The Folding Knife (60 page)

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, Basso 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 nobody 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 assumed it was just an administrative cock-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 ships slipped their moorings and were blown out to sea; captured Imperial vessels stayed afloat, Vesani ships capsized. Only seven ships 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 bloody 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 warships 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 Basso 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, Basso'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 Bassianus Severus should not be re-elected. Massive 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 enfranchisements of resident aliens have given him a solid constituency 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 Bassianus 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 Bassianus 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, Bassianus Licinius. The removal of Aelius will undoubtedly hasten victory, while the death of his nephew will seriously affect Bassianus 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," Basso 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 asset 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 Basso 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." Basso 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 ship returning from Voroe (held up in port for a week by bad weather and the logjam of crippled warships), a letter. Official military dispatches. News from Mavortis.

From Bassano:

From: Bassianus Licinius, with the army in Mavortis

To: Bassianus 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 hell you're hearing from me, not a proper soldier. Long story, parts of it not nice at all.

Uncle Basso, 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 crushing your shoulders till you can't bloody 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 shield the size of a door, plus a chain-mail gusset on your trouser fly.

Stopping for a crap 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 Hell--and you watch the army marching past you while you fumble with your tasset 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 shitting 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 fucking 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 shield wall (kneeling, standing, innermost file hold shields 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 circumstances 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.