“They probably will do just that, in the end, does my lord not indulge them,” said Portos. “But they want all monies now due them, and my lord can be assured that they can be expected to take whatever steps they feel necessary to receive it, no matter how drastic or embarrassing to my lord.”
Chapter VIII
While the Grand Strahteegos spent his time planning for the march to Sahvahnahspolis, fuming at the previously unsuspected depths of treachery and outright cowardice of soldiers and trusted officers alike, dawdling of afternoons and early evenings in that slice of very hell behind his headquarters watching and listening to sights and sounds of horror and protracted death with the boy, Ilios, Council’s once-fine, once-large, once-effective army went about disintegrating.
As a last step before actually doing as he had threatened, old Guhsz Hehluh, the grizzled captain of the Keebai pikemen, sent down to aid the new government of the lands that had been a kingdom by Milo Morai, High Lord of Kehnooryos Ehlahs, rode into Mehseepolis with a few of his officers and drew rein before the Council palace.
When, after many delays, he actually found himself closeted with Thoheeks Grahvos, he spoke very bluntly, as was his wont. “It’s damn good brandy, my lord Duke, but I ain’t here to drink your brandy. I come because I got a contract was signed by you and a couple other dukes away back when. I think me and my Keebai boys has given you good service.”
Grahvos nodded. “That you and they most assuredly have, old friend. You were and are the very backbone of our army.”
“Well,” said Hehluh, “we won’t be for much longer, not unless that old fart of a Grand Strahteegos Council wished off on us slacks off his crazy ideas some and starts paying us in full and regular. Our next six months’ pay is already more’n thirty days overdue now, and added to this loony plan of his to march the whole fucking army into the frigging salt fens to no other purpose than to pick a fight with the damn frigging fen-men—and you know damn good and well how many of them men he takes in is likely to come out, you know, you was with Zastros’ army—plus his cockeyed new-model rules that soldiers can’t go out of the camp nights to dip their wick, shouldn’t have wives or females of any kinds, can’t drink nothing ‘cept of that pukey watered wine, can’t smoke hemp or even tobacco and gets flogged for even owning a fucking pipe, I ain’t at all sure just how long my sergeants and officers and me can keep the boys in the line this feather-brain bastard has done drawn.”
Grahvos just sat, motionless and silent, for long moments after the middle-aged professional soldier had finished. When at last he spoke, it was to say contritely and with utter sincerity, “Guhsz, my dear old friend, I have been for long aware that Pahvlos has been changing in strange ways for the last couple of years, and I and some others of us have made efforts to first persuade him, then compel him to give up his military rank and retire. But Council consists of men, and all men are fallible, so Council is divided into cliques, some of them in favor of retiring Pahvlos, some of them very violently opposed, regardless of his mishandling of the army, its officers and its men. Those of us who recognize what he is doing to our army have, all else having been foiled by his fanatic partisans on Council—and I tell you this next in strictest confidence and then only because I know you of old, know you for the sort of man you are and, therefore, trust you implicitly—even tried to have him assassinated, no less than three times, but he is always heavily guarded and, obviously, very lucky, so our hirelings all have failed us.
“Unfortunately, he was appointed Grand Strahteegos of Council’s army for life or until he saw fit to retire. No provision was made to remove him for cause, because, based on his previous reputation, no one of us could just then suspect that ever there would be any cause to forcibly remove him; as I said, all men are fallible, alas. Therefore, until Pahvlos dies, from whatever agent—illness, mishap, battle wound or murder—or until certain cretins on Council learn what brains are for and begin to make use of them, we are stuck with the old man and all his many faults.
“Now I doubt that I can do much to protect the bulk of the army from their nominal commander, but I can damned well take you and your valuable men from under his insanities. When you leave here, you will have been paid every copper owed you according to your contract with Council and you will be bearing a document stipulating that your pikemen are, until further notice, a part of the Mehseepolis city garrison, under direct command of the city castellan. There are some acres just outside Tomos Gonsalos’ enclave, near to the road between there and the lower city, as I recall; I own this land and will give it to Council’s use, this day. Move your camp there as soon as possible, and between now and autumn, state-slaves and materials will be diverted there to build you and your force snug, permanent quarters, stables, wash-houses, privies, cook-houses, storehouses and whatnot.
“That should take care of you and your lot. Now, what is the case with Chief Pawl—more of the same?”
“Worse, in several ways,” replied Hehluh. “He and his have not been paid anything for over seven months now. He has been borrowing from poor Captain Baron Bralos, generous man that he is, in order to give his Horseclansmen just enough for to keep body and soul together. But he’s done had enough and he’s remembered he’s got a home and family, up north, and that’s just where he and his kin are all set to head for.”
Grahvos frowned worriedly. “Soon?”
“Not tomorrer, but while the weather’s still warm and good,” was Hehluh’s reply. “I tried to talk him around to coming here to see you today, but he allowed as how he’d been down here more’n long enough anyhow, and it was time he and his folks all went back home and let the High Lord send some more Horse-clansmen down here to take his place. I couldn’t fault him for thinking that way; in his place, I guess as how I would too, Duke Grahvos. Not every man jack of them is riding north, of course, but then you know about that a’ready, since you’re the one talked them into staying down here and taking up vacant lands and raising stock on them.”
Grahvos felt disappointed, however, for he had strongly hoped that, in the end, he could convince even more of the northern horsemen to remain in the Consolidated Thoheekseeahnee, and given a bit more time, he believed that he might have accomplished it. Yet another black mark to be charged to Grand Strahteegos Thoheeks Pahvlos.
The next blow to fall for old Pahvlos was the plague that struck the elephants, not just one or two, as was usual, but all of them, both the war-trained bulls and the three draught cows; only the young, immature and untrained bull seemed to have not contracted the pest. Neither of the captains-of-elephants and none of the feelahksee seemed to have any inkling of just what was wrong with the huge beasts, much less know how to doctor them. The symptoms were recurrent at odd intervals rather than constant, but serious and terrifying, all the same. At one minute, an elephant bull or cow would be its normal, well-behaved, obedient self, and then, in a mere eyeblink of time, it would become wild, uncontrollable and almost murderous, often needing to be chained to solid objects until the symptoms had abated, which might take minutes or hours or a whole day.
The Grand Strahteegos felt compelled to count out the elephants in his plans for the march to Sahvahnahpolis. But just then he had more than that to trouble and infuriate him.
With the loss of the medium-cavalry Horseclansmen and their great cats, which latter had proven so useful at scouting and patrolling, he knew that he simply had to have the lancers and gifted veteran senior officers to lead and command them. The only two of these now available and close to hand were under arrest, stripped of their commands and awaiting trial.