“Come in.”
It was Redeemer Stape Roy.
“You wished to see me, Your Devoutness.”
“I want you to take twenty Redeemers and try to kill Arbell Materazzi.”
“But, Your Holiness, that’s impossible!” protested Stape Roy.
“I’m well aware of that. If it were possible, I wouldn’t be sending you.”
Irritated and afraid, Stape Roy nevertheless restrained an impulse to ask Bosco to say what he damn well meant.
“You are angry with me, Redeemer Stape Roy.”
“I serve at your pleasure, Your Devoutness.”
Bosco stood up and signaled to the Redeemer to come over to a table on which lay a map of the fortifications of Memphis.
“You were at the siege of Voorheis, weren’t you?”
“Yes, Your Devoutness.”
“How long did it take before it fell?”
“Nearly three years.”
Bosco gestured to the map of the Memphis fortifications.
“How long, as an experienced man, do you think it would take to raze Memphis?”
“Longer.”
“How much longer?”
“Very much longer.”
Bosco turned and looked at him.
“We could waste ourselves, great as we are, trying to take Memphis by force, which is why it will not happen. Have you heard the rumors about why we attempted to kidnap Arbell Materazzi?”
Redeemer Stape Roy looked uneasy.
“It is sinful to listen to gossip and even more sinful to pass it on, Your Devoutness.”
Bosco smiled.
“Of course, but in this instance I’m granting you a dispensation. The sin of spreading gossip is already forgiven you.”
“It was mostly said that she was a secret convert to the Antagonists and was spreading their word and that she was a witch and she held orgies and corrupted men in their thousands, and made captured Redeemers defile themselves by making them eat prawns under torture.”
Bosco nodded.
“A very formidable sinner, if true.”
“I only repeated the rumors, I didn’t say I believed them.”
“Good for you, Redeemer,” Bosco said and smiled. “The reason I had her kidnapped was because I wanted to force the Materazzi out from behind the walls of Memphis. To everyone in their empire she is a queen, idolized for her youth and beauty, a star in the firmament. Everywhere, even in the most flyblown collections of hovels in the empire, they talk about her exploits; no doubt many of them made up or exaggerated. She is adored, Redeemer, and not least by her father. When I heard that the abduction had failed, I was not, however, much concerned. Once it became known we had done something so heinous, my aim would have been fulfilled. The Materazzi would have come bounding out of Memphis full of piss and vinegar and ready to wipe us from the face of the earth.” Bosco sat down and regarded the tough-looking man in front of him. “That didn’t happen, of course, is what you’re thinking, and so I must be wrong. You are merely too polite or afraid to say so. But you would be wrong yourself, Redeemer. Marshal Materazzi, on the contrary, agrees with me. It turns out that even if he is a loving father, he is not a sentimental one. He has kept the abduction a secret, precisely because he knows he would not be able to resist the people’s desire for revenge. And this brings me to you, Redeemer. You have such a good relationship with that thing in…”
“Kitty Town, Your Holiness.”
“I want you to persuade him to help you launch an attack using such a number of soldiers-thirty, perhaps fifty-as you decide fit. You will inform these soldiers that the rumors already widespread among the Redeemers as to her foul and sinful apostasy are true, and that they will be accorded martyrdom should they die… which they will. You will ensure that the captains you choose will each carry a certificate of martyrdom explaining why they are doing the Lord’s work. With good fortune some of them will survive long enough for the Materazzi to torture the truth out of them. This time I do not want any possibility that our actions will be kept secret. Is that clear to you?”
“Yes, Your Devoutness,” answered a pale Redeemer Stape Roy.
“You’ve gone quite white, Redeemer. I should tell you that your own death is not required. Quite the contrary. You should also use soldiers who have been disgraced in some way. What I ask is an evil thing, but necessary.”
On his learning that the sacrifice of his own worthless life was not required, the color returned to Redeemer Stape Roy’s cheeks. “Kitty the Hare,” he said, “will want to know what he’s being made a part of. He’s not likely to think it’s in his interests to get mixed up with something as dubious as this.”
Bosco waved him away.
“Promise him anything you wish. Tell him that when we win we’ll make him the Satrap of Memphis.”
“He’s no fool, Your Holiness.”
Bosco sighed and thought for a moment.
“Take him the gold statue of the Lustful Venus of Strabo.”
Redeemer Stape Roy looked astonished.
“I thought it had been broken into ten pieces and thrown into the volcano at Delphi.”
“Just a rumor. Blasphemous and obscene though it is, the statue will stuff the ears of this creature of yours and make him deaf to any questions he asks himself, fool or no fool.”
26
Over the next few weeks Cale experienced all the self-defeating pleasures of making life unpleasant for someone you adored but hated. If truth were told, which it was not, he was getting sick of them.
He had never faced squarely what it was he expected by becoming Arbell Swan-Neck’s bodyguard. His feelings about her-intense desire and intense resentment-would have been difficult for anyone to reconcile, let alone someone who was such a strange mixture of brutal experience and complete innocence. Perhaps charm might have done something to prevent her from cringing when he spoke to her-but where could charm come from in such a boy? Arbell’s physical loathing of his presence was, understandably, of great offense to him, but all he knew how to do in response was to become even more hostile toward her.
This strange atmosphere between Cale and her mistress was the source of great trouble to Riba. She liked Arbell Swan-Neck, even though she had more ambition than to be a ladies’ maid, no matter how illustrious the lady. Arbell was kind and thoughtful and, on discovering her maid’s intelligence, was very easy and open with her. Nevertheless, Riba was devoted to Cale to the point of worship. He had risked his life to save her from something terrible not usually to be remembered except in nightmares. She could not understand Arbell’s coldness toward him and was determined to put her mistress right.
The way she went about this might have seemed odd to an observer: she deliberately, pretending to have tripped, poured a hot cup of tea over Cale, having carefully ensured by adding cold water that it would not burn him too badly. But it was hot enough. With a cry of pain, Cale ripped off the cotton tunic he had been wearing.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Riba fussed, grasping a mug of cold water she had deliberately placed nearby and pouring that over him too. “Are you all right? I’m sorry.”
“What’s the matter with you?” he said, but not angrily. “First you try to scald me, then you try to drown me.”
“Oh,” gasped Riba. “I’m so sorry.” She continued to apologize, handing him a small towel and generally making a fuss of him.
“It’s all right. I’ll live,” he said, drying himself off. He nodded toward Arbell. “I’ll have to change. Please don’t leave your chambers until I come back.” And with that, he was gone. Now Riba turned to see if her ruse had worked-but as complicated ruses will, it had a complicated effect. What had drawn pity from Arbell, and of a kind she would never have imagined feeling for Cale, was that his back was covered in welts and scars. Barely an inch of his skin lacked the marks of his brutal past.
“You did that on purpose.”
“Yes,” said Riba.
“Why?”
“So that you can see all that he’s suffered. And so, with all due respect, that you will not be so unkind.”