The Folding Knife Part 9

Ba.s.so laughed. "I'll let you know when the time comes," he said. "Seriously, though, it's possible. It all depends on who gets the upper hand in the political dogfight they're going through right now. If it's the old families allied with the city people, they probably won't fight. If the small to medium landowners manage to patch up a deal with the southern gentry, they'll want a proper war. I'm afraid you won't find anything to help you in your book," he added. "Much too recent. When that was written, the Eumolpidae were still in power."

Aelius smiled and pushed the tube deeper into his pocket. "I only bought it for the pictures," he said.

"Oh, there's useful stuff in there," Ba.s.so replied. "Good sections on geography and topography, and some of what he says about the legal system is still valid. Most of the rest of it's copied out of an even older book, and everything else I think he just made up."

They discussed equipment and supply issues for a while, agreed a provisional timetable and managed to avoid falling out over a budget. Then Aelius left, and Ba.s.so leaned forward across the desk, his head in his hands. He was still sitting like that a quarter of an hour later, when his nephew walked in.

"Headache?" Ba.s.sano asked.

"You could say that," Ba.s.so replied. "I've just started a war, and I'm not quite sure why."

"Oh." Ba.s.sano walked round the desk to the gilded cedarwood cabinet where Ba.s.so kept the wine. "Can I get you one?"

"No, thanks. There's enough garbage in my head without adding to it chemically."

Ba.s.sano poured himself a drink, and brought the bottle with him. "I heard about the war," he said. "I was a bit surprised. I thought you always reckoned war's an admission of-"

"Yes," Ba.s.so said. "And I do. Which makes me ask myself why I did it. If I'd failed at something, I'd have thought I'd have known about it." He sighed and opened the biscuit box.

Ba.s.sano shook his head. "So?" he asked.

"The only explanation I can come up with is that I lost my temper," Ba.s.so replied. "Which I rarely do." He took a biscuit and put it down on the desk. "I've been playing stupid diplomatic games with those clowns, and they're a little bit better at it than I am; not good enough to beat me, but I haven't been able to beat them, and meanwhile they keep on poking me with a stick, to try and needle me into making a mistake. Usually I pride myself on my patience," he added, "but I guess they caught me on a bad day."

Ba.s.sano nodded. Yesterday had been his mother's birthday. He'd been there when she sent away Ba.s.so's present unopened, as she always did.

"It's not a mistake, though," Ba.s.so went on. "We ought to do quite well out of it, in fact. It's good to be a man of peace, but it's bad when that's how people think of you. Did you ever meet Gannarus? No, he died before you came to the City. He used to be our coachman, when I was a boy. Anyway," Ba.s.so went on, lifting his head to look at the painting directly above him, "he told me once that when he was a boy and his parents sent him to school-he came from a good family in his own country, poor devil-the first thing he did on his first day there was find the biggest boy in the playground, pick a fight with him over some nonsense or other, and smack him round the head with a lump of rock. After that, he said, he never had any bother from the other kids, even though he was small for his age and a born coward. Really, I suppose, I should've done this earlier."

"You started off with the war with Scleria," Ba.s.sano reminded him. "Maybe you thought that'd do."

Ba.s.so shook his head. "They attacked us," he replied. "That's different. That's where the school bully picks a fight with you, and you deck him. The virtue of the Gannarus protocol lies in your attack being unprovoked and gratuitous. If you let the bully start it, you're inviting his compet.i.tors to have a go at you later on, to see if they can do better. But people generally steer clear of someone they suspect of being dangerously unbalanced." He yawned, and picked up the biscuit, while Ba.s.sano refilled his gla.s.s. "I've made a lifetime study of violence," he said. "I like to tell myself I study it in the same way a doctor studies a disease, but that's not entirely true. Trying to run a business, or a country, come to that, without using violence is like playing the harpischord and only using the white keys. No," he added with a frown, "bad example. I'll have to think of a better one sometime. Anyway, how are you? How's your mother?"

Ba.s.sano pulled a face. "Hard to live with," he said. "This religious phase she's going through shows no sign of wearing out. It's a pain in the b.u.m, believe me."

"I do," Ba.s.so said earnestly. "Really I do. How far has it gone?"

Ba.s.sano scowled. "When I left home this morning," he said, "there were six priests in the house, and Mother had them debating the indivisibility of the soul." He drank half his gla.s.s of wine. "She wants me to read for the priesthood," he said. "It's getting quite embarra.s.sing."

"Have you thought about it seriously?"

"Uncle Ba.s.so, don't say things like that. Not funny."

Ba.s.so leaned across the table and topped up his nephew's gla.s.s. There was something, subtle but not capable of misinterpretation, about the way he did it that told Ba.s.sano there wouldn't be any more. "It's not the worst idea ever," he said. "No, really, think about it. I can get you fast-tracked through seminary, so you won't actually have to read anything, and then, as soon as you're ordained, we'll find a way of getting you a good monastery."

"Uncle Ba.s.so..."

"Hear me out," Ba.s.so said. "You don't have to run it in person. You don't ever have to go there, even. Half the monasteries in the Republic are held by absentee priors and abbots. What matters is, you get control of the land and the endowment money. A hundred years ago it was a recognised career path, like the House or the army. Even now, the major temples own nearly a fifth of the fixed capital in this town. Meanwhile, you can put in a good freedman as manager and do what the h.e.l.l you like." He smiled. "And wouldn't your mother be pleased."

Ba.s.sano wriggled, as if trying to slip out of a net. "I'll think about it," he said.

"You mean no." Ba.s.so shrugged. "Face it," he said, "sooner or later you're going to have to do something. I only suggested it because it's as close as anything to what I know you really want to do."

"Which is?"

"As little as possible. Which is fine," Ba.s.so added quickly. "The less you do, the less chance there is that you'll do something wrong. Really, I think the priesthood would suit you much better than the law. Too much work in the law. Could seriously impinge on your free time."

Ba.s.sano pulled that face: tease me if you enjoy it, but please get it over with. "Actually," he said, "I've been thinking. How would it be if I joined the Bank?"

Ba.s.so sat very still for a moment or so, and when he spoke his voice was much quieter. "Your mother wouldn't want that," he said.

"No, but I think I would. No," he added quickly, "please listen. A few months back, I started following the markets; just for fun, to see how I got on. I pretended I had a hundred thousand to invest, and I've kept a ledger and accounts; you can see them if you like. The fact is, if it'd been real money, I'd have made fifteen thousand profit by now. I really do believe I've got the touch. Inherited, of course, from my uncle."

Ba.s.so sighed. "For a start," he said, "it's not quite the same when it's real money. Also, the market's been rising steadily all this year-too much, as it happens, which means there's going to be a nasty fall. Have you predicted that? No, I don't suppose you have. It's not something you can pick up just by light of nature."

"You did."

"No offence, but you're not me." Ba.s.so looked away, apparently concentrating on a painted angel just above the door. "For which you should be eternally grateful. I don't doubt you could learn it easily enough," he went on, "particularly if I taught you; even better, if Antigonus taught you, like he taught me. But your mother wouldn't stand for it, so that's that. Sorry." He kept his eye on the angel, so he wouldn't see Ba.s.sano's face. "If you like," he went on, "I'll give you some money, so you can bet for real. Just don't let your mother-"

"I don't want to play at it, Uncle Ba.s.so," Ba.s.sano interrupted. "And if you gave me money I'd probably spend it. I want to learn the business. I think it's what I want to do."

For some reason, the Invincible Sun chose that moment to drive a shaft of bright light through the thick yellow gla.s.s of the long windows. It caught the gilded mosaics just right; exactly how the man who'd designed them must have intended. If Ba.s.so had been so inclined, he might have taken it as an omen, or at least some sort of expression of divine interest. Unfortunately, the Invincible Sun had never acquired the knack of making His meaning clear; like a man with a cleft palate, Ba.s.so decided, or a sad old man who shouts in the street. "Ba.s.sano," he said, "I want you to listen to what I'm going to say. Please don't interrupt, and if you want to be mortally offended, please do it after I've finished talking. All right?"

The pained, long-suffering look; Ba.s.sano did it ever so well. If it had been anybody else, Ba.s.so would have suspected him of practising in front of a mirror. But Ba.s.sano never had to practise anything. "Sure," he said. "Fire away."

"All right," Ba.s.so replied. "Feel free to take notes; there may be questions afterwards. Because of me," he went on (and his voice hardened just a little), "you grew up without a father, and with a neurotic, overprotective mother. It eases my conscience a little to try and offer you a little guidance from time to time. Now guidance isn't always the most welcome present an uncle can give. It's better than socks or a nice illuminated hymnal, but it's no match for a pedigree falcon or actual coined money. Never mind. Here we go."

He paused. Ba.s.sano was looking at the wine bottle over the rim of his empty gla.s.s. Ba.s.so moved his head almost imperceptibly from side to side.

"What you are," Ba.s.so continued, "is a typical product of your cla.s.s and background; a better specimen than most, I'll grant you, but even so, pretty much standard issue. Thanks to your excellent education you're perfectly equipped to debate philosophy with a Master or literature with an Arbiter, but you couldn't boil an egg or sew on a b.u.t.ton. You're smart, lazy, fussy, a perfectionist-if you can't do something perfectly first time, you can't be bothered with it at all; fortuitously, you've got so much natural talent that you actually can do most of the things that interest you by light of nature, but all that means is you get bored easily, and move on to the next thing. You've got maybe a bit too much charm, but on balance I'd be inclined to say there's no real malice in you-"

"Thank you so much, Uncle."

"You're welcome. It's actually a major compliment. Your cousins the twins are good lads, both of them, and I love them dearly, but they've both got a vicious streak in them that worries me to death. You, on the other hand, are genuinely kind-hearted, when you can be bothered to take notice of anything that calls for kindness. In other words, you're ideally suited to the life you were born to, and I think you'd probably make a very good job of it. I can see no reason why you shouldn't keep yourself harmlessly amused for a good long lifetime, and everybody will like you, and you won't make many very bad mistakes. You want to watch your drinking, mind. It's getting to be a habit."

"Noted," Ba.s.sano said dryly. "Is that it?"

"Not quite. You remind me ever such a lot of my father; not as I knew him, but what people have told me about how he used to be when he was a young man, before he married my mother. Objectively considered, that was a bad decision. My mother was a strong woman, intelligent, rather more so than Dad was. It made him want to do things, make something of his life rather than just let it wash over him. She was why he went into politics, and why he was always trying to do well in business, and both of those ambitions nearly ruined him. But he had a ridiculous amount of good luck, which balanced out his appalling judgement, so he ended up breaking more or less even." Ba.s.so paused, reached for the wine bottle and Ba.s.sano's gla.s.s, poured a small measure and drank it. "He wasn't nearly as intelligent as you are," he went on. "In fact, not to put too fine a point on it, he was an idiot. But he had other qualities that made up for that: he was brave, loyal, never particularly self-indulgent, and he had enough sheer force of personality to punch his way through. That's what he turned out like. That's not how he started out. With me so far?"

Ba.s.sano nodded slowly. "You reckon that if I go into business, it'll make me all nasty and twisted."

"That's something of an oversimplification," Ba.s.so said quietly, "but you're on the right lines. I think that if you go into business, and you knuckle down and try really hard and apply yourself and harness all your considerable abilities, you might end up something like me. And that," he added softly, "would be a dreadful shame. That's all," he went on, "sermon over. Feel free to slam out of the room, if that's what you want to do."

Ba.s.sano shook his head. "That'd be flouncing," he said. "I don't flounce. But seriously, Uncle, I don't see what the problem is. And," he went on quickly, before Ba.s.so could say anything, "I really don't want to read for the priesthood."

"All right." Ba.s.so spread his hands in a soothing gesture. "We'll forget about that, then. And in return, you'll forget about the Bank. Agreed?"

He knew the look that pa.s.sed quickly over his nephew's face: an orderly retreat to regroup before counter-attacking. "Fine," Ba.s.sano said. "Whatever you say. And at least that way, Mother won't have the satisfaction." He grinned. "That's worth something, at any rate."

"You shouldn't antagonise your mother."

"Why not?" The grin became a smile. "She loves to quarrel, and I don't mind, so long as it's just stupid stuff. Actually, it's about time we had a good fight. She's been a bit down lately. Raw emotion cheers her up no end."

Ba.s.so asked him to stay to dinner, but he said he was meeting some friends. "Next week some time," he added vaguely. Ba.s.so nodded.

"Seen much of the twins lately?" he asked.

Ba.s.sano raised an eyebrow. "You have a reason for asking?"

"Of course."

"In that case, yes, I ran into them at the Ring the day before yesterday."

"What's new?"

"Really," Ba.s.sano chided him, "why don't you ask them yourself, instead of having me spy on them? They haven't got any ghastly secrets, if that's what you're thinking."

"Would you tell me if they did?"

"Yes," Ba.s.sano replied. "But there's nothing to tell, except that Festo's got a crush on the Blues' new snake-girl. Nothing you need to worry about," he added quickly, as Ba.s.so breathed in sharply. "She's way too old for him, and practically engaged to the bear-master. And he's far too savvy to go smashing in the face of the First Citizen's son."

Ba.s.so smiled. "I knew a soldier once who did just that."

"Really?" Ba.s.sano looked surprised. "You, you mean."

"That's how come I'm deaf in this ear."

"I never knew that. So what did you do to him? This soldier, I mean."

Ba.s.so leaned back a little in his chair. "He's just about to lead the attack on Auxentia."

"General Aelius?" It wasn't often Ba.s.so managed to stun his nephew quite so effectively. "You're kidding me."

"Ask your mother," Ba.s.so replied. "She was there. Actually no, better if you don't, unless you really feel the need to verify my a.s.sertion. It's perfectly true, though. And you're the first person I've ever shared that particular fact with, so I'd be obliged if you'd keep it to yourself."

"Of course." Ba.s.sano waited, then said, "Well?"

So Ba.s.so told him.

"Seriously? You beat up a soldier when you were fourteen?"

"He wasn't expecting it," Ba.s.so said mildly. "I kicked him very hard on the kneecap, which hurts a lot; and while he was groggy with the pain, I laid into him as quickly as I could. I recommend the method to you, if ever you have to fight someone bigger than you. Start off by causing the maximum of pain. It buys you time."

Ba.s.sano shook his head in wonder. "You'd be better off telling Festo that," he said. "I don't get into fights, ever."

"But Festo does?"

Ba.s.sano nodded. "But he always wins. And he never starts anything. Fights just seem to blossom and grow around him, like flowers round the feet of the G.o.ddess. I saw a man take a swing at him the other day just for blowing his nose in a flower shop."

"What was Festo doing in a flower shop?"

"A bouquet," Ba.s.sano said gravely, "for the snake-girl. He sends one round to the dressing room after every performance. There you are, you see. Harmless."

"Except when he's starting fights."

"Causing," Ba.s.sano said, "not starting. There's a difference."

It was the custom for the First Citizen to send a suitable gift to the Commander-in-Chief on the eve of his departure at the start of a new campaign. Ba.s.so sent three. One was a beautifully illuminated copy of Bryzes of the Stadium's History of Auxentia; the third edition, two hundred years old, in a gold tube embossed with scenes of naval warfare. Another was a dozen bottles of resinated black wine, a vice which Aelius had always thought he'd managed to keep secret. The third was a life membership of the Blues; an extraordinary gift, something that no amount of money could buy. Two life memberships a year were awarded by each team's general a.s.sembly, who were reckoned to be the only incorruptible officials in the Republic; it strained his imagination to think what Ba.s.so must've done to secure one for him. All in all, it was a pity that he was the only adult male in the City who didn't follow the horse racing.

("Presumably he didn't know that," commented Major Artabazus, his adjutant, as they watched the City grow faint over the stern rail of the ship.

"Of course he knew," Aelius replied. "He knows everything.") The fleet sailed at the start of the one month in the year when the Garrhine Strait could reliably be navigated in relative safety, and swept into the Gulf before the beacons could be lit. The intelligence reports were proved right: the main Auxentine fleet was in the harbour at Perigouna, where the prefect immediately raised the great chain that blocked the harbour mouth, quite reasonably fearing that the enemy intended to break in and burn the ships at anchor. However, a squadron of six galleys and three auxiliaries, escorting the grain fleet, had earlier been forced into the little port of Obrys by bad weather. When Aelius' ships were sighted off Garrhae, this squadron put out to sea and launched a frantic, unexpected attack, just as Aelius was about to change course for the Opoion promontory. Having no choice but to fight, Aelius engaged, only to find that the Auxentines had rigged out four grain freighters as fireships. As luck would have it, the wind changed just as the fireships emerged from the centre of the Auxentine line; they were carried straight at Aelius' troopships, which were too slow and heavy to get out of the way. Ordinary fireships would have been bad enough; but the Auxentines had packed them with barrels of flour, soaked in oil and garnished with tubs of pitch from the Obrys dockyard. Fanned by the brisk, fortuitous breeze, the pitch burned hot enough to ignite and detonate the flour. Three of the troopships, each carrying a thousand men, were blown out of the water; burning debris fell on the decks, sails and rigging of another six, which immediately caught fire and burnt down to the waterline before anybody aboard could organise a proper evacuation. Meanwhile, the six Auxentine galleys, displaying a level of courage and seamanship n.o.body had expected of them, managed to cut Aelius' line, sink five brand new Severus-built gallea.s.ses, and force their way through and out the other side. They then sailed on to Perigouna, where the chain was briefly lowered to let them into the harbour. For his part, Aelius kept going with what was left of his fleet to the Opoion promontory, where, as antic.i.p.ated, he met no resistance whatsoever. His final count put his losses at eight thousand soldiers and marines, three hundred and sixty sailors, five gallea.s.ses, nine troopships and two seventy-oar galleys (run aground in their haste to get as far as possible from the fireships). It was the Republic's worst naval defeat in three hundred years.

The eight thousand soldiers weren't really a problem. As Ba.s.so remarked at the time, that was what was so good about hiring mercenaries: plenty more where they came from, and dead men don't need to be paid. The three hundred and sixty citizens of the Republic, on the other hand, were a different matter entirely.

"We'll just have to declare victory as convincingly as we can and move on," Sentio said. He hadn't touched his wine, or the plate of cinnamon honey-cakes Ba.s.so had sent out for specially. "We can say that in spite of our heavy losses, we successfully achieved our objective in capturing the Opoion promontory, which gives us the leverage necessary to force the Auxentines back to the negotiating table."

Ba.s.so smiled. "Very good," he said. "You know, that's what my father would've done. Tazio?"

"What he said," Tazio grunted. "I've been reading the dispatches. Their ships definitely attacked us after Aelius changed course towards Opoion. So, we can choose to interpret that as the Auxentines attacking us because we started to make for Opoion, in which case the fact that we carried on and seized control of the promontory, in spite of the attack, means we won. We achieved our objective and were left in possession of it when they withdrew. Victory."

"Indeed." Ba.s.so rolled up the report and stuck it back in its tube. "But that's not what we're going to say."

Two hours later, in front of an emergency session of the House, Ba.s.so made a formal report on the battle of Obrys. He himself made the point that it was the most serious defeat since Vrissa; all the worse, he added, because the Republic had been beaten by numerically inferior forces displaying reckless courage in the defence of their homes and families. Quite apart from the horrific loss of life, it was a shattering blow to the Republic's prestige and practically an invitation to other hostile nations to treat them as a second-cla.s.s power. Therefore, he went on, the only possible option was to wipe the disgrace off the record by taking Perigouna. To this end, he proposed reinforcing General Aelius with an additional fifteen thousand infantry and six thousand cavalry, supported by a fleet of twenty gallea.s.ses-which, he undertook, would be furnished by the Severus yards at no expense to the state within fourteen days-and all necessary supplies and materiel. He had not, he went on, wanted an escalation of the war. Indeed, it was a guiding principle of his that war is an admission of failure. But in this case, such an admission was unavoidable. The Republic had failed in battle against its enemy. Unless and until that failure was reversed, it could not expect to enjoy the position on the world stage to which its achievements ent.i.tled it. In the circ.u.mstances, it would be reckless, irresponsible and arrogant of him to allow his personal distaste for war and his reluctance to engage in it to prejudice the real interests of the state. Therefore (although, as he reminded the House, no vote was needed) he commended his proposals to a division and trusted that he would enjoy their support.

" 'Out of your tiny mind' was the actual phrase he used," Ba.s.so said. He drew the tip of his forefinger down the line of the falcon's neck. It shuddered and wriggled its wings. "Well?" he said. "Worth the money?"

"You know I haven't got a clue about falcons," Ba.s.sano replied. "It's just a bird with big claws. How much do they want for it?"

"Five hundred."

"My G.o.d." Ba.s.sano seemed genuinely shocked. "Is that usual?"

"For a bird that's as good as this one's supposed to be, it's actually quite reasonable." He stooped and lowered his hand below the bow-perch, obliging the falcon to step up onto it. "I'm not sure, though. I'll need to see it fly first. Come on, let's find the man."

They walked out of the darkened shed into thin gold sunlight. The falconer was nowhere to be seen. "You know, Uncle," Ba.s.sano said, "I'd be inclined to agree with your man Tazio. It seems such an odd thing to do."

Ba.s.so laughed. "Good," he said. "What I'm hoping is that right now, all over the City, people are scratching their heads and asking each other, What's he playing at? After the first month or so, a First Citizen is like a middle-aged wife. She's got to make herself interesting, or as soon as an opportunity presents itself, she'll be replaced."

"Very good," Ba.s.sano said. "But I still agree with Tazio. You must've been out of your tiny mind."

Ba.s.so quickened his pace. "The House certainly thought so," he replied. "Which is why they voted for me. Give him enough rope, they thought. It's how I'd have voted. If we win, they were loyally supporting the army. If we lose, it was all my fault. A vote against me was a vote for national humiliation." He shrugged. "I like to be nice to the Opposition," he said. "If I kept beating them all the time, they'd just try harder to get rid of me."

"You're an infuriating man, Uncle. Why?"

Ba.s.so stopped. "I'll give you a hint," he said. "My father always used to say, the man who wins in the end is the man who can get the most out of a defeat. Ah, there's the falconer."

So, while they were being shown the falcon in flight, Ba.s.sano thought about it; and when the falcon pitched in a tree and refused to come to the lure, and they were waiting patiently for something to happen, he said: "You want to take Perigouna."

Ba.s.so smiled. "I'm still not going to let you join the Bank," he said. "But yes, essentially. Now then. Why?"