The Folding Knife (48 page)

But there was the question of reasons, the issue that seemed to dominate his life. Why does Basso do what he does? Basso, always so quick to tell you a good reason, always a different reason, depending on who he's talking to. Talking to himself (first sign of madness, they reckoned), what reason would he offer? Because they did it
now
, with the war almost ready, the grand design, Bassano's inheritance; now, of all times, as if they'd thought hard about it and chosen the worst possible moment. Hard to forgive, even if he was fond of them, which he wasn't.

If they were Sentio's kids, or Aelius', or even some off-relation's, that reason wouldn't stand the strain. If they were my sons, he thought; but, probably, they were. Never thought of them like that, though. Always thought of them as
her
sons. Would that be the reason?

Or maybe he simply didn't hold with rape. Just as likely. A disgusting offence, he'd always thought, and what good did it do? Theft he could understand; murder, in certain circumstances. (I've done both, he remembered; it was an uncomfortable thought, though of course he'd never actually broken the law.) Would I really allow the state to geld my own sons because of a principle? He thought about that. Not sure, he found.

There had to be a reason. Maybe, he thought, I'm so used to equivocating that I don't actually know what it is, just that there is one, and it's valid. I could give a convincing reason to somebody else, anybody; just not to myself.

Melsuntha was waiting for him at the House. "Well?" she said. He smiled. She'd learned that turn of phrase from him. Most people who knew him picked it up sooner or later. Then he remembered he'd learned it from Aelius, when he was a boy.

"Get a lawyer," he said, struggling out of his heavy coat. "I want to know what's involved in disowning your sons."

She frowned. "Can you do that?"

"You used to be able to," Basso replied. "Two hundred years ago. I remember reading about it. There was an established procedure. It was a Chancery action, I think. Basically you had to sue yourself in your capacity as the sons' guardian. Find out if it's still legal."

She nodded. "You're thinking of doing it?"

"I like to know what options are available." He sat down, looked at the brandy decanter, decided against it. I'm stupid enough already (one of his sayings) without taking medicine to make me stupider. "Did Furio come by?"

"You just missed him," she said.

"And?"

"They've listed a magistrate," she told him. "Provisionally booked for tomorrow morning, the common sessions. He wanted to know what you intend to do."

"There's a coincidence.
I
want to know what I intend to do." He looked down at his hands: unhelpful, as ever. "What would you do?"

She thought for a moment. "I'd have the girl killed," she said. "She's the key witness; without her, it's all circumstantial--the doctor and the landlord and so on. I'd make it look like suicide, of course. Probably a note, saying she'd accused them falsely and couldn't live with herself."

Basso laughed. "What makes you think a girl like that can read and write?"

She shrugged. "Before her death she went to a public scrivener. He could give evidence at the inquest; that'd be good." She looked at him, challenging him. "It would solve everything."

He nodded. "The scrivener's a nice touch," he said, "and one which, I confess, hadn't occurred to me."

"So you'll do it?"

"No."

She accepted his refusal without the slightest reaction. "In that case, what do you have in mind?"

He sighed, and felt weak. "Let them get on with it," he said. "I guess, all things considered, I could live with Basso the Just."

"It has a certain ring to it," she said.

"Quite. Only," he went on, "I'm a bit fed up with the notion of justice just lately. Justice is all right, but I'm not happy about the company it keeps."

She knew that his sister had been to see him. She understood. "With friends like that," she said, and pushed her hair away from her eyes. "It would mean that she'd won."

Basso nodded. "Yes," he said. "And to be fair, maybe she's due a victory. Am I very selfish for not wanting it to be this one?"

Bassano said: "So what's the plan?"

Basso explained. The reasons he chose to give were political and ethical. He made a good case and took trouble over his choice of words. When he'd finished, Bassano said, "Integrity."

"What about it?"

"Nothing," Bassano replied. "It's a wonderful thing, and I approve of it. But I can't help thinking of all those stories you get in the popular histories, like the ones they made me read when I was a kid. The three Torquati holding the pass against the Five Thousand, or Caelius divorcing his wife. Or Pacatianus, hanging his son for treason."

"Well?"

"Well," Bassano said meekly, "you're supposed to be inspired and eager to go out and give your life for your country. But I always thought, how selfish."

Basso looked at him. "Strange you should use that word."

"Or Carinus," Bassano said. "Didn't he have his son court-martialled for disobeying orders, even though the charge he led won the battle?"

"That was Popilius," Basso said. "Carinus was the man with the elephants."

"My mistake. But yes, selfish. I suppose heroes have to be. A hero doesn't think, if I go into battle against impossible odds and get myself killed, my wife will lose the farm and my kid'll grow up without a father. It makes you wonder, what sort of a man thinks like that? And I'm prepared to bet, though of course we'll never know, nine times out of ten there was some other reason."

"There's always another reason," Basso said.

"Of course there is."

The evening before the magistrates' hearing, Bassano came home late. He looked very cold and tired, as though he'd been doing a rotten job he hadn't enjoyed at all. He found Basso in his study, a pile of letters on the desk in front of him, the stopper still in the ink-bottle.

"Just thought you should know," Bassano said. "The twins are downstairs."

Basso stared at him. "What have you done?"

Bassano frowned. "It's like this," he said, and his voice was harder than Basso had ever heard it before. "The girl went to the magistrate and withdrew the charges." When Basso tried to interrupt, he held up his hand; Basso knew where that gesture came from. "She explained that some very bad men came to her and said that they wanted her to lay false charges against your sons. If she didn't cooperate, bad things would happen to her family in the country. The magistrate is considering prosecuting her for perjury. You might want to intervene."

Basso repeated: "What have you done?"

"Do you want to know?"

"Yes."

"Fine." Bassano dropped into a chair and closed his eyes, as though he'd just put down a heavy weight he'd carried a long way. "I went to see her. As you know, she's a barmaid at the Glorious Victory; pretty girl, I've noticed her when I've been in there myself. Oddly enough, she remembered me; it's so rare for one of the fencing school crowd to order just tea or water."

"And?"

Bassano didn't answer straight away. "I put it to her that having the twins hanged would be justice, but it wouldn't do her any good. Fifteen thousand nomismata, on the other hand..."

Basso stared at him. "You paid her fifteen thousand nomismata."

"Yes." He grinned, and for a split second he was himself again. "Cash. I actually carried it up the back stairs at the Victory, in sacks. Have you any idea how much fifteen thousand nomismata weighs? I had to make two trips, and my back's killing me."

"You haven't got anything like that kind of money."

Bassano nodded. "Borrowed it," he said. "From--I guess you'd call him a loan shark, though he was perfectly civil. I had to mortgage my expectations from my father's estate." Bassano looked at him, then burst out laughing. "Oh for pity's sake, Uncle," he said. "You look like you've been given a really expensive present you don't actually want. Anyway," he went on, crisp and firm, as if he didn't really care what Basso thought, "that's that sorted out. The twins are off the hook, the girl's got enough money to buy a good-sized farm or a couple of decent ships, and we can put all the blame on shadowy conspirators, either Optimates or Mavortines or both. I flatter myself that it's the sort of thing you might have done." He paused, then said, "Why didn't you?"

"I didn't think of it," Basso said quietly.

"I think you should go down and talk to your sons," Bassano said. "They're feeling rather sorry for themselves. I reckon they need a good shouting-at, to get their circulation moving."

Basso stayed where he was. "It's true," he said. "I didn't think of it. Why, do you suppose?"

"Oh, I expect you're losing your touch," Bassano said cheerfully. "Or else you couldn't be bothered to apply your mind."

Basso said; "That's rather harsh, isn't it?"

"Yes," Bassano replied. "And my back hurts, and I need to wash my hands. The banisters at the Victory are covered in grease. I guess it's because they spit-roast so much meat." He paused again, then said, "Well?"

"Thanks," Basso said.

Bassano smiled. "You're welcome," he said. "So, did I pass?"

"It wasn't meant to be a test. You weren't supposed to be involved, even."

"I know. But did I pass?"

Basso nodded. "One of us did," he said. "And I don't think it was me."

"Agreed," Bassano said. He stretched, like a cat. "You owe me seventeen thousand nomismata."

"
Seventeen
..."

"Interest," Bassano explained. "Not a nice man, despite appearances."

"For crying out loud." Basso pulled a comic-grief face. "Promise me one thing," he said. "Next time you want to borrow money, go to the Bank."

Quite suddenly, the war was ready. Even Basso, who'd got it all drawn out on paper, admitted he was taken by surprise. Two days earlier, all he'd been able to see were huge, insuperable problems. He solved them, fully expecting to find more springing up in their place. But there weren't any. Everybody was where they were supposed to be. The ships were tied up at the dock, all the supplies and equipment loaded. The senior staff had patched up their differences and were actually on speaking terms with each other. There was hay for the horses, bacon and boots and blankets; tents, guy-ropes, tent pegs, mallets; shovels, picks, entrenching tools, surgical instruments, baskets, hayboxes, buckets, bottles, rope, nails, saws, hammers, spokeshaves and rivet sets, butter and candles and horseshoes and lamp wicks and sheeps' wool grease, seven miles of ox backstrap sinew, needles and hobnails, folding chairs and travelling inkwells, a quarter of a ton of best shredded-linen paper, charcoal, cups, plates, eight-gallon pans and fire-irons, mittens and calibrated surveyors' poles and shield covers, a hundredweight of dried oak-apples (for making ink), three Hus-Vesani dictionaries and two million arrows. Twelve thousand Cazars had been paid, hair-cut and shaved, clothed, trained and told what to do and where to sit on the ships. A hundred and forty-seven copies of Standing Orders had been written out and delivered to the officers. The Patriarch had blessed the expedition in Temple, the House had ratified Aelius' command, the Bank had advanced the government an extra quarter-million nomismata, the spear-shaft turners had delivered on time (just) and the last consignment of five thousand shield cover strap buckles had been prised out of the foundry. People who knew about such things promised a favourable wind for an hour after first light in the morning. Everything, unbelievably, was done and perfect.

Basso gave his nephew two going-away presents. One was a brigandine coat: two thousand carefully shaped spring-tempered steel plates sandwiched between a leather backing and a red velvet outer layer, articulated to allow total freedom of movement. Basso had had it specially made (he'd secretly borrowed several of Bassano's favourite coats for the armourer to take measurements from); it was proof against sword, lance and Cazar composite bow at five paces, and the collar and shoulder seams were double-ruffed and slashed over silk underlay, in the latest City fashion. The other present was the complete
Dialogues
of Scaphio Metellinus, in one volume, written so small that the book fitted easily in the pocket of a standard-issue greatcoat, but still legible by candlelight (Basso tested this for himself). Aelius also had a present for him: a Type Fourteen riding sword (short blade, wide at the hilt, tapering to a keen point, broad double fuller; best watered Auxentine steel). Melsuntha gave him a fur-lined hat reinforced with horn plates. His mother gave him a folding triptych showing the three evolutions of the Invincible Sun, inscribed with appropriate verses from the Book of Admonitions.

"What I was hoping for," Bassano said, "was five pairs of thick wool socks. But it's the thought that counts."

They rode together in Basso's closed coach as far as the bottom of Portway, and neither of them said anything all the way. As Bassano opened the coach door, Basso said, "Well, look after yourself."

"You too," Bassano said, and walked away.

Basso drove to meet the House representatives, who were there for the official launch ceremony. Basso kept his speech short and trite, and formally handed Aelius his commission. Bassano stood behind Aelius and just to his left; he looked sombre, and Basso could see he was trying very hard not to shiver in the cold. Some priest said a prayer. To conclude the performance, Basso had to grab Aelius by the neck, shake him and say, "Come back victorious or not at all." It was traditional (Glabrius had said it to the younger Passienus at the siege of Luma, six hundred years ago), but Basso couldn't help thinking that Aelius always seemed to be on the thick end of Vesani military ritual.