Martin Scott - Thraxas and the Dance of Death

“Lisutaris is not having an illicit love affair.”

“Then why has she hired you to retrieve her diary? Word is it’s full of incriminating poetry.”

“How many people are likely to get in her way?” asks Parax. “Are we talking three figures?”

“If she’s been spurned,” muses a docker, “she might get very violent. You know what women are like when they’re spurned.”

Gurd abandons all hope and sits down heavily behind the bar, unwilling or unable to even draw a jar of ale. Makri, remembering that I called her a vile Orcish wench, is now threatening to kill me. I inform her I’ll be happy to send her head back to her mother, if she has a mother, which I doubt. It would seem that things could hardly get worse when a young government official in a crisp white toga strides into the bar. Ignoring my drawn sword, he hands me a document.

“What’s this?”

“Citation of cowardice.”

“What?”

“You’ve been called before a committee of the Senate to account for your behaviour at the Battle of Sanasa.”

My head swims. The Battle of Sanasa was all of seventeen years ago.

“What are you talking about?”

“It is alleged that you discarded your shield and fled the field.”

There’s a gasp from the assembled drinkers in the tavern. Discarding one’s shield on the field of battle is one of the most serious charges that can be faced by a Turanian citizen. Never did I imagine that I could be accused of such a thing. The world has truly gone insane.

[Contents]

Chapter Twelve

I erupt in a volcanic fury.

“Discarded my shield? Me? I practically won the Battle of Sanasa single-handed, you young dog. If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t be walking round this city in a toga. You wouldn’t have a city to walk around. Who makes this allegation?”

“Vadinex, also a participant in the battle,” answers the official.

“We’ll see about that,” I roar, and head for the door, sword still in hand. I wave it for extra effect. No one accuses me of cowardice. Gurd brings me to a halt by placing his arms around me and wedging his foot against a table.

“Where are you going?” he demands.

“To kill Vadinex, of course. No one accuses me of discarding my shield.”

“Killing Vadinex won’t help.”

“Of course it will help. Now get your arms off me. I have some killing to do.”

“They’ll hang you.”

I try to break free from Gurd’s mighty grip. Makri is looking on, amused.

“Not that I mind you being hanged for murder, Thraxas, what with you calling me a vile Orcish wench and being intolerably rude, but isn’t this similar to when you told me not to kill Professor Toarius?”

“It’s not the same at all. Vadinex has impugned my honour.”

“Toarius impugned mine.”

“I don’t care!” I roar, and renew my struggle with Gurd.

“You’ll be arrested and then you won’t be able to help Lisutaris.”

I cease struggling. In truth, I’m finding it hard to break free of Gurd’s grasp. He always was an unusually strong man, and he’s kept himself in better shape than me. He starts hauling me back towards the bar.

“Would they really hang Thraxas if he killed Vadinex?” asks Makri.

“Yes,” replies Gurd.

“Then it sounds like a good plan. Let him go.”

Gurd shoots a very fierce and barbaric scowl in Makri’s direction.

“We don’t need any more advice from you. Go and serve customers.”

Throughout all this the government official has remained calmly waiting for an opportunity to speak, and when he does so the tavern falls silent. There’s still something about a man in a toga that induces respect.

“I must tell you that a man facing such a charge can no longer participate in any official duty. So you are forbidden by law to use the office of Tribune. Furthermore, your Investigator’s licence, being granted by the Consul’s office on behalf of the King, is temporarily revoked until such time as you be either cleared, in which case it shall be renewed, or convicted, in which case it will be revoked.”

“Are you saying I can’t investigate?”

“That is correct.”

“How long for?”

He doesn’t know. Until my case is heard by the Senate committee. This could take months. Possibly years. Unless you’re a man with influence in this city, legal cases can take a very long time to come to court.

The official departs, leaving me to contemplate the terrible baseness of the accusations. Gurd directs Makri to look after the bar and leads me into the back room, where he pours me a hefty glass of klee. I drink it in one and he refills the glass.

“Thanks, Gurd. For stopping me going to kill Vadinex. It would have been foolish. Though I still want to do it.”

“Of course,” says Gurd. “That’s what I’d want to do if anyone accused me of cowardice. Back in the north I’d have killed him already. But things are different here.”

I look at Gurd with some surprise.

“When did you become the responsible citizen?”

“When I bought this tavern and started paying taxes.”

I’ve known Gurd for so long. I always think of him with his axe in his hand, hewing at the enemy. Somehow it hadn’t quite struck me how much he’s changed. Matured, I suppose. Not that he’s a man who’d avoid a fight if it came along, as he’s demonstrated various times on my behalf in the past few years. Gurd senses my thoughts.

“Don’t worry. If you can’t clear your name by the law, I’ll help you kill Vadinex and we can flee the city together.”

I take another glass of klee. The way things are going we might find ourselves heading south with Lisutaris. She’d be a good companion for an outlaw. No problem lighting campfires in the wilderness. Gurd asks me if I know what’s behind this unfortunate turn of events.

“I used my Tribune’s powers to protect Lisutaris. It meant putting a block on the Civil Guards and Palace Security. I should have known I couldn’t meddle with powerful people like that. Someone’s out for revenge. Probably Rittius, head of Palace Security. He’s had it in for me for years. It was bound to happen.”

Gurd attempts to reassure me. “No one who knows you would ever believe you threw away your shield and fled the battlefield.”

“What about people that don’t know me? This will be all over the city. Some people will believe it.”

In a place like Turai where every man is glad to hear something bad about his neighbour, accusations of this sort tend to stick. A man’s name can be ruined, even if the case never comes to court. Just the association with cowardice in war is a terrible taboo. Throwing away your shield is punishable by law, but the stigma is worse. It’s so grave an accusation that it’s rarely levelled against any of the hapless and unwilling types of men who might actually be guilty of it. Most times the commander of a cohort, faced with a soldier’s cowardice, would simply beat the soldier, make sure he was full of drink when the enemy next approached, and send him back into the field. Actually taking a man to court for cowardice is the sort of thing normally reserved for politicians whose enemies are seeking a means of ruining them. Either that, or a rich man whose relatives are looking for a way to part him from his fortune. Once it’s proved against you, you lose all rights as a citizen.

“Why Vadinex?” wonders Gurd.

We both know Vadinex. A huge, brutal man. An effective soldier, but dumb as an Orc; vicious and bad, even in peacetime.

“I crossed him last winter,” I say. “He’d willingly play along if Rittius offered him enough.”

I’m certainly not giving up my investigation on behalf of Lisutaris. Not even the King can prevent a citizen of the city walking around asking questions, though it could lead me into difficulties. I no longer have any legal status to protect my clients and could be forced by the Civil Guard to tell them everything I knew about any case I was working on. In theory anyway. In practice, the Guard can go to hell.