“My rules are in no way stupid,” declared the old man. “At least, in no way that a civilized, cultured Ehleen gentleman could understand. Of course, you barbarians are a crude, rude, uncultured and often quite obnoxious race at your best. I possibly should not expect men of your limited intellectual capacities to ever comprehend, but I will, nonetheless, try one last time to explain to you.
“Three primary things are the utter ruination of your old-fashioned common soldier. These are unwonted luxuries such as hot baths, too much armor and too little work; an overabundance of drink; and women. I sincerely hope that that insubordinate sergeant’s wife is dead, for he will be the better man and soldier without her.
“Women rob a man of his vitality, and often by sucking the life clear out of him. They …”
“And what, pray tell,” muttered one of the Horseclans sub-chiefs from somewhere within the crowd, “does that overpretty pooeesos of yours suck out of you, lordy boy?”
The old man turned crimson and clapped hand to his swordhilt. He stepped forward and demanded, “What creature of slime said that? Dare you to show your face to me, you ill-bred pig?”
“Enough and more than enough!” snapped Tomos Gonsalos. “We are come to free Captains Bralos and Ehrrikos. They will be held for a hearing, my lord Thoheeks, but until and if the officers’ panel says them guilty of some crime, they are not going to be further punished. Pawl, would you and yours kindly see to Bralos and Ehrrikos? Thank you.”
“Guards, stop them!” the old man half-shouted at the quintet of his foot-guards, who had wisely kept still and silent through it all.
Old Guhsz Hehluh slouched forward, hitching his swordbelt around for quicker, easier access to the weapon, and Captain Ahzprinos was not far to his rear. “Tell me, boys,” asked the captain of mercenary pikemen, in tones of friendly conversation, “is all this here really worth you dying for?”
The Horseclansmen freed Captain Ehrrikos—seized for “aiding and abetting the attempted escape of the notorious malefactor and mutineer who calls himself Bralos of Yohyültönpolis” and promised three dozens of lashes after Bralos had had his share—while others loosened the deep-biting ropes from Bralos’ wrists and ankles, then eased him to the ground and flung his torn shirt over his bloody back and shoulders.
Walking to his friend’s side, Ehrrikos squatted and asked—a bit stupidly, as he later admitted to all and sundry—“Does it hurt much, Bralos?”
Through tight-clenched and bloody teeth, the flogged man gritted, “Only when I laugh, Ehrrikos.”
While the officers were being chosen for the trial panel—they would act as both jury and judges, could find guilt or innocence, set punishments or rewards for anyone connected with the trial, not just the accused officers, and had the power during their tenure to call anyone they wanted to hear, military or civilian, noble or commoner, man or woman, and could demand to peruse any documents save only state secrets—Bralos was cared for in his tightly guarded quarters by his servants, his officers and the senior among his eeahtrohsee. His own bodyguards—save only for the convalescing Sergeant Tahntos, who was being nursed in the settlement beyond the perimeter by his newly dead wife’s sister—took watch-on-watch so that there never were fewer than two of them outside his door. His officers haunted the outer rooms, both by day and by night, and a constant cordon of troopers and sergeants surrounded the headquarters building, brusquely disarming any officer or man not of their own who made to enter, assured that the officers just inside would back them up with authority should anyone try to pull rank on them.
Of a day, Sub-strahteegos Thoheeks Tomos Gonsalos and Senior Captain-of-brigade Thoheeks Portos of Pithahpolis, willingly, smilingly handed over their cutlery to the zealous troopers, then passed in to find Bralos seated in a backless chair, his weals all shiny with unguents, conferring with his senior lieutenant, Hymos.
Drawing up stray chairs, the two visiting officers asked for wine, and Hymos himself went to fetch it, for the two bodyguards still were close to their squadron commander and the two visitors were, after all, unarmed and presumably friendly, besides.
“How is the empanelment going?” asked Bralos.
Portos snorted. “Slowly, thanks to that obtuse old man, thank you. He wants it packed with his toadies, naturally, and we are just as dead set that it will be packed in no such way, but a fair, honest aggregation of honorable gentleman-officers. It helps us mightily that you hold the ranks—civil and military—that you do, for the most of the old man’s proven toadies are untitled and low-ranking young men, and we can all thank also the narrow-arsed Ilios for much of that, for he didn’t like Pahvlos’ old staff, said that they all were aged and ugly and, for all their experience and expertise, not at all the kind of men that should be always around. Of course, the infatuated Pahvlos indulged the whims of the little pooeesos, and now he shortly will be hoist up by his own catapult.
“You see, the panel may consist of any number of officers above the minimum of eight for hearing of a case against any captain-of-squadron or -battalion; however, the panel must be entirely composed of officers of your rank or higher. In order to be even considered, a man of lower than your military rank must be your superior in his civil rank.”
“So the Grand Strahteegos,” put in Tomos Gonsalos, “has found himself to be lodged between a rock and a hard place, to his distress. Almost every officer of your rank or higher has recently come to fear or hate and despise the Grand Strahteegos, and we have stoutly fought off his every attempt to insinuate officers not technically qualified for inclusion. We have received, today, earlier, a tentative roll of the panel. Of the ten, seven are men well known to you: me, to head it; Portos, here; Biszahros and Ahzprinos; Nathos, the elephant-man; Pintos, the senior quartermaster since Pahvlos booted him from off his staff because his looks didn’t please sweet Ilios; and yet another former staff officer, Lahreeos.”
“And the other three?” queried Bralos. “What of them, Tomos?”
Tomos grimaced as if he had just tasted something a bit rotten. “Until three days ago, Captain-of-staff Gaios of Thehsmeeyee was a mere lieutenant, not even a senior lieutenant, he’d not been in the army long enough to have earned a senior lieutenancy; he’s one of Pahvlos’ and no mistaking it … but we may be able to find a way of disqualifying the bugger yet. We can’t be sure of the other two—they could be his, they could be ours, they could be strictly neutral, too, men who’ll make a decision based solely upon testimonies and evidence heard and seen.”
“Why not Guhsz Hehluh, or Pawl Vawn?” asked Bralos. “There’s the captain of the artificiers, too, for that matter; Nikos is a good man.”
Tomos sighed. “Because the first two are not Ehleenohee, and because Pahvlos declares that all three are mercenaries, not his regular troops, and are therefore completely unqualified to sit on the panel and try a regular officer.”
“Now, wait a damned minute,” protested Bralos heatedly. “The last I heard from that old bastard was that I was a mercenary who had had regular foot-guards assaulted by other mercenaries. If you need a witness, just go ask Ehrrikos, he was there.”
Tomos flashed a glance at Portos, and then both nodded. Tomos said to Bralos, “Be that as it may, for the nonce, the Grand Strahteegos has declared and avowed before us both that at no time did he truly consider you and Wolf Squadron to be anything save regular Ehleen light cavalry. He states that it was you and you only he tagged with the name ‘mercenary scoundrel’ and that if that appellation was not properly understood by you and others, he now regrets it.”