"Sharrup, lass," Alex replied. "Ah'm dooncast. Ah fearit this scheme wi' nae workit oot f'r th' benefits of Kilgours."
"You're probably right," Sten agreed. "We're doomed. And doomed without hearing the last of Red Rory."
"Red Rory, aye?" And Aiex brightened. "W'noo. Wh'n last w'sawit Red Rory, an entire Brit comp'ny wae chargint up thae hill, a'ter his head, aye?"
Sten nodded wearily. The things he did to keep morale up.
"So tha' screekit, an' scrawit, an' hollerint, and ae kinds ae goin' on, an' then heads come doon thae hill, bumpit, bump-it, bumpit.
"Anh t' thae Brit gin'ral's consid'r'ble astonishment, here's his wholit comp'ny, lyin' dead in thae dust.
"But b'fore he hae a chance to consider, yon giant on tha hillcrest screekit again:
"'Ah'm Red Rory ae th' Glen! Send up y' entire rig'mint!'
"An the gin'ral turnit sa red hi' adj'tant fearit he gae apoplexy. An' he holler, 'Adj'tant!'
'"Send up tha' wholit blawdy reg'mint! AH WAN' THA' MON'S HEAD!'
"An' tha' whole reg'mint fixit thae bay'nits an' thae chargit up thae hill. An' thae's screamint, an' screekit. an' shoutint, an' carryint on. for aye half ae day.
"An' thae's dust, an' thae's shots, an' thae's aye battle.
"An' th' gin'ral's watchint frae doon below.
"Ah sudden, thro' thae dust, he see't his adj'tant comit runnin doon thae hill.
"An' tae adj'tant screemit. 'Run, sah! Run! It's ae ambush! Thae's two ae 'em.'"
Very complete silence for many minutes.
Finally Sten turned to Alex, incredulous. "You mean, that's the story I've been waiting for, for the last year?"
"Aye," Alex said. "Dinnae it b'wonderful?"
Even more and longer silence...
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
MATHIAS WATCHED AS they led another of Ffillips' mercs into the chamber. The man was naked and sweating heavily under the bright, revolving interrolights. His body was covered with bruises and cuts from many days of beatings. The soldier was exhausted; his eyes were rolling in fear.
Mathias nodded at the chief interrogator, and the man was muscled into a chair and strapped down. Coldly and efficiently, an interrogrator's aide snapped electrical leads to the prisoner's body.
The Prophet stepped forward, looming over the man. Then spoke gently. "Son, don't let this go on. It grieves me to see a poor sinner submit to such an ordeal. End it for yourself. I beg you in the name of our gentle Father, Talamein."
He leaned closer to the man.
"A simple confession of your sins and the sins of your leaders is all we require... Now, will you confess? Please, son."
Weakly the soldier shook his head, no.
Mathias nodded for the inquisitor to start. And the first screams ripped from the soldier's body.
An hour later Mathias walked from the chamber, a tight little smile of satisfaction on his lips.
From a crystal decanter, Mathias poured himself a goblet of pure, cold water. Its source was one of the clear mountain springs that he had recently declared holy.
It was night on Sanctus, and Mathias was alone in his spartan chamber. Outside the room he could hear the faint sounds of the pacing guards.
Mathias reviewed his plans once more before going to sleep on the small, hard, military cot he favored.
He realized unhappily that his plans for the resettlement of Sanctus was not proceeding as swiftly as he would like.
The idea had come to him like a vision. He saw a series of small, isolated spiritual communes, devoted to reflection and worship. To create these communes, he would empty the cities and villages. Move the peasants off the farms.
The latest reports said that the idea had met a huge amount of resistance, especially from the farmers and artisans. Who would till the land? they complained. Who would mix the mortar and build the buildings?
This kind of small, ungodly thinking would have to stop, Mathias decided. He would not let the unenlightened of his planet stand in the way of a glorious future.
He scrawled an order for Companions to sweep into the villages. What he could not do with reason, he would accomplish by force. He added a suggestion to the report: Burn the homes and destroy the farms. That way the peasants would have no place to return.
Mathias was more pleased with his progress involving the matter of the mercenaries. Of course, he had personally handled that. He had scheduled the public trial to begin the following day. Enough mercenaries had confessed to insure its success.
One by one, each man would be found guilty. And Mathias would order their executions. Those, too, would be public.
It would be a solemn occasion, followed by a great celebration. Mathias had already announced that some of the rules of Talamein behavior would be relaxed during the festival.
A wise Prophet, he told himself, had to understand that his people were only weak human beings.
Mathias began to scrawl a few notes concerning the planet-wide month of purification that he would declare to take place immediately after the festival.
He had some interesting ideas on this subject. Floggings, for instance—all voluntary, of course.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
FFILLIPS STOOD AT stiff attention before her ragged band of men. They were drawn up in the temple's central courtyard. Ffillips could sense the hidden vidmonitors that were broadcasting the event across the planet. Around them were row after row of spidery bleachers filled with red-uniformed Companions. Seated in front of the bleachers were the ten judges hand-picked by Mathias from his officer corps.
On one side sat the Prophet himself. He was seated on a small onyx throne. He wore a simple uniform, with only two small golden medals—the torch symbol of Sanctus—to mark his rank.
The evidence" had been given—mostly, the humiliating confessions forced from men and women who couldn't bear up under torture. The judges had weighed the verdict. And it was about to be delivered.
Ffillips knew she was dead.
Mathias raised a hand for silence. Instant hush. He leaned slightly forward in his throne. His face was serene, almost kindly. "Do you wish to say anything in your behalf?" he asked Ffillips. "In the interest of justice?"
Ffillips looked coldly at Mathias and then at the judges. "I don't see her here."
"Who?" Mathias asked.
"Justice," Ffillips said. "Now, as one soldier to another, I'll ask you to end this sham. My men and I await your decision."
But before Mathias could give the signal, Ffillips shouted: "DETACHMENT, TEN-HUT."
And her sad, ragged troop suddenly became soldiers again. They snapped to, throwing off the exhaustion and fear. Even those crippled by torture drew themselves up. A few had to be helped. Some grinned at Mathias and the Companions through broken teeth.
Mathias hesitated, then turned.
"What is the verdict?" he asked the judges.
And the same word hissed out along the line of ten.
"Guilty... Guilty... Guilty..." And so on until the last judge pronounced their fate.
Mathias rose, bowed to the judges. "I have agonized over this." Mathias announced. "The evidence was overwhelming, even before the trial. And, as you all know, I counseled compassion."
He paused for effect.
"No doubt," Ffillips said, loudly enough for the vidmonitors to pick up.
Mathias ignored her.
"But." the Prophet continued, "I must bow to the wisdom of the judges. They know best the desires of Talamein. I can only accede. And give thanks to our Father, for his guidance."
He turned to Ffillips and her men. "With great sorrow, I must pronounce judgment—"