David Drake - Tyrant

* * *

"Let's do it," Demansk ordered. His face was drawn and tight, looking like a mask in the lamplight of the command bunker, but showed no emotion otherwise. "Send in the propaganda teams and the spies tonight, Forent. By now, that wall is like a sieve. For small groups of men, anyway."

Nappur nodded. Adrian was a bit surprised that the giant seemed so placid at the prospect of trying to infiltrate hundreds of men into a city which was supposedly, after all, "under siege." But Raj enlightened him immediately.

Forget the imagery, lad. What's the axiom of your philosopher — can't remember his name at the moment — about not mistaking the portrait for the man? Same's true with a siege. Precious few sieges are really all that tight, especially with a city as enormous as Vanbert. Keep out massed assaults, yes. Keep out spies, deserters — both ways — traders, hell, even housewives looking for husbands and vice versa — not a chance.

Demansk turned to Adrian next. "We'll give the proclamation two days to eat away at Albrecht's troops. Morning of the third, I'll want to start the barrage. Can you manage it?"

On that subject, Adrian had no questions at all. "Yes, easily. I could start by tomorrow night, if you wanted."

Demansk shook his head. "No, the proclamation gives the troops two full days to decide, and I'll stick to it. Whatever I might gain in the way of a tactical surprise wouldn't be worth the political damage. 'Verice Demansk is good for his word.' That's gotten us this far, it'll take us the rest of the way."

* * *

And so it proved. To Adrian's immense disgust — combined with relief, admittedly — the siege guns never went into action at all. By noon of the second day, mutinies began erupting among Albrecht's troops. By midafternoon, half the garrison of Vanbert was in full revolt. By late afternoon, the revolt was completely out of control. The gates of the city were being thrown open from within. Civilians began pouring out to plead for mercy and soldiers began pouring out to make a formal surrender — before, still carrying their weapons as Demansk had promised them, they began their own long march back to the eastern provinces from which they came.

Most of the soldiers, at least. Those who had decided to take advantage of Demansk's proclamation that the land of all noblemen under Albrecht's banner — which was a good half of them, taken as a whole, and almost three quarters of those whose estates lay in the east — was forfeit to the state. Which, in its mercy and justice, would allow any yeoman of the rebellious provinces to claim for his own. And would ask no questions regarding the status of their military service.

Enry Sharbonow had even printed up samples of the legal form which would be required to substantiate the new land tenure. A very simple and straightforward form, quite unlike the typical official document of the Confederacy. Even a half-literate foot soldier could study the thing and see how easy it was, and explain it to his fellows who could not read at all. Just grab it and get nine other people to say you're a good and proper fellow. And that's — IT. Okay, guys — we all know each other and there's ten of us. Let's go. Squad deep.

So, three brigades' worth of soldiers began a disorganized race back to their homeland, each and every one of them bound and determined to carve out for himself a farm he could live on and raise a family. And the gods save anyone who got in their way.

Not all of the soldiers, however. Quite a few, either because they were more short-sighted, filled with a more immediate greed, less ambitious, lazier — it was a long way back to the eastern provinces — decided they'd rather keep enjoying the pleasures of the capital, or, simply, were too unpleasant to have nine people ready to vouch for them, decided to take advantage of Demansk's other offer.

And a full land share taken from their estates — or half its equivalent immediately, in cash — to anyone who brings before Verice Demansk, Paramount Triumvir, the heads of any rebellious nobleman. The features must be recognizable.

A separate leaflet — a bound-together cheap little codex, actually — specifically listed the names. That was more in the way of a formality than anything else, however. Forent saw to it that his infiltrators distributed hundreds of those, as well, but precious few people within the city bothered to study the list. After ruling the roost in Vanbert for so many months, Albrecht and his cohorts were quite well known to the populace and its garrison.

Besides, the principal leaflet — distributed in thousands of copies — had the real prizes listed on it.

Double shares for any member of Albrecht's false and traitorous so-called 'Council.' Triple shares for Drav Albrecht himself and his principal conspirators.

That was a short list. Six names, beginning with Jacreb Quain and ending with: Barrett Demansk.

* * *

Demansk kept his troops out of the city for the first two days of the massacre. Albrecht's street gangs, of course, were doing most of Demansk's dirty work for him. They were the ones who had the easiest access to Albrecht and his cohorts, the ingrained habits of thuggery to fall back upon, and could most easily intimidate the populace into revealing the hidey-holes of those noblemen who managed to escape the initial slaughter. But, in the nature of things, would also be the most uneasy at the presence of regular soldiers in the city.

On the morning of the third day, by which time most of the heads had been collected in any event, Demansk — in his justice and mercy — heeded the pleas of the city's everyday citizens to put a stop to the brigandage and mayhem which the street gangs had also unleashed on the capital.

So, a new proclamation was issued — and four brigades of regular troops stormed into the city to enforce it. Or, to put things crudely but more truthfully, cash in on it.

The Paramount Triumvir is distressed to discover that criminal elements are running amok in the capital. Therefore he has decreed that any soldier who brings him the head of such a criminal will be entitled to whatever property the criminal possesses. Features must be recognizable.

A new set of codexes was distributed — not many; Enry's portable printing presses were temperamental gadgets — which provided a long list of the names of criminals. The list was even fairly accurate and up to date, since everyone who had turned in a nobleman's head had been required to sign or mark a receipt. True, many of the names on the receipts were fictitious; but an amazing number of street gang members had given their own.

And, again, it hardly mattered. The populace of Vanbert, which had suffered the swaggering abuses of the city's gangs for decades — and never more so than in the past months — were even more adept at leading soldiers to the hidey-holes of criminals than the criminals had been at ferreting out noblemen. Within the first hour, in fact, the transaction became more-or-less standardized. Show us where the bastards are and we'll cut you in — a tenth of whatever the squad gets.

That was perhaps the brightest side of the affair. At least thirty-two marriages came out of those impromptu liaisons between squads and civilians — along with more than twenty adoptions. One street urchin was even, officially, adopted by an entire squad. Which they thought was eminently reasonable and fair, since the shrewd and plucky lad had led them to no less than thirteen hidey-holes. (And never you mind how the boy knew about 'em. How many real crimes could he have committed, anyway, at the age of nine?)

There was a much darker side to it, of course, as Demansk had known full well there would be. Not all of the "criminals" who were pointed out to the soldiers were anything of the sort. It was easy enough, in the chaos and carnage of the moment, for someone to settle an old score or grudge by simply making the claim. Soldiers were not given to asking too many questions, after all, under such circumstances. Unless others — neighbors, friends, relatives — put up a fierce argument on the spot, most squads were ready enough to chop off a head on anybody's say-so. Although, now and again, it did happen that, once convinced a "criminal" was innocent, the soldiers cheerfully decapitated his accuser and brought that head before the Paramount Triumvir.