Robert Adams - Madman's Army

“And I, for one, am just as glad for it, too,” said Thoheeks Grahvos gravely. “For in my own royal army days, I saw more outright murders and senseless duels rise out of the bitchinesses and jealousies that seem to proliferate out of man-on-man sexual liaisons like flies from out a cesspit than I could recount if I lived twice my present age. Indeed, I was most pleased when I noted so little of it in Council’s own army.”

“As for the rest of it,” Portos went on, still speaking to Thoheeks Pahlios, “smoke of any sort seems to upset the nose of the delicate Ilios—that’s Pahvlos’ love-boy, my lord. It makes him sneeze, makes his eyes to water, so everyone is dead sure that that’s why the ban on smoking either hemp or tobacco in the army. And, incidentally, our Grand Strahteegos has taken it solidly into his head that the army, what’s now left of it, at least, is not Council’s, but rather his , and he so refers to it. As regards the proscription of any alcohol save only the well-watered mess-wine, I and those with whom I’ve discussed it are all utterly in the dark, for widespread misuse of alcohol was never any sort of real, recurrent problem in our units. And this last does not sound to have come from the delicate Ilios, for he does drink; in fact, he and Pahvlos regularly sit in the shade behind the headquarters building, sip wine and eat fruit and dainties while they watch common soldiers flogged and tortured and, occasionally, killed.”

“They what ?” burst out Thoheeks Pahlios, horror and incredulity reflected on his face and in his brown eyes.

“Just so, my lord,” drawled Tomos Gonsalos in his Karaleenos accent, “and then, or so I am told, they both retire to his quarters and make love.”

“It’s nothing less than monstrous!” Pahlios remonstrated. “How is it that such an animal still commands our army, Grahvos? Though it does sound a bit to me as if this catamite has twisted him about a finger and adversely influenced him, robbed him of most of his wits insofar as running an army is concerned. Has there been any thought of having this boy, Ilios, quietly … ahh, eliminated?”

Thoheeks Mahvros, new chairman of Council and for long Grahvos’ protégé”, sighed. “Of course we’ve tried, Pahlios, we’ve hired certain men to kill both of them on occasions, no less than three attempts on the old man, but he’s got more guards than you could shake a stick at, not to mention a seemingly charmed life. His food is prepared in his private kitchen by cooks who have been given to know that they will assuredly be praying for death long before it is granted to them if anything that even might be poison sickens or kills him.”

“But back to your question about the regular foot and the corps of specialists, my lord Thoheeks Pahlios,” said Tomos Gonsalos. “He did his usual number on the artificiers—denying them women, strong tipples, hemp, tobacco, restricting them all to the confines of the camp as if he commanded some slave-army, paying them only half of the contracted monthly stipend— but, oddly enough, they stayed on and merely grumbled until he had both the hands of one of their sergeants mangled and crippled for some trifling offense against his new rules. It was then that the entire unit of artificiers, officers and men alike, packed up and marched out of camp. And my lord must know that without a corps of artificiers, the remnants of our army might as well be sunk four feet deep in the sand for all of the moving any large number of them can do, for only some of the roads and bridges are passable for heavy transport, even yet.” Responding to the beginnings of a contrabasso growl, he added, “This last, through no slightest fault of Thoheeks Bahos and his committee, but simply through a dearth of state-slaves, suitable materials on hand where and when needed and difficulty of transporting said materials elsewhere quickly.”

“And as regards your earlier question about the finances of our government, Pahlios,” put in Thoheeks Grahvos, “we are sounder now than we ever have been before, and sufficient monies were transferred to Pahvlos to meet all of the army’s expenses, in full, and regularly. He simply chose to not pay his troops more than half the money they had coming.”

“So where’s the rest of it, Grahvos, or does anybody know? Where does old Pahvlos say it is?” asked Pahlios. “And does anybody believe his assertions?”

“Never you fear, it is all safe and fully accounted for,” he was assured by Thoheeks Mahvros. “For all his other and heinous faults, the Grand Strahteegos is no thief or embezzler of army funds. The army paymaster, who recently retired, tells me that he had a full accounting done before he turned everything over to his successor and every last half-copper could be seen or traced to fully justified usage.”

“All well and good, then,” said Thoheeks Pahlios, “but still I must pose the question: What are we going to do about Pahvlos? When and how and how soon are we going to put him out to pasture or put him down?—which last is more along the lines of what he deserves for all the harm he has done us and so many others.”

No one had an answer to his questions, however, not then and not there, but less than two weeks later, the Grand Strahteegos Thoheeks Pahvlos the Warlike lay dead upon the floor of the Council Chamber, the hilt of a slender dagger standing up from his back, he having been killed by Thoheeks Portos, but only after he had run up to the weapons racks, grabbed out his sword and a dirk, threatened to sword Thoheeks Grahvos and others, dirked Thoheeks Mahvros in the shoulder and called on his adherents to come and join him in what would have amounted to civil war. And such a war would have almost certainly rent the new-made nation apart, destroyed all that so many had labored so long and hard to erect.

Two hours after the necessary murder, newly appointed Sub-strahteegos Thoheeks Portos rode into the enclave of the army headquarters at the head of his sometime brigade of cavalry, fully armed for war. Leaving his officers and troopers to round up all of the late Grand Strahteegos’ people and explain to them the new, hard facts of what was now to be, Portos dismounted and stalked through the main building, back to the private quarters of his late victim in search of his next chosen victim.

The brace of personal guardsmen in the corridor outside the door had been chosen more for their good looks and youth and grace than for any attainments of combativeness or fighting skills, so they were but a momentary hindrance to the tall, thick-muscled veteran warrior. He left one of them stark dead and the other crawling slowly up the empty corridor, sobbing weakly, in great agony and leaving a broad smear of gore behind him. Portos doubted the guardsman would make it far. He stooped, wiped his blade clean on the fancy cape of the dead one, sheathed it, then pushed open the door to the suite and entered.

Ilios was sitting on the edge of a bed, dark eyes still heavy-lidded, when Portos stalked in. “Wha … what are you doing here, and unannounced, Captain Portos? Those damned slothful guards will be well striped for this.”

Portos grinned coldly. “No they won’t, boy. One of them lies dead out there and the other will be dead soon enough. If it’s protection you want, you should put scarred, ugly warriors on guard, not pretty popinjays.”

Ilios paled, put one hand to a cheek, his eyes wide. “You mean you killed them, both of them? Pahvlos will likely see you hang for such …”

Coldly, contemptuously, Portos stepped closer to the bedside and slapped the boy on the other cheek. “Pahvlos will never again do anything for or to another living soul. He’s dead too. I drove a dagger into him less than three hours agone. The new Strahteegos is Thoheeks Tomos Gonsalos, and he’s a lost cause for such as you, boy; he and his wife live together in this camp and are, I am informed, most congenial and contented, one to the other.”