Irona 700 (32 page)

“I don't understand,” she said, and for once she didn't.

“Too much art, too much gold, too many slaves … No matter what commodities Benign demands in penalty will drive down the price. Allow time for the markets to adjust. Take, say, Genodesa this year, Lenoch next year.” Nis Puol Dvure smiled, as well he might at such a prospect. “Not all at once.”

“Certainly not all at once.”

How could he have been so right about Achelone and be so terribly wrong about the missing allies? She sent him off with her thanks, and Daun must have shown him downstairs, because Sazen came in right away. His odious smirk showed that he had been eavesdropping.

“Tell Chosen Dilivost that I need to speak with him as soon as possible,” Irona said. The navy would have to descend the Visoke River and then row up the Huequi to Achelone. She must hurry back to Benign as fast as possible. If the Seventy's thinking was anything like Nis Puol Dvure's, then the Empire was in serious danger.

As Irona had feared, Podakan continued to make trouble. He refused to accept less than the full ten lashes, yelling insulting remarks about his mother so there could be no doubt of his identity. Even when the guards untied his wrists after four strokes, he would not leave the whipping post. When the onlookers began to cheer, the sergeant in charge told the marine with the knout to oblige him. He fainted on the ninth stroke, or pretended to.

Irona did not send for him, but left word that he was to be admitted if he came. He had not done so when she departed from Didicas. She was miserably aware that she was washing her hands of her only child, and that whatever success she might claim as a magistrate, she was admitting to utter failure as a mother.

She made a fast trip home, but even she could not triumph completely over human weakness. Attending meetings of the Seventy was still beyond her strength. In an unprecedented honor, the Seven assembled in her home to hail her triumph over the Gren.

Edziza, who had been Irona's seneschal since the death of Velny Lavice, was a portly, dignified man, normally as imperturbable as a two-day corpse, but even he seemed impressed by the solemnity of this event. He announced each guest as if he wished he had drums and trumpets available. Irona received them in the ballroom, which Veer Machin had long since redecorated in inimitable style. There she sat in state on a couch, like some barbarian potentate, an effect ruined by the ugly plaster cast on her leg.

Viewing the current collection of jewels in the Empire's crown for the first time in several months, Irona noticed how overripe most of them were. It was time to start bringing in fresh blood. As the youngest Seven and unquestioned leader of the younger Chosen, she ought to regard that as her responsibility. The next youngest, of course, was Ledacos 692, once her mentor, later a resentful protégé, and now unspoken rival. They tended to favor the same policies, so they were often partners in government business, but they both knew that one day they must be rivals for the top job, and they were close enough in age that only one of them was likely to serve as First. Not unexpectedly, Ledacos was the only visitor crass enough to ask how her hero son fared. She answered, truthfully, that she thought he was with the army, and if he had not yet reached legal manhood, he had certainly demonstrated enough of the real thing in practice. There was no possible reply to that except agreement.

The First was last to arrive, of course, so that everyone except Irona could rise and bow to him. Rudakov 670 had never been the most vigorous of men, and now, after her long absence, Irona noticed even more how he rambled and forgot things. That morning he did manage to mumble through the preliminaries without consulting notes. He announced that the only items on the agenda were to accept Irona 700's excellent report on her campaign, to congratulate her on her historic victory, and to determine what monument should be raised in her honor.

A quick glance around the circle of faces confirmed Irona's suspicion that there were some things they did not want to discuss in her presence.

She then listened politely to much the same words repeated over and over. Their congratulations seemed subdued, shadowed by her new reputation as the monster mother. At the end she thanked them for giving her the opportunity to serve the goddess, and the goddess for blessing the army's efforts. All routine so far.

Rudakov asked her to choose a monument, mentioning that she had earned the right to a statue in the temple of Caprice. She suggested instead an aqueduct to deliver clean water from the Mountain to the southern outports as far as Brackish, replacing the local supply that had given the hamlet its name. But she insisted it be called the Didicas Aqueduct, to commemorate the battle, not named after her. They all seemed happy with that and agreed to call for design proposals.

Then the First began to show signs of announcing adjournment, for the meeting had achieved everything it intended. Irona had not, and Ledacos had given her the opening she needed.

“One detail remains, Your Reverence,” she said. “Honorable 692 referred in his remarks to your army having ‘some allied support' and I dealt with the same matter in my report. In fact, a great many ‘allies' failed to answer the Empire's call. I believe this is relevant to today's business?”

The old man dithered for a moment. Then, to her dismay, he referred the question to Banahaw 688. Banahaw was third youngest of the Sevens, after Ledacos, but he was a blustering firebrand, and even less reliable than Dilivost. If he had the file, then the results might be even worse than she feared.

“Genodesa, Lenoch, and Vyada Kun,” he proclaimed, “were the most egregious renegades. A few minor entities offered various excuses, but those three must be dealt with first. Lenoch and Vyada Kun did not respond at all. The king of Genodesa sailed, then had second thoughts and returned to port. Lenoch is the easiest nut to crack, so naturally we shall deal with it first. Zard 699 is already on his way there with our final terms.”

“Which are?”

“One thousand boys and twelve hundred girls, plus ten members of their council, chosen at random.”

Irona shuddered. “You expect them to send their children into slavery without a struggle? Or their rulers to surrender themselves to the ‘mercy' for which we are so famous?”

“Of course not.” The idiot smirked. Others must have supported him so far, but they were leaving the defense to him.

“So next you declare open rebellion? You invade, loot, pillage, and raze?”

“That is putting it too harshly, but the cowards must learn the cost of betrayal. We cannot tolerate such insubordination. The whole concept of empire is founded on—”

“Is founded on bluff!” she shouted, and the effort brought a stab of pain from her knee.

The rest of the company remained silent. Ledacos was smiling innocently at the ceiling. Did no one else see the precipice ahead?

“You are provoking civil war when our army and those of our truly loyal allies are far inland, at Achelone.”

Idiot Banahaw swelled like a pouter pigeon. “We have other allies. The smaller states and cities that did not respond or did so halfheartedly will be eager to make amends by aiding us in putting down the rebels.”

“Why should they?” Irona asked softly, and for a moment the silence was deafening. Ledacos pursed his lips.

Irona charged ahead. “Do you think either the king of Genodesa or the senate of Vyada Kun is too stupid to see that they must be next, after Lenoch? Those nations love their children too. They will combine against us, all of them, and the next thing you know there will be an assault on Benign itself and overthrow of the Empire.”

Protests erupted, both pro and con her statements. The First made clucking noises like a broody hen, but failed to obtain order. It was Banahaw himself who got it, red-faced and bellowing that he had the floor and had the right to respond to the slurs.

“This action was approved by the Seventy, by a large majority. What else would you do? Ignore this insult to our Empire and our goddess?”

“Have you finished?” Irona asked, and waited until he grumpily resumed his seat. When the honor of the Empire was in question, the Seventy would support any idiotic measures trumpeted by tub-thumping patriots. That did not make them right, though.

“No, I would not ignore the insult. But I would not punish the innocent along with the guilty. I would demand that the senators in Lenoch who voted against helping the Empire be handed over to us for trial, although I might guarantee that they would not have to face the death penalty. If the city fails to conform—which it probably will, because the same senate must decide on its response—then I would blockade their harbors and embargo their trade. After that, when the guilty were eventually handed over, I would put them to the sea death. And after that I would demand an explanation from the king of Genodesa … and so on. Persons are a lot easier to punish than states or cities, '88.”

They promised to think it over and departed, in their litters or sedan chairs, all except Ledacos, who left on foot and doubled back as soon as the rest had gone. Irona had been expecting him.

“They are insane,” he said. “We have had our differences in the past, 700, but we've got to pull together on this. They shouted me down, but they'll have to listen to you.”

“Let's hope so,” she said. “Give me a couple of days.”

Three days and a dozen meetings later, Irona had matters under control. She had called in every Chosen whom she could by any stretch regard as a client or who just owed her a favor, and she had convinced them that beating up your most powerful allies when your own forces were far away was a very bad idea. Ledacos himself was dispatched with fresh orders for Zard.

Few people would have agreed with her, but Irona was convinced that she had just saved the Empire for the second time that year.

As fall wore on, news drifted in that Dilivost 678 had arrived in Achelone to find that it was making a good recovery from the Gren invasion. The citizens had begun setting up a republic that would be more genuinely democratic than the rule of the unlamented Sakar Semeru. Dilivost typically failed to adjust his thinking to an unexpected situation. Bullheadedly following Irona's orders, he proclaimed a protectorate with himself as overseer. When the locals objected, he began slaughtering them for their own good.

This was too much even for the hotheads in the Seventy. Fialovi 694 was sent over to repair as much of the damage as possible, and Dilivost slunk home in disgrace. At the first meeting of the Seventy after his return, he was elected in short order to three totally insignificant jobs. Aware that there were a dozen more such horrors on the agenda, he took the hint and begged leave to resign from the Seven, “to devote the necessary time to these important responsibilities.” He would never be trusted with significant office again.

It was winter by the time the ships began to return. Husbands, lovers, brothers, and sons were awarded their bonus gold and sent home to their families. Not all were accounted for. Irona was not the only mother worrying about a lost son.

Late on an especially foul winter evening, when Irona and Veer were sitting by a crackling fire, chatting with Komev 701 and his consort—were in fact trying to persuade them to stay the night—Edziza came in to whisper in Irona's ear that she had an important visitor. By then she could hobble on a crutch, so Veer helped her rise and she went out to see who could possibly have come calling without notice in such weather.

He was filthy, with hair tangled and patchy stubble on his lip. His tunic was tattered, and he was in urgent need of a bathtub.

He rumbled, “Blessings on you, Dam!” in his father's basso.

She hurled down the crutch to embrace him with both arms. She had not expected him to return her kiss, but he did, and the rowers' hands clutching her shoulders were rough as pumice stone.

“You've grown,” she said. “Not just taller, but thicker and broader. Oh, these arms! My boy has become a man.” And he was a man, warm blooded, breathing, not the walking corpse who haunted her worst nightmares.

“Yes. Want to see my scars? Up and down in front, crosswise on my back.”

“No! Never! Oh, I am so happy to see you home, love! Your room is all ready. Edziza, have a fire lit in there, please, and the hot bricks in the bed.”

“Hot bricks and Tiatia,” Podakan said, in tones that implied an ultimatum.

Irona was not surprised. “Provided she agrees. Even a slave is a person, dear, not an animal to be ordered out to stud. Edziza,” she called after the seneschal, “would you first ask Tiatia if she would like to be reassigned as my son's concubine.”

Although Edziza's face remained expressionless, it somehow confirmed Irona's opinion that the question was a formality. He stalked off in the direction of the servant stairs.

“I can't legally give her to you until you come of age, dear, but I'll have her assigned then, if she's still willing. Have you eaten? Why don't you clean up and get … I'll find one of Veer's tunics to fit you. None of your old ones will now. It's a good thing that I have another giant in the house! Then come and tell us all your news. Chosen Komev and his lady are here and we'd love …”

“Tomorrow,” Podakan said. “Tonight it's bathe, eat, and then Tiatia, Tiatia, Tiatia. I haven't had any tail in a week.”

“That's boy talk, trying to shock me. Men don't speak that way.”

“The men I fight alongside do.” Podakan retrieved her crutch from the corner where Edziza had stood it; he handed it to her. “See you tomorrow, Dam. Go and break the bad news to Fat Man Machin.”

In some ways he hadn't changed a bit.

It was just over a week later that Veer wandered into Irona's study while she was reading reports and said, “He's gone.”

She felt sorrow, but not surprise. “Podakan?”

“And the girl. With their belongings, such as they are.”