Colours in the Steel

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

‘It can’t be,’ said the wheelwright’s wife.

‘It is.’

‘It can’t be.’ She frowned, and peered. ‘He’s bedridden, never leaves his palace-’

‘Lodgings,’ her husband corrected her. ‘The Patriarch’s house is called his lodgings.’

‘Whatever. Still can’t be him, surely.’ She peered again. ‘It looks like him,’ she conceded.

‘Well, there you are, then.’

‘Doesn’t mean it actually is him. I mean, what’s the Patriarch doing getting out of bed when he’s seriously ill to go watching a lawsuit?’

‘Ah.’ The wheelwright lowered his voice. ‘He’s a friend of this Loredan, by all accounts. Great friends, they were, during the emergency. They do say,’ he added in a furtive whisper, ‘that he’s implicated.’

His wife looked shocked. ‘Get away,’ she said. ‘Patriarch Alexius?’

‘So I’ve heard.’

‘Don’t believe a word of it.’ His wife scrutinised the figure on the opposite side of the spectators’ gallery for a minute or so, hardly noticing the honeycakes she was munching as she did so. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked.

‘Well, there’s no hard and fast evidence, of course, though I’ve heard it said-’

‘And there he is, bold as brass,’ his wife muttered, scandalised. ‘How he’s got the nerve to show his face in public-’

Once every so often, the fixture lists pinned to the door of the lawcourts produced what could only be described as a dream ticket; a combination of issues and participants so perfect that they could hardly have been better if they’d been chosen by popular demand. This was just such an occasion; the gorgeous and enigmatic girl fencer who had recently been appointed Attorney-General versus the notorious Colonel Loredan on a treason charge – which meant the City Prefect would be presiding in person, dressed in all his traditional finery, with a platoon of guards in parade armour standing by and, to crown it all, free admission…

Needless to say, all the city dignitaries were present; the Lord Lieutenant, entitled by virtue of his rank to sit in the Emperor’s own box, surrounded by the heads of all the offices of state and a buzzing swarm of magnificently costumed clerks and functionaries; the upper hierarchy of the Order, including the Patriarch himself (but where was the City Archimandrite, late Deputy Patriarch, until recently the Patriarch’s inseparable companion? Rumour had it he’d either fled the city or been forced into exile on the pretext of an overseas appointment because of what he knew about the Patriarch’s clandestine involvement in whatever it was Colonel Loredan was supposed to have done; the plot thickened.)

To the people of the city, whose morale had recently been so sadly depleted by the indignities of the emergency, this display of civic pomp and gratuitous justice was just what they needed to remind them of the awesome majesty and splendour of Perimadeia, the strength of her institutions and the unquestionable rightness of her cause and proceedings. At a time when it was of the utmost importance to make the citizens feel good about themselves and the city, the perfect event had suddenly materialised, almost as if it had been planned that way by some public-spirited deity.

‘What’s her name?’ whispered the wheelwright’s wife. ‘You know, the Attorney-General.’

‘Don’t ask me,’ replied her husband. ‘Presumably she’s got one but I can’t remember ever having heard it.’

In the entrance hall trumpets blared, a signal for everyone in the courthouse to stand. While the magnificent domed roof was still reverberating with the sound, like a lover of fine wines savouring a special vintage, the main doors swung open and the Prefect entered the court at the head of a procession. In honour of the occasion he had ordered a brand-new set of official regalia; a flowing robe of gold tissue trimmed at the collar and cuffs with ermine and otter, and a tiara embroidered with gold and silver thread. In one hand he carried the lavishly embellished sword of state, while the other held the book of ordinances. He walked with a slow, measured dignity towards the place reserved for him, tucked the skirts of his gown around his knees, and sat down. Around him, his entourage filled the rest of the dais like a quart slopped into a pint jug, not quite pushing and shoving for the few available seats, while the Prefect and the Lord Lieutenant exchanged poisonous looks and the rest of the spectators plumped up their cushions and made themselves comfortable.

When the important matters of protocol had been sorted out and the ushers had hushed down the crowd, the Prefect opened his document case and nodded to the clerk; elderly, short-sighted Teofano, who had sat below the dais watching advocates die every day for half a century.

Teofano recited the grievances of the city of Perimadeia against the prisoner Bardas Loredan, customarily styled Colonel but without authority to use such title; that while commanding an expeditionary force against the national enemy he had by his negligence and failure to exercise due care allowed the said enemy to inflict on the said expeditionary force a severe defeat resulting in the loss of nine hundred and seventeen lives, injuries to a further two hundred and forty-eight of the soldiers comprising the said force and losses of horses and property both of the state and of private persons amounting to the sum of twelve thousand, three hundred and eight gold quarters; further, that while commanding the defence of the city in the capacity of Deputy Lord Lieutenant he had wilfully and without authority of the Council deployed and used an unauthorised weapon namely an incendiary compound, thereby tending to enrage the enemy and exacerbate the existing state of war between such enemy and the city and people of Perimadeia; further, that while serving in the said capacity he had negligently and carelessly performed his duties with the result that the said enemy had severely damaged the said defences and killed seven hundred and sixty-one citizens, injured a further three hundred and ninety-six citizens and caused damage to property both of the state and of private persons amounting to the sum of two million, three hundred and forty-nine thousand, five hundred and forty-nine gold quarters; further, that while charged with the duties and responsibilities of the said office of Deputy Lord Lieutenant, he had corruptly and fraudulently seized private property namely rope valued at eight thousand four hundred gold quarters; further, that while charged with the said duties and responsibilities he had corruptly sold state property valued at twelve thousand gold quarters to a third party for the sum of ten thousand gold quarters, to his own advantage and to the detriment of the state.

When Teofano had finished, there was an appropriately awed silence. Then the Prefect cleared his throat and asked who appeared for the state. A long, thin girl of no more than seventeen years of age, with a thin face and pale blue eyes, stood up and gave the court her name and details of her professional qualifications, adding that she was the Attorney-General of the city. Then she bowed to the Prefect and sat down.

‘Very well,’ the Prefect said. ‘Who appears for the prisoner, Bardas Loredan?’

After a moment, a dark-haired, clean-shaven man of just over average height stood up and faced the bench. ‘I do, my lord,’ he said, a little bit too softly. He raised his voice slightly as he gave his name; Bardas Loredan, fencing instructor, appearing as a litigant in person.

‘Very well,’ the Prefect repeated, and he began to read the depositions. They were more than usually long and complicated, phrased in the mystical language of lawyers’ clerks, and while his voice droned and droned the spectators sat in mesmerised silence, relishing the tension and studying the advocates’ faces, occasionally nudging their neighbours and indicating the size and odds of their wagers with their fingers.

In his seat at the back of the spectators’ gallery, Alexius gave up trying to follow the legal rigmarole and concentrated on keeping his eyelids from drooping. The Prefect’s voice was a heavy monotone, and Alexius could feel sleep slowly crowding in on him. He fought it, but-

– Sat upright, to find he was exactly where he had been, sitting in the courthouse, with its high domed roof, the rows of stone benches encircling the sandy floor, the judge’s platform, the marble boxes where the advocates waited for the command. He could see Loredan’s back, and over his shoulder the girl on whose behalf he had once dreamed exactly the same dream; older now, grown up, somehow suddenly beautiful in a way that made him uneasy. He could see the red and blue light from the great rose window burning on the blade of her sword, a long, thin strip of straight steel foreshortened by the perspective into an extension of her hand, a single pointing finger.

He saw Loredan move forward, his graceful, economical movement; and the girl reacts, parrying backhand, high. Now she leans forward, scarcely moving her arm at all except for the roll of the wrist that brings the blade level again. Loredan’s shoulder drops as he tries to get his sword in the way, but he’s left it too late, the sin of an overconfident man. Because Loredan’s back is to him, he can’t see the impact or where the blade hits; but the sword falls from his hand, he staggers back and drops, bent at the waist, dead before his head bumps noisily on the flagstones. The girl doesn’t move, and the blade of her sword points directly at Alexius, her eyes staring into his along the narrow ribbon of steel whose point hangs in the air, motionless, unwavering…

Alexius reached out for the moment, the double handful of time he’d just seen for the second time, caught it, held onto it tightly like a blacksmith trying to hold onto the hind leg of a nervous horse while he presses the red-hot iron shoe onto the hoof, and the air is filled with smoke and the smell of burning, and steam as the hot iron is quenched-

– And woke up, to hear the Prefect’s voice still droning. The woman sitting next to him was nudging him in the ribs.

‘You were almost asleep,’ she hissed. ‘Don’t want to miss the big fight.’

He smiled his thanks and sat up, trying desperately to remember whether he’d managed to catch that double handful of moment, and if he had, what he’d done with it.

‘Five quarters on the girl,’ whispered the woman. ‘Two to one.’

Alexius considered for a moment. ‘Done,’ he whispered back, fumbling in his sleeve for the money.

The Prefect gave the signal, and the two fencers took guard. At precisely the same moment they both raised their swords into the guard of the Old fence, so that between them lay one continuous ribbon of steel that connected them hand to hand and eye to eye. For what seemed like a lifetime they held the position, their arms outstretched but absolutely steady, their sword-points not wavering by the thickness of a hair. One minute, a minute and a half, two minutes; they could have been an instructor and his pupil practising the oldest and most arduous exercise of all, which strengthens the muscles and trains the mind to be patient and alert. Three minutes-

Alexius’ head began to hurt, very badly. He put his fingertips to his temples, closed his eyes, opened them; then the pain began in his chest and arm, and he leant forward, trying unsuccessfully to breathe. Just as he thought he was about to black out, he felt a hand on his arm; and at once the pain stopped, his head cleared, his lungs filled with air-

‘You all right?’ asked the man on his left; a large, thickset bald man with an accent. ‘You had me worried for a moment.’

Alexius gestured that he was fine; then he recognised-

‘Gorgas Loredan,’ he said.

‘That’s right,’ the man replied. ‘Fancy you knowing my name.’

‘I-’

‘Ssh. They’re off.’ Gorgas Loredan was gazing intently ahead. ‘You a betting man, by any chance?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Five quarters on our kid. Two to one.’

Oh, well, thought Alexius. ‘Done,’ he said.

Then he looked down at the two small figures below. Loredan had his back to him; he was lunging now, graceful and economical in his movements. The girl parried, backhand, high, and counterthrust. Loredan dropped his shoulder to parry, realising he was late on the movement, but just in time-

(Ah, said Alexius to himself.)

– He caught the point of her sword on the shell of his hilt, his elbow high and cramped, his wrist turned over. Her blade passed his body, slitting his shirt; then Loredan turned his arm back, converting the late parry into an almost uncounterable riposte. The girl sidestepped; two quick shuffles forward, while twisting her thin body out of the way and frantically trying to cover herself with her sword. In mid-thrust Loredan saw she’d done enough; he aborted the thrust and sidestepped to match her movement, pre-emptively deflecting her blade before she was through with her own parry. This time, when he counterthrust, there would be nowhere for her to go.

But he was too good a teacher to have neglected such emergencies. The girl jumped backwards from a standstill, just as she’d been taught, and feinted a slash at Loredan’s knees, to make him parry low and leave his chest and head exposed. He in turn anticipated the feint, starting to make the anticipated parry and then converting it into a block for the blow she’d intended to make, a short, wristy slash at his face. Having parried that, he stepped back, lowering his sword-point to cover his retreat. She circled, stepping back and to the right to defeat his intended line, but she’d failed to read the signals correctly. Instead of lunging, being parried and laying himself open to a counterthrust, Loredan bent his knees until his outstretched left hand touched the ground, simultaneously slashing with his sword at ankle height. Just in time she skipped over the blade, only to find as she landed that Loredan’s sword was pointing at her heart, and she had no chance of blocking the thrust in time.

Jerking her head back she wrenched herself to one side; instead of running her through, the blade sliced into her side a hand’s span above her hip. It was a sharp blade, there was very little pain, but it was the first time she’d been cut, and she panicked. Without even trying to move her feet or find her balance she slashed wildly; Loredan fended the blow away from his face with the thick part of his blade while stepping back and left, bringing his blade round to face her undefended side. Then, with a short bend of his arm and a sharp turn of his wrist, he struck her right hand, catching her fingers against the grip of her sword and shearing them off just below the knuckle. Her sword clattered on the flagstones and he stepped back to make the final thrust; hesitated-

She kicked hard. He turned away, taking the force of the blow on his thigh. Before he could line up, she had sprung back a good three yards and was scrabbling left-handed for her sword. Damn, Loredan thought, I hate fighting southpaws; he retreated a step or two and took the guard of the City fence, knees bent and sword angled up. She’d been taught the rudiments left-handed, although she was of course at a grave disadvantage even without the pain and shock of her injury. It ought to be fairly straightforward, provided he didn’t underestimate her at the last. He forced himself to relax, to let his weight sink to his knees.

She attacked, swinging a sideways cut at his head. Easy enough to duck under that and then lunge; easy enough for her to turn the lunge and back away, using her feet to get out of trouble, just as she’d been taught. Loredan stayed where he was; time was against her now, she’d know she had to finish it soon before loss of blood made her too weak. He felt something under his foot and decided he knew what it was.

She attacked again; a feinted thrust at eye level, but he knew she was going to convert that into a cut to his forearm, so he moved his head out of the way and parried the cut; turned it and replied with a ferocious short-arm slash at her neck. She’d been expecting the counterthrust (as she’d been taught) and only just managed to get her blade in the way. Even as Loredan followed through the slash, in his mind’s eye he could visualise his recovery, the short, fast lunge into her heart that she would be completely unable to prevent-

Their blades clashed, and there was a crack. Loredan’s sword had snapped, six inches below the hilt.

Oh, for crying out loud, he thought; and, without thinking, he pivoted on his right foot, bringing his left fist round and ramming it into her face. He felt her nose crunch as her head was turned sideways; then she dropped backwards like a sack full of rocks and sprawled on the ground, falling across her own sword and breaking the blade.

Pity, he said to himself. It was only modern, but it looked like a late-series Mesteyn, worth the price of a drink. He looked down at the hilt in his right hand, at the grey frosting of the fractures in cross-section, noticing that the core had given way, in exactly the same way all the others had. Enough to make a man believe in witchcraft, he thought bitterly, and let it fall onto the stone floor.

He rested the palm of his hand on the pommel of his dagger. Now he really ought to finish the job; but what the hell, nobody was paying him. It would mean a verdict of not proven rather than not guilty, but the practical effect was the same. Certainly the difference wasn’t enough to justify the unpleasant effort of bending down and slicing through the side of her neck, getting blood all over his cuffs and hands. He was free to go, and he was on his own time. Stepping over the girl’s body, he walked out of the courthouse in dead silence.

Alexius turned to the woman on his right.

‘He didn’t finish it,’ she said. ‘I think you’ll find that means all bets are off.’

Alexius looked at her.

‘Tell you what,’ she said. ‘Double or quits on the next case.’

‘I’m not staying for the next case.’

She sighed and dug in her purse, producing ten small silver coins. He thanked her and turned to pay his debts on his left, but the seat was empty.

The ushers were dragging her out. They dumped her in a chair near the doorway; as an afterthought one of them twisted a tourniquet round her wrist. Then they picked her up, one under each arm, and walked her out of the door. The spectators started to mutter; a good fight ruined by a cop-out, highly unprofessional conduct on the part of someone who was supposed to be an instructor. What sort of example was that to give the advocates of tomorrow? People started grumbling about wanting their money back, until they remembered that it had been free admission. Somehow, this seemed to make them feel more cheated than ever.

Back in his usual seat, out of the way and beside the window, Loredan poured himself a cup of strong wine and drank it down in one. His knuckles were sore, he’d done something to his right wrist and he ached all over. Damn waste of time, he said to himself, but at least it’s over. It’ll be good not to have that hanging over me any more.

There was always the possibility that she’d come after him again; but with only a thumb left on her right hand she wasn’t going to be fencing any more, and from what he’d gathered from Alexius of her twisted motivation, killing him illegally wasn’t an option as far as she was concerned. As for the Prefect and the Lord Lieutenant, he sincerely hoped that that was the end of it. He understood enough about politics to know that a not proven verdict ought to be an acceptable second best for both factions. It meant that the Prefect was neither convicted nor exonerated; that the Lord Lieutenant’s people hadn’t made their case, but hadn’t lost face either. Both sides would want to see the issue quietly forgotten about, and him with it. Which suited him perfectly. It’d be interesting to see what effect the result would have on enrollments in his school. It could go either way, or it could have no effect at all.

A pity Athli wasn’t here; it had always helped to have her to talk to after a case, someone to drink with who could be relied on not to say the wrong thing. As it was, he suspected, he’d stay here drinking until he felt ill enough to want to go home. He considered going to see Alexius – he’d certainly be interested in the outcome of this particular fight, and the Patriarch would probably quietly regulate the booze supply so that he had enough to get himself straight without getting sordidly drunk. But it didn’t seem appropriate somehow, to go making social calls so soon after cutting someone’s fingers off. For the rest of the day at least, he wasn’t really a fit person for the head of the Order to associate with, and the news of his continued existence would surely keep till tomorrow.

So much for the clan and their much-vaunted silver solder. He poured some more wine – half a cup this time, for there was no need for him to get drunk if he didn’t want to. Finish the jug, then get something to eat and go home, spend the rest of the day lying on his bed staring at the ceiling feeling bored and depressed. The perfect ending to a perfect day.

He was three-quarters of the way down the jug and making up his mind to have another when a shadow fell across him. He looked up, and recognised one of the clerks from the Prefect’s Office, a short, fat young man whose name began with a B.

‘There you are,’ said the clerk. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’

‘Sit down,’ Loredan grunted. ‘Or get yourself a cup and join me.’

The clerk frowned. ‘I haven’t got time for that,’ he said, ‘and neither have you. You’re to report to the Prefect at his office immediately.’

‘Really?’ Loredan leant back against the arm of the settle. ‘Why would I want to do a thing like that?’

‘Because I’m telling you to,’ the clerk replied. ‘And because you’re still on the reserve duty list, which means you’re obliged to obey the orders of your commanding officer.’

Loredan scowled. ‘So sue me,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m really not in the mood. And besides, why the hell would he want to see me? I’d have thought he’d have wanted me to disappear from sight.’

The clerk sighed and sat down, having first wiped spilt wine off the bench with his sleeve. ‘On the contrary,’ he said. ‘I’ll be frank with you, the Prefect’s hoping to make good some of the political damage you’ve caused to this administration by treating today’s result as a vindication. He feels that by reinstating you as Deputy Lord Lieutenant, he’ll be making it clear to the city that his original assessment of you was correct, and-’

Loredan stood up. ‘Tell the Prefect from me,’ he said, ‘thanks but no thanks. It’s extremely kind of him, but I’ve already got a job and I don’t want another one. Goodbye.’

‘You seem to think you have a choice,’ the clerk said. ‘If you fail to report to the Prefect’s Office forthwith, I shall have no alternative but to authorise your arrest as a deserter.’ He grinned. ‘Desertion’s an offence for which you can be executed without trial in time of war. If, as you seem to believe, the Prefect wants to get rid of you, it’d be the most efficient way.’

Loredan sighed, and sat down again. ‘At least can’t it wait till tomorrow?’ he groaned. ‘I’m in no fit state to be respectful to my betters. Who knows, by this time tomorrow I might just be sufficiently bored and depressed to go along with this ludicrous charade.’

‘You have your orders, Colonel,’ the clerk said. ‘Finish your drink if you must, and then I’ll walk with you just in case you can’t remember the way.’

Oh, well, Loredan said to himself. It’s not as if I had anything else to do.

‘After you,’ he said politely.

By the time he reached home, Alexius was exhausted. The last flight of steps leading up from the great hall to the door of his chambers, represented an effort he nearly couldn’t bring himself to face. The pains in his chest and arm had subsided completely and his head wasn’t hurting, but he felt as if he’d just spent the last forty-eight hours down at the docks shifting sacks of grain. Something to eat, something to drink, followed by sleep.

He had kicked off his boots and was just about to lie down when the pageboy came in.

‘Someone to see you,’ he said. ‘Another foreigner.’

Alexius swore under his breath. ‘Name?’ he sighed.

The pageboy looked perplexed. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘he said his name was Loredan, but it isn’t the Colonel. And, like I said, he’s foreign.’

‘Ah. In that case, you’d better show him up.’

And, shortly afterwards, Gorgas Loredan entered the room.

‘It’s all right,’ he said, as Alexius waved him to a chair. ‘I haven’t come for my winnings. Actually, if I’ve understood the rules correctly, a not proven verdict makes all bets void, so we’re square.’

Alexius thought of the fat woman who’d sat on his right, but didn’t say anything. Gorgas stretched out in the chair, feet crossed, hands behind his head. There was, undoubtedly, a resemblance. Mostly it was in the eyes and the jaw; but fundamentally it was more a similar way of taking up space in the room rather than any markedly shared physical characteristic.

‘What can I do for you?’ Alexius asked mildly.

Gorgas smiled. ‘How are you feeling, by the way?’ he asked. ‘I was afraid you were having a heart attack, back there in the courthouse.’

‘Much better, thank you,’ Alexius replied. ‘A little tired, but that’s about all. Now then, how can I help?’

‘I’d like to see my brother,’ Gorgas said, ‘but I don’t know where he lives. Since you’re the nearest he’s got to a friend in the city, I thought I’d come and ask you. I’m not putting you out, am I?’ he added. ‘If it’s terribly inconvenient, I can come back later.’

Alexius shook his head. ‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘No time like the present, and I’ve nothing particularly urgent to be getting on with. You’ll excuse me if I don’t get up, though.’

Gorgas inclined his head. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘But if you could let me have his address…’

Alexius wondered what to do for the best. To refuse would be embarrassing, possibly worse if Gorgas had a short temper. On the other hand, from what little he’d been able to gather, the two brothers hadn’t been on speaking terms for a long time. If this was an attempt to restore diplomatic relations, he’d quite possibly be doing Loredan no good at all if he prevented Gorgas from seeing him.

Admit it, you’re just curious. Curious was putting it mildly; he’d already been certain before the healing miracle in the lawcourts that Gorgas Loredan was somehow deeply involved in some aspect of the mystery he’d found himself in that night he’d tried to lay the curse. So far, he’d apparently managed to keep the disastrous consequences from hurting anybody but himself and the girl. For all he knew, Gorgas wanted his brother’s address so that he could go there and kill him.

‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I don’t know where he is at the moment. For a while he was lodging at the second-city gatehouse, but he’s moved out again.’ There; managed that without telling an outright lie. Will that do, I wonder?

‘Oh,’ Gorgas replied, ‘you surprise me. I was sure you’d know.’

Alexius could see his almost-lie reflected in Gorgas’ eyes. Damn, he doesn’t believe me. Nevertheless; he knew he’d reached his decision, and now he’d stick to it. ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ he said. ‘If it’s any help to you, I could always try and pass a message to him. I met him when we were both on the Security Council, you see; I can see if any of the other members are still in touch with him, though I must say I think it’s fairly unlikely.’

‘I see. Well, that’s a nuisance. I’d have liked to talk to him before I leave, you see. It’s been a long time – the truth is, we haven’t spoken to each other for a good few years.’ Gorgas Loredan yawned, covered his mouth with the back of his large, flat hand. ‘I did something he’s never forgiven me for, you see. I’ve wanted to try and put things right ever since, but I haven’t had the chance till now.’ His eyes were bright and steady, watching the Patriarch as if they were two advocates in a court of law. ‘Perhaps if I told you about it, you’d understand why I’m so keen to see him, and that might just jog your memory.’

Alexius nodded, embarrassed that his lie had been so transparent. ‘If you think it would help,’ he said.

‘It’s not a very pleasant story,’ Gorgas went on, ‘and I’m afraid I’m very much the villain of the piece. I shall have to take the risk of you not wanting to help me after you’ve heard it.’

Alexius could feel his fingernails digging into his left palm, and wondered what was making him feel so tense. As if he didn’t know. ‘Your brother is indeed my friend,’ he said slowly. ‘In fact, I value his friendship a great deal. I would very much like to help him. If, as you say, your intention is to put right something that’s been troubling him for many years, then I’ll help you. If I decide it would be better if you stayed out of his life, I won’t.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Gorgas equably. He leant forward, straightening his back and resting his fists on his knees. Alexius noticed the breadth of his shoulders and the thickness of his wrists. Bardas’ big brother, in every sense of the word. But although there was undoubtedly a strong sense of menace about Gorgas Loredan – almost, at the risk of being melodramatic about it, a fierce vitality that smacked of evil – Alexius couldn’t detect any malice at all directed towards Bardas, or himself. If he’d had to make a judgement then and there, he’d have to conclude that this strange, unpleasantly fascinating big man was sincerely fond of the brother he hadn’t seen for so long; certainly genuinely concerned for and interested in his wellbeing. Well, why not? Even evil men sometimes love their brothers.

And whatever it was he could feel in the displacement – no, the gash – that this man made in the even flow of the principle, it wasn’t evil in the sense of a purely negative, destructive force. Gorgas Loredan wasn’t a nice man, he felt sure; but there was more to it than that. There was an ambivalence about him that made Alexius think of a weapon; an instrument solely intended for doing harm and damage, but equally capable of fulfilling its function for good or for evil, depending on who happened to pick it up. And then he realised, quite intuitively: this man isn’t entirely his own master, although maybe he doesn’t know that.

‘Has Bardas told you anything about his family?’ Gorgas asked.

‘A little,’ Alexius replied. ‘I know your father was a tenant farmer.’

Gorgas nodded. ‘In the Mesoge,’ he said. ‘Strictly speaking our farm counted as a manor because of its size, but in reality it was mostly mountain and forest; only a quarter of it was fit for anything. There were four of us, three brothers and a sister. Our mother died when I was eight; some sort of kidney infection, I think. Our sister’s the eldest; she’s a year older than me, and I’m two years older than Bardas; Clefas came next, a year after Bardas, and finally Zonaras.’ He paused and smiled. ‘Have you got that, or shall I go through it again? It isn’t actually all that important.’

‘Go on, please.’

Gorgas inclined his head. ‘Like most of the farms in the Mesoge, it was owned by one of the old city houses; our landlords were the Ferian family. I expect you know of them. I believe they’ve declined rather a lot over the last few years, but back when we were children they were still a force to be reckoned with.’

‘I’ve heard of them,’ Alexius said.

‘Well,’ Gorgas took a deep breath, as if preparing for an effort. ‘About eighteen years ago, when we were all still living on the farm, the landlord’s son and a cousin of his came out for a holiday in the country. The story was that they were interested in buying racehorses, but I think it was more the case that they’d made the city a bit too warm for their own good and had to get away for a while, the way the sons of the nobility do from time to time. They soon got through their money, so they were reducing to billeting themselves on the tenants; not much fun for them, and even less for us. They were bored stiff inside a week; nothing to do all day but mope around the farmhouse with the goats, or go for long walks. They drank a lot and chivvied a few of the local girls, but they found them all a bit unappetising and stopped bothering after a bit.

‘Except,’ Gorgas said, frowning a little, ‘for my sister. They liked her all right; she wasn’t a great beauty or anything like that, but she was lively and had a sharp sense of humour, which made her a bit more like what they were used to at home. It didn’t help that she thoroughly loathed and despised her husband – he was a pleasant enough man, but a peasant from his boots upwards, and they couldn’t have children, which upset her. Anyway, these city boys took to hanging around her all the time. Gallas, her husband, didn’t seem to mind too much; it was obvious nothing much was happening and anyway, you’d have to have run off Gallas’ pigs or set fire to his beard before he’d lose his temper, or even notice. Our father and Bardas didn’t like it at all, though. And I-’ Gorgas turned his head away a little. ‘I wanted more than anything else to get out of the Mesoge and go to the city. When those two young fools showed up, I suddenly saw a chance.’

He sat silently for a while, not moving; then, abruptly, he resumed his story. ‘It was quite obvious our sister had the same idea,’ he said, ‘because as soon as she realised the two boys were interested in her, she started stringing them along, but without ever actually coming across; the message being, she was only too happy to play any games they liked, but only if they took her back to the city with them. Unfortunately, the two lads were too thick to see what she was doing; as far as they were concerned, she was leading them on and then mucking them about. They didn’t like that; too complicated for their simple minds, and not really worth the effort. They made it clear that unless she did the right thing by them, they’d move on to the next farm up the valley. Our sister wasn’t going to give in unless she got what she wanted; adultery for its own sake was never one of her vices. And all I could see was my chance of getting out of agriculture slipping away from me, unless I could sort something out quickly.

‘It was the day when they announced they were leaving. Father made it perfectly obvious that he’d be delighted to see them go; likewise Bardas and Clefas, and our brother-in-law Gallas, who for once displayed a vestigial trace of backbone. Our sister flounced off looking enigmatic, and the two lads were sitting out on the porch waiting for their horses to be saddled up. As far as I was concerned, it was then or never. So I went up to them and started commiserating – obliquely, of course – about my sister’s treatment of them.

‘They said, plenty more where that came from, or words to that effect. I said they were quitting too easily; they’d got the signals all wrong, I told them, it was no good waiting for her to surrender gracefully like a good little pleasant girl, they had to go out and take what they wanted. I gave them the impression that that was how she always did business, and she’d been waiting for them to make their move and was just as puzzled as they were.

‘They believed me, of course, and said that was a different kettle of fish entirely, and why hadn’t I said anything before? Then they asked if I had any idea where she might have gone off to. Now, I knew she’d gone down to the river to do her washing, so I tried telling them how to find the place. They said they couldn’t make sense of my directions, so why didn’t I show them the way? That was fine by me, so off we went; me thinking that this was it, that I’d finally earned my passage out.

‘There she was, just as I’d guessed. At first they tried to be nice; but when my sister realised that there was nothing in it for her she started getting stroppy, calling them names, and then when the Ferian boy tried to grab hold of her, she slugged him quite hard across the face with a stone and drew blood. That made them both lose their temper, and they stopped being nice after that.

‘Well, I reckoned they could do without me, and I was making myself scarce when to my horror I saw people coming; Father and Bardas and Gallas, who’d heard screaming, and were running up with mattocks in their hands. That didn’t suit me at all; the last thing I wanted was for my prospective patrons to get beaten up, or to explain exactly where they’d got their false information from. Maybe I panicked; but no, I’m being too soft on myself. I knew exactly what I was doing. I always have, all my life.

‘The lads had left their horses tied up near where I was standing, and one of them had a bow and a quiver on his saddle. I grabbed these and ducked behind some rocks, and when Father and the others came running past I shot Gallas, killed him outright.

‘The idea was to make them think it was an ambush by bandits and scare them off; might have worked, too – that sort of thing did happen occasionally – except that Bardas saw me and called out my name. I knew I was for it then, and there was nothing else I could do. I’d have to deal with all of them and then try and sort out a story later. So I shot Father and Bardas – I thought I’d killed them both, but I was careless – and then I went down to the river and picked off the Ferian lad. The other one – did I tell you his name? Cleras Hedin – ran for it and I was well and truly stuck then. I had to get him, but there was my sister to deal with as well. My idea was to make it look like we’d surprised the rapists at their work and there’d been a general battle, with me the only survivor. That wouldn’t wash unless I polished off the lot, and now there was one halfway down the valley, and my sister standing in the river all bloody, screaming her head off at me.

‘I did panic a bit then; I shot Sis, assumed I’d done the job, and then dashed off after young Hedin. There were only two arrows left by then and I missed with both of them, so in the end I had to run him down and sort him out with a lump of wood. By the time I got back, I was less than thrilled to discover that I was two corpses short; Bardas and my sister. I followed the blood back towards the house; but as soon as I came round the side of the hill I saw Clefas and Zonaras running out towards me with their own bows in their hands, and I decided to cut my losses and get out. I made it to the lads’ horses, jumped up and didn’t stop till I was well clear. And that’s the last I ever saw of home, or any of my brothers.’

He looked up, grinning bleakly. ‘I warned you, it’s not a terribly nice story,’ he said. ‘I’m the villain of the piece, obviously enough, but none of the survivors come out of it exactly smelling of roses. Do you want me to go on?’

‘You mean there’s more?’ Alexius said.

‘Oh, yes. You’re sure? Well, then. The next bit, by the way, is obviously hearsay, based on what my sister’s told me since. I’m inclined to believe she’s telling the truth. She’s not very nice either, but I’ve never known her tell a deliberate lie.

‘Apparently, once the dust had settled and all the bodies had been buried – actually, the Ferians were rather good about it all; they accepted the blame for the rape and set that off against the two killings, where most noble families would’ve had the survivors strung up without a second thought; so fair play to them – as I was saying, once everybody was buried or recovered from their wounds, Bardas started getting at our sister, saying it was all her fault for being a whore in the first place. He was upset, obviously; and since I wasn’t there and the two city boys were both dead, she was the next likely candidate for a scapegoat.

‘And then when it turned out she was pregnant, he really lost his cool and tried to throw her out on her ear. Well, the other two weren’t having that, so Bardas flung out in a temper and went storming off to join the army. The others expected he’d be back inside a month, but apparently he was spotted by our mother’s brother, Uncle Maxen, who’d been in the service all his life and had worked his way up to being General. So Bardas didn’t come back after all; and that really annoyed Clefas and Zonaras, who were now having to do the work of six men just to keep the farm ticking over and pay the rent.

‘They started taking it out on our sister; and Clefas always tended to make his point with the back of his hand rather than reasoned argument. She stuck it out till she was nearly due with the baby; then Clefas had a bit too much to drink one night and went for her with a knife. She didn’t hang about after that; and the only place she could go was the city, where she hoped she could get something out of the dead father’s people, the Hedins.’ Gorgas lifted his head and looked Alexius in the eye. ‘She’s always been adamant that it was the Hedin lad, not young Ferian, who was the kid’s father. I’m perfectly happy to take her word for it; she ought to know, after all, and, like I said, she doesn’t tell lies.

‘Well, the Hedin family wasn’t anything like as grand as the Ferians. Nothas Hedin started off as a goldsmith, branched out into banking, and about this time was making a comfortable living. His boys knew the Ferians through racing, I think; Nothas Hedin was a miserable old devil but when it came to horses he used to spend like there was no tomorrow, and the Ferians were the same. They weren’t happy about the situation but they took my sister in and told her she could stay there till the baby was born, and then they’d ship her off somewhere overseas where she’d be looked after and nobody’d have to look at her and be reminded of all the trouble she’d caused.

‘I’d reached the city myself by that time, and was making a sort of living hanging around with a bunch of other lowlifes who did naughty things for money. You couldn’t really call them assassins, they weren’t as grand as that. We used to beat people up in dark alleys, set fire to shops, things like that. Anyway; quite by chance I found out that my sister was in town, and my first thought was that it was time for me to move on. I hadn’t worried too much about the Ferians or the Hedins catching up with me for what I’d done, because of course I wasn’t calling myself Gorgas Loredan, and until Sis came to town there wasn’t anybody in the city who could recognise me. By that stage, though, I’d had enough of travel and adventure to last me for a while, so I hung about and waited to see what happened. I started snooping around one of the maids from the Hedin household so as to find out the news, and what I heard was that although Sis wasn’t exactly pleased with me, quite reasonably enough, she was absolutely livid with Bardas, Clefas and Zonaras, and Bardas most of all. So I plucked up my courage and went to see her.

‘I think she was so taken aback at seeing me that she forgot to yell bloody murder until after I’d had a chance to be reasonable; and so, after a few mutual recriminations for form’s sake, we came to a sort of state of armed truce. After all, we were the only family either of us had still got, and the fact is that we’d always had a sort of special relationship back from when we were kids. I won’t say it was forgive and forget exactly; but she had the baby to think of and I was feeling pretty sick about the whole business and badly wanted someone not to hate me to death, so we agreed I’d try and make it up to her as best I could, and we’d see if we couldn’t find some way to make the future a degree less crappy for both of us.

‘To cut a long story short; I managed to scrape a little money together – you don’t want to know how – and we set off for the Island. After a bit of soul-searching Sis left the kid with the Hedin family; they were happy to bring it up as one of theirs provided Mummy promised to go away and never come back. Sis was fairly upset about it at the time, but we agreed a baby’d really get in our way, considering the line of business we planned on going into. I’ll say this for my sister, once she’s decided what has to be done, she doesn’t let sentiment stand in her way.

So we went to the Island and set up in the moneylending racket; did very well at it, too, after a very shaky start. As to what made us turn the corner, that’s another story; one that might interest you, Patriarch, some other time, because it sort of impinges on your line of work. Anyway, after a while we found we were making a go of things, our lives were settling down and somehow or other we’d managed to show all the fuck-ups a clean pair of heels; not bad going, considering. It was then that we both decided that our – what shall we call it: our mutual non-aggression pact in the face of a common enemy, namely Life? Something like that – our understanding, if you like, had more or less outlived its usefulness and it’d be in both our interests if we divvied up and went our separate ways while we were still on speaking terms. It was a good idea, I think. When you can feel a major bust-up looming ahead of you, it’s not a bad idea to get out of each other’s way before the stones start to fly.

‘We moved all the way out to Scona and set up a proper bank, all respectable and above board. I have to admit, she’s the one with the brains in our family. I’m not doing badly myself, but she’s made a real success of the business, and as far as I can see she owns virtually everything and everybody on that side of the bay. Big fish and small pond, maybe; still not too dusty for a peasant’s daughter from the Mesoge. And, as I remind her from time to time, if it wasn’t for me she might well still be back on Gallas’ farm hoeing turnips and mucking out goats. She won’t admit it, but at least she doesn’t throw things at me when I say it any more.’

Alexius sat very still, like a rabbit facing a snake. The sheer presence of the man was appalling and fascinating. ‘And what about the child?’ he said at last. ‘Your sister’s son, the one she left behind?’

‘Daughter, actually. In fact, it’s her I wanted to see Bardas about, thought I have a nasty feeling I’ve left it a little bit too late.’ He sighed. ‘I’m surprised you need to ask, actually. I’d have thought as soon as you heard the name-’

Alexius’ throat became terribly dry. ‘Hedin,’ he said.

‘They called the girl Iseutz,’ Gorgas continued. ‘Not the name her mother gave her, but they wanted something a bit higher class. Anyway, they brought her up with the dead boy’s young brother. His name was Teofil.’

‘Teofil Hedin. Iseutz Hedin.’ Alexius’ face crumpled in horror. ‘Oh, gods, that girl-’

Gorgas nodded grimly. ‘The irony is,’ he said, ‘she doesn’t even know about Bardas and me and all the rest of it. As far as she’s concerned, Bardas is the man who killed her darling uncle Teofil, the only one who ever cared for her. Grisly, isn’t it? When it comes to luck, good and bad, our family strikes me as having had rather more than its fair share.’

‘Oh, gods,’ Alexius repeated. ‘She’s his niece.’

‘Fortunately,’ Gorgas said, ‘she still is. More by luck than judgement,’ he continued, shaking his head. ‘It’s my fault it’s got this far; as soon as we found out what was going on, I raced over here, but the first I knew of this confounded fight was when I saw it posted on the courtroom door.’

Alexius wasn’t quite sure what to make of any of that. He wanted to know how they’d found out, for one thing. He wanted to mention the dream he’d had during the reading of the depositions, the pains in his head, chest and arms that had come and gone away again; all manner of small points that seemed to be leading in a certain direction. He wanted to ask Gorgas if he knew two Islanders called Venart and Vetriz. He wanted to find out exactly what it was about his unnamed sister’s way of doing business that might interest him because it sort of impinged on his line of work. He did none of these things.

‘You said you wanted me to give Bardas a message,’ he said, as neutrally as he could manage. ‘What do you want me to tell him?’

‘I’m not sure, really,’ Gorgas confessed, scratching the side of his head. ‘I suppose he ought to be told about Iseutz; who she really is, and all that. It’d have been better perhaps if he’d been told before he cut off all the fingers on her right hand; or maybe not, I don’t know. Maybe if he’d known, it’d have cost him his life.’ He leant forward and went on very earnestly, ‘I love my brother, Patriarch. I always did. We were close; not as close as I was to my sister, but we grew up together, played together as kids. You can’t help loving someone under those circumstances even if you end up hating them at the same time. If you’ve got a brother or a sister, maybe you understand. And I recognise that making it up to Bardas is going to be very difficult, since this whole mess is nearly all my fault; I made no bones about that from the very start, remember. I’ve got no illusions about myself. But I’m not an evil man, Alexius, just a man who once did some evil things. Maybe I still do, from time to time. But if there’s anything I can do for my brother, I want to do it. Ideally, I’d like him to leave this city while there’s still time; come back with me if he likes, or go wherever he wants. I’d gladly make sure he never wanted for money or things. I’d even try and make peace between him and my sister, though I doubt that’d ever be possible. Whatever; you’ve got to believe me, I certainly don’t mean him any harm.’

Abruptly, he stood up. Alexius wanted to stop him leaving, but made no effort to do so. ‘So what do you want me to tell him?’ he repeated. ‘Always supposing I can get in touch with him, which I can’t guarantee.’

Gorgas licked his lips before answering. ‘Tell him about the girl,’ he said at last. ‘He may not believe it, of course. If he does, he’ll probably think I’m telling him now just to make him suffer, but there’s nothing I can do about that.’ He hesitated, then continued, ‘Tell him I’d like there to be peace between us, if for no other reason than because he’s my brother and I miss him. Tell him I love him, Patriarch Alexius. I think that more or less covers everything.’

Gorgas moved swiftly to the door, opened it and closed it behind him. When he’d gone, there was a large empty space in the room, a displacement that put Alexius in mind of the operation of the Principle and the uses it could on occasion be put to, for good or ill. He sat for a long time thinking over what he’d been told, trying to tease out of it something that would help him make sense of many things that had happened, to him and to others, over the last few months; coincidentally, since more or less the time when Temrai was known to have come to the city. He thought about Bardas Loredan lying half-dead among the bodies of his family, and remembered a dream he’d had during the emergency, in which he’d seemed to see Loredan riding through a burning camp with a torch in his hand, apparently looking for someone among the bodies of women and children; and a boy he’d somehow recognised as the young Temrai, hiding under a wagon and watching him. Behind it all there was one simple thing; he could visualise it in general terms, he could almost taste it, but it continued to elude him. He even got up and looked on a map to see where Scona was, but that didn’t help particularly.

At times like this, he realised, he missed Gannadius, and he spared a thought for his absent friend, even now on the Island-

On the Island, thanks to the intercession of a virtual stranger, who had seen to it that he was taken out of harm’s way, along with Loredan’s clerk, who had been a sort of friend and companion to him. He wondered about that, too.

All these problems, all these questions; they should have given him a headache, but they didn’t. Tell him I love him, Patriarch Alexius… What an extraordinary thing for him to say, a man who’d killed his father and brother-in-law, tried to kill his brother and sister, in furtherance of procuring his sister’s rape. He believed what Gorgas had said; no reason to assume that such a man was incapable of love, or incapable of anything. In fact, he had a shrewd idea that Gorgas was capable of pretty well anything he chose to do, one way or another. An interesting man, and no mistake.

Eventually he thought himself to sleep and had no bad dreams.