In the exact middle of the table was a cup, which Clefas had put there to catch the drips from the roof. Their father had dished it out of a piece of plate steel cut from a helmet his father had picked up on the site of the last major battle fought in the Mesoge, over a hundred years ago. As the raindrops fell into it they made a plinking noise, like a light hammer bouncing off an anvil.
‘Twenty-three,’ Gorgas repeated, when it was obvious that nobody else was going to contribute to the conversation. ‘Which makes it nearly twenty-four years since the last time we were all together around this table. Well, nothing much seems to have changed around here, I’m glad to say.’
Clefas and Zonaras were sitting perfectly still, like mechanical iron figures in a clock-tower that haven’t been wound up. Niessa was sulking, her arms folded, her chin jutting as she stared out of the window at the driving rain. Iseutz was pulling a piece of cloth into strips, one end gripped between her teeth. Nobody had bothered to clear away the cups and plates from the last three meals, though Clefas had at least taken the time to squash a couple of cockroaches. Gorgas was sitting at the head of the table. He’d put on a new shirt and trousers for the occasion – Colleon silk with brocade – and he was wearing his father’s ring, which had been in the family for generations.
‘You’ll find your room’s pretty much the way it was,’ he told his sister. ‘Same old linen-chest, same old bed. Of course, you and Iseutz are going to have to share, but that shouldn’t be a problem. Maybe we should think about turning the old apple store into another bedroom, though; it’s going to get a bit cosy otherwise.’
‘Where are you sleeping?’ Niessa asked, without moving her head.
‘In father’s room, of course,’ Gorgas replied.
‘I thought so.’
Iseutz had finished tearing her bit of rag into strips; now she started tearing the strips into squares. ‘Go on, then,’ she said, ‘say it, and let’s get it over with.’
‘Say what?’
She rested her hands on the table. ‘Any minute now,’ she said, ‘you’re going to say something like, It’s just a pity Bardas isn’t here, then we’d all be together again. Well, aren’t you?’
Gorgas frowned a little. ‘All right, yes, it would be nice if Bardas was here, but he’s not. He’s got a life of his own now, he’s making something of himself. He knows this house will always be here for him, as and when he needs it.’
‘Oh, for gods’ sakes.’ Iseutz banged the table with her mutilated hand. ‘Uncle Gorgas, why did you have to bring her here? Well, I’m not sharing a room with her, and that’s that. I’d rather sleep in the trap-house.’
‘Fine,’ Niessa muttered. ‘You do that.’
‘Niessa!’
Dear gods, Niessa thought, he sounds just like Father. Now that’s… worrying. Gorgas was glowering round the table, his arms folded ominously. Any minute now he’s going to tell me to eat up my porridge.
‘And the rest of you, for pity’s sake. We’ve had our differences, gods know – and yes, before anybody else says it, yes, a hell of a lot of them were my fault, I’m not trying to pretend they weren’t. But that was then and this is now; and let’s be absolutely straight with each other, none of us is exactly perfect.’ He stopped, glowered again, and went on, ‘I didn’t want to have to do it this way, but I think it’s necessary. Let’s start with you, Niessa; you’re self-centred, completely amoral, you’ve never really cared about anything or anybody but yourself; when things got too hot for you on Scona you just walked away, leaving for dead all the people who depended on you – I was the only one who even tried to do anything; I managed to get some of them out and I brought them here, but you didn’t give a damn. You betrayed a city – a whole city, all those hundreds of thousands of people you practically sentenced to death, just so you wouldn’t have to pay your debts.
‘And the way you’ve treated your own daughter is little short of abominable. When I brought her home to Scona, what did you do? You threw her in jail, for pity’s sake. And don’t you start looking all smug and self-righteous, Iseutz, you’re the last person – you tried to kill your own uncle – no, you be quiet and let me finish. You tried to kill Bardas for something that wasn’t his fault. He was only doing his job, he had no way of knowing that man was your uncle, he didn’t even know you existed. I’m sorry for what you’ve been through, but really, you’re just going to have to come to terms with it and start acting like a sane, normal human being while you can still remember how.
‘And as for you two,’ he went on, swinging round and scowling at Clefas and Zonaras, ‘you’re every bit as bad, if not worse. You had everything; you had the farm, dammit, you had Bardas sending you all that money, every quarter he could scrape together by risking his life, and what did you do? You squandered it, threw it all away. Dear gods, when I think what I’d have given to have what you had; to be here, at home, doing what we were all meant to do, instead of wandering around the world fighting and cheating and screwing other people just to make a living – you know, I don’t get angry easily, but that really does annoy me.’ It was very quiet now; even the rain seemed to have stopped dripping into the steel cup. ‘About the only one of us who can honestly say he’s always tried to do the right thing, always put other people before himself, is Bardas – and he’s the one who can’t come home, because of what we’ve done to him. Isn’t that right, Clefas? Zonaras? He came here, when he needed somewhere clean and safe to go to, and as soon as he saw what you two had done, he was so disgusted he couldn’t bear to stay here, so he went off again – and now look where he is, practically an exile; and it’s you two who’re to blame for that, and I’m really finding it hard to forgive you for it – although I do forgive you, because we’re family, we’ve got to stick together no matter what we’ve all done. But for heaven’s sake, why can’t you all just make a bit of an effort and stop bickering with each other like a lot of spoiled kids? That’s not so much to ask, is it?’
For a long time, nobody spoke. Then Iseutz giggled. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but it’s comical, honestly. All those terrible things we’ve all done, and it’s supposed to make us all one happy family. Uncle Gorgas, you’re one of a kind, you really are.’
Gorgas turned and stared at her, making her shiver. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ he said.
‘Oh, come on. Listen to yourself. And just out of interest, has it slipped your mind that Uncle Bardas murdered your son and made his body into a-’
‘Quiet.’ Gorgas took a deep breath, making himself stay calm. ‘If we keep on bashing ourselves, bashing each other, over what we’ve all done, then we might as well all give up now. It’s not what we’ve done that matters, it’s what we’re going to do – just so long as we all try. At last we’ve got everything we need – we’ve got the farm, we’ve got each other, there aren’t any landlords or outsiders breathing down our necks-’
‘What about the provincial office?’ Niessa interrupted, still staring out of the window. ‘I suppose they just melted away into thin air.’
‘I can handle them,’ Gorgas replied. ‘They’re nothing to worry about. Really and truly, there isn’t anything to worry about any more, just so long as we’re together, as a family. We’ve done the hard part, we’ve all been through the bad times; it’s been a long haul, we’ve all had to go miles out of our way just to get back here again, but it’s all right now, we’re home. And if you could all just understand that-’
Clefas stood up and walked towards the door.
‘Where are you going?’ Gorgas demanded.
‘To see to the pigs,’ Clefas said.
‘Oh.’ He breathed out, as if in relief. ‘Tell you what, why don’t we all go and see to the pigs? Do some useful and constructive work for a change, instead of sitting round here moping like a lot of owls?’