven actually smiled. ‘There will, I feel sure, always be a need in the service for a first-class sapper. I can see the possibility of great things in your future, provided you fulfil your side of the bargain.’
(It had been a strange meeting, almost comic; both men treating each other with exaggerated courtesy, as if the slightest false nuance would immediately result in a hail of arrows answered by a desperate cavalry charge. Captain Loredan had greeted King Sildocai with all due and proper respect, precisely quantified in provincial office protocols (an enemy general ranks above one’s own immediate subordinate, equal with oneself, but is deemed to be equal-and-below for diplomatic purposes with one’s immediate superior) and had offered formal condolences on the death of King Temrai. King Sildocai had thanked Captain Loredan for his most welcome sentiments, and expressed the wish that henceforth their two nations could work together in a spirit of co-operation towards finding a mutually acceptable settlement. The deal – that the clans would leave the plains, go north into officially designated wilderness and never come back – was concluded so quickly and easily that at times both of them suspected that they were reading from the same set of notes. When they parted, they were almost friends.)
‘Of course,’ continued the Son of Heaven, ‘we never had the slightest intention of sending you to the Island.’
‘Really?’ Bardas said. He sounded as if the subject was of academic interest only.
‘Absolutely. It would have represented a concession, almost an act of weakness. No, the Island needs – forgive me – strong, uncompromising leadership to see it through the difficult process of transition. The territory itself is, of course, hardly worth bothering with (in due course I expect we’ll amalgamate it with one of the other sub-prefectures, adjust the population balance, make it a viable proposition as a designated naval base); but at this particular juncture, the first priority must be to secure the fleet. If our various unfortunate experiences in this theatre of operations has taught us anything, it’s that we can no longer afford to neglect seapower.’