Looking and sounding as troubled as he had felt all day, ever since he had turned the war captives over to the unsavory Lord Kahsos, Bralos asked, “Portos, why are … why must state-slaves be castrated?”
The tall, darker man shrugged again. “They just always have been. It’s tradition that they be deballed, is all.
“Now, wait a minute, dammit!” he ordered, seeing the look of distaste on the other officer’s face. “Yes, I fully agree, our Grand Strahteegos has indeed run the word and term ‘traditional’ into the ground, very deep indeed into the ground, used it to mask or to try to justify all sorts of flagrant nepotism and personal likes or dislikes of one kind or another, but in this instance, we are not in the least concerned with his misuse of ‘tradition,’ mind you.
“I was long ago told that the practice dated from the very start of our race in these lands. In those ancient times, there were very few of us, all male warriors, and a hellacious lot of the barbarians, both male and female. As our distant ancestors came ashore and fought and settled the lands they had conquered, they captured barbarians as slaves; however, these slaves sometimes escaped to breed up still more of their savage kind against the Ehleenohee, so at length it was decreed by the leaders that any male slave kept solely for labor must be deballed, that should he escape captivity, he would not be able to sire more barbarians. For long and long, this rule applied to all male slaves, both publicly and privately owned, but as the barbarians drew back out of the tidewater and piedmont lands and the supply of more new slaves became a rather chancy thing, private owners began to discover the advantages of allowing their slaves to breed more slaves. But the state-slaves continued to be only eunuchs or female. It is still that way, that’s all I can say on the subject, Bralos. Whether you personally like it or not, that’s the way things have always been, now are and most likely will continue to be in times to come.
“What you and I and the rest of the officers and common soldiers of Council’s army have to worry about just now is the strange changes that have been and are coming over the man who owns the power of life or death over us all, Grand Strahteegos Thoheeks Pahvlos the Warlike. And with him in mind, I had best mention now that you are going to have to pay your squadron out of your own purse again, this month … and no doubt but that Pawl of Vawn will be needing to borrow from you again to pay his Horseclansmen, too. Captain-of-pikes Guhsz Hehluh, canny, maybe prescient old bastard that he is, insisted on six months’ pay in advance, last spring.”
“What in the holy name of … ? Portos, have you any faintest idea just what he is up to? It’s not that I mind seeing my officers and troopers paid out of my personal funds, nor is it all that much of a strain on my assets—yet—but it is not at all the wisest course for a commanding officer to follow: to hold back the due monthly stipends of hardworking, hard-marching, hard-fighting soldiers who have won for him and Council every battle he has put them to for years, now,” declared Bralos.
Portos sighed. “I know, I know and you know and one would think that with all his years of experience with armies he would know, as well. At the meeting of senior officers last week, he declared his intention to take the army, all of it, on a long march that might result in some fighting before it was over. Up to the old royal capital and back here, refit and resupply, then back on the march over to Sahvahnahspolis …”
“And for sure heavy casualties from the accursed swampers,” Bralos half-snarled. “Not to think even of the way the horses and the rest of us will suffer from the heat, the insects, snakes, foul water, krohkohthehliohsee and God alone knows what other hellish afflictions. Why the hell try to pick trouble with the swampers, anyway? And just what has his mad schedule of marchings got to do with his withholding of his army’s pay and allowances? Doesn’t he know that a good many of the officers and even a few of the common soldiers have wives and children around and about this camp who need money on which to live, since they cannot draw army rations, usually?”
“As I said …” began Portos, then paused. “Oh, that’s right, you were not there at the commencement of our discussion this evening, Bralos. Well, at last week’s senior officers’ conference, Pahvlos harangued us all at length, and with more heat than was necessary, in regard to the fact that one of the principal things wrong with this army, one of the significant ways in which it differed, to its true detriment, from the old, royal army, was that it contained far too many womanizing men. He declared that he was of the conviction that the company of women and the breeding of children, so far as common soldiers or officers who were not landholders was concerned, should be activities not to be engaged in while still on active service, but rather after retirement. He ordered us to encourage any married or near-married men in those two categories to put aside the women and disown the children. He then suggested that we put our troops to scouring the settlements around the camp perimeters of any females of any ages, class or calling.”
“Portos, has he gone stark mad, then?” asked Bralos, with obvious concern. “Should he try to enforce something so heinous on Council’s army, he’ll precipitate a true mutiny, they’ll tear him to pieces, him and any officer or man who tries to come between them and him. For, after all, many of the officers and some of the common soldiers, as well, are in no way or means career warriors, they serve as they do—and that’s damned well, as you and I both know and as the Grand Strahteegos should know—because of a sincere desire to help Council bring peace to our borders and order within them. That’s why I’m still forking a horse up here at Mehseepolis instead of going about setting my vahrohnoseeahn to rights down south. And I serve you fair warning, friend and Senior Captain Thoheeks Portos, before I see my men pushed to the point of mutiny against legal authority, I’ll take them all and ride south to my own lands and the Grand Strahteegos Thoheeks Pahvlos can take his bumboy and his crack-pate ideas about running an army and march straight into the lowest, foulest, hottest pit of hell.”
Chapter VI
The cat-footed, silent servants presented basins of warm, sweet-scented water on which rose petals floated to each of Thoheeks Sitheeros’ guests as well as to their master himself, followed by soft, fluffy cotton towels. Others came in to take away the trays which held the foodstuffs, but when they made to bear away the dregs of the wine, the thoheeks spoke.
“Bring another decanter of that vintage. There’s still the end of a tale I’d hear.”
He turned, smiling, back to Captain-of-squadron Bralos and said, “Have you the time to indulge me, my boy?”
Bralos replied, “But … but I would’ve thought that, as a member of Council, you surely would’ve heard it all, long since, my lord.”
The thoheeks nodded. “Most assuredly, in several versions, too, but I’d hear yours as well, if I may.”
Bralos shrugged. “I am, of course, at my lord Thoheeks’ command.”
Thoheeks Sitheeros settled back in his chair, smiling. “Very well, now, how much rest was granted you after your whirlwind campaign in the foothills?”
Bralos laughed once, a harsh bark. “Three whole days, my lord, then orders came down through cavalry brigade headquarters that I and the other squadron captains should have our units ready for the road within two weeks. In the interim, all common soldiers were to be restricted to the environs of the camp, save only when on organized details without it. Lancers and light infantry were to regularly patrol the perimeter and enforce this promulgation to the extreme of bare steel, if necessary. Expressly forbidden to enter the camp precincts were women of any description or hawkers of wine, beer or cider, although this last was to not include any merchants or vintners supplying officers, of course.”