K Parker - The Belly of the Bow

‘That’s good,’ Bardas said. ‘I won a war once, against the plainspeople. In fact, I won it so thoroughly and well, they came back and burnt my city to the ground. With help, of course.’

Gorgas waited for him to add something, but he didn’t seem inclined to. ‘It’s a wonderful bow,’ he said. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen one like it. What’s it made of?’

‘I’ll tell you in a moment,’ Bardas replied. ‘I’m glad you found it useful. I was worried for a while that it might be a bit stiff.’

Gorgas grinned ruefully. ‘Stiff’s putting it mildly,’ he replied. ‘As witness my back, hands and arms. At the time, though, it didn’t seem to worry me.’

Bardas nodded. ‘Plenty of power?’ he said. ‘Penetration?’

‘No question about that. Looked to me that it sent arrows through armour like it wasn’t there.’

‘That’s good,’ Bardas said. ‘Well, it was only a small contribution to the war effort – I made it, but you were the one who shot it. You always shot well with the bows I made you.’

‘Very true.’

Bardas shrugged. ‘And I always made ‘em better than I could shoot ‘em. Ironic, really. Take the bow you shot Dad with, for instance.’ Gorgas tensed up, the muscles in his belly tightening, but Bardas went on as before. ‘Originally I made that one for myself, but try as I might I could never hit a barn door with it; and the new one – well, I can only just draw the horrid thing.’

‘It’s a knack,’ Gorgas replied quietly.

‘Ironic, though; if I’d had that old bow that day, I’d never have hit all those long-range moving targets, if I’d been in your shoes.’

‘You weren’t.’

‘But I could have been. Damn it, we were both young, we hadn’t started being the people we are now. I can imagine a set of circumstances that’d have put me where you were, that day. I could have been the one who did what you did. Only,’ he added with a smile, ‘I’d have missed.’

Gorgas was silent for a moment. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘you turned out to be better with the sword than I ever was with the bow.’

‘It’s kind of you to say so,’ Bardas replied gravely. ‘Coming from you, that’s an accolade. Can I ask you something?’

Gorgas didn’t like the sound of his voice, but he said, ‘Sure, ask away.’

Bardas nodded and relaxed a little more into his chair. ‘When you opened the gates of Perimadeia,’ he said, ‘what was the real reason? Iseutz said it was because Niessa told you to, but I have my doubts.’

‘I was there because Niessa sent me,’ he said. ‘And her reasons benefited me too, remember.’

Bardas acknowledged that with a gesture of his hand. ‘But I bet I know the real reason,’ he said. ‘Well, the two real reasons. First, you’d always hated Perimadeia, because that’s where young Hedin and the other boy came from; if they hadn’t come to visit, the landlords’ sons with their money and position, being better than us, you’d never have done it. In that respect, Perimadeia ruined your life, just like it ruined Temrai’s. That’s the first reason. What do you think?’

‘There’s truth in what you say, Bardas.’

‘Thought so. But the other reason,’ he went on, ‘that was something of your own. Now I’m not saying you’d ever have done it of your own hook just for this reason; Niessa gave you the order, and you thought of this and it was this that made you agree, so it’s not all your responsibility. But I think you engineered the fall of Perimadeia because I lived there, and you wanted me out into the big wide world again, where you could take care of me, see me right, make it all up for me for what you’d done. You brought me the Guelan sword, you as good as warned me about what was going to happen, you came looking for me in the fighting; you had a ship waiting to pick me up and bring me on. All that trouble you went to, just to make up with your brother. You know, in a way that’s really sweet .’

Gorgas looked at him, but there was nothing to see.

‘In a way,’ Bardas went on, ‘that was real brotherly love. I can’t think of anybody else who’d do something like that, someone so obsessively – loving. Really, making you the bow is hardly a fitting recompense.’

‘It was all I ever wanted from you,’ Gorgas replied.

‘Think nothing of it, please. But I thought I’d mention it; you see, if it was just what you’d done to Dad and the rest of us all those years ago, I’d never have made you the bow. But when I found out about the City, it set me thinking; I was thinking about it just now, a few minutes before you arrived. Gorgas, you know what? Your actions have always caused mine; in a sense, you made me, just like I made the bow. The only difference is, I made the bow out of dead tissue; you used me while I was still alive.’

Gorgas looked up. ‘What do you mean?’ he said.

Bardas stood up and walked to the door that separated the main room from the small bedchamber. ‘You were asking me about what the bow was made of,’ he said.

‘That can wait,’ Gorgas interrupted. ‘Bardas, what do you mean, my actions caused yours?’

Bardas leant against the doorpost. ‘I met your son a short while ago,’ he said. ‘What was his name? Luha? A good boy, I thought. I liked him.’

‘He’s all right,’ Gorgas said.

‘I mentioned that I was going to make you a bow,’ Bardas went on, ‘and he said he’d like to help. In fact, he helped a whole lot. Have you been home lately?’

Gorgas got to his feet. ‘Bardas,’ he said, ‘what’s all this about?’

Bardas stood out of the doorway, gesturing Gorgas to come across. ‘You asked me what I made the bow out of,’ he said. ‘Come and see.’

In the bedchamber was a low wooden bed. On the bed were the remains of a body. About half the skin had been flayed off the flesh, which was in an advanced state of decay. The ribcage was exposed; all the front ribs had been neatly sawn out, and the intestines were missing. There were long, neat slits up the sides of the arms and legs, across the chest, up the sides of the neck, where every last fibre of sinew had been carefully removed. Half the scalp was shaved. There was no sign of any blood apart from a brown residue in the bottom of a brass dish on the floor.

‘It’s wonderful,’ Bardas said. ‘Everything you need to make the perfect bow’s in there somewhere, except for a little strip of wood. I’d heard about making bows from ribs years ago. I even tried it once but it never worked; I used buffalo ribs, and I guess they just can’t take it the way human bone can. Human sinew, too; it’s marvellous stuff, far better than deer or beef tendon. Then there’s the skin, for rawhide and glue; blood, for glue again; guts for the bowstring – some waste, obviously, but not too much. There’s even fat for waterproofing and fine hair to make into serving thread; I read somewhere that human hair makes good bowstrings, but I thought I’d stick with tried and tested gut.’ He put a hand on Gorgas’ shoulder. ‘And I bet there were times you thought Luha’d never amount to much. Instead, look, he’s helped you win the war.’

Gorgas was still and quiet for a long time, thinking. Bardas sat down at the foot of the bed, waiting for him to speak. ‘Good tactics, don’t you think?’ he went on, as Gorgas stayed quiet. ‘Your wife thinks her son’s here with me, staying with Uncle Bardas. Which he is, of course, though in a sense he also went with his father to the wars. That’s neat, really; he’s learnt soldiering with you and bow-making with me. Really, the best of both of us.’

‘It’s all right,’ Gorgas said.

Bardas looked at him. ‘What did you say?’ he asked.

‘It’s all right,’ Gorgas repeated slowly. ‘It doesn’t matter.’