The Blood-stained Belt (42 page)

Suddenly I felt
like grinning as I glimpsed something of the old Sharma. Whatever
his faults, in the old days Sharma had spoken to me frankly – most
of the time, anyway. I said, 'I accept your apology.'

Sharma wriggled
in his chair to get comfortable and repositioned his leg on the
footstool. 'Do you, Jina?' I nodded. Sharma threw back his head,
waggled it as if his neck was stiff, and said, 'That's good.
Mending fences, eh?'

Mending fences?
That wasn't the most suitable image to use. The fact was that I was
aware of how many fences there were between us. They would always
be there in spite of Sharma's apology. I shrugged the thought away
and asked, 'Did you bring me here just to apologise?'

Sharma took
another deep breath and then replied in a tight voice, 'It had to
be said first, didn't it?' I nodded and Sharma said, 'You know very
well why I asked you to come here.'

'Asked? You
asked me, did you? Well, man, let me tell you that I had no choice.
They ordered me out of Terfillere and practically frog-marched me
onto a ship. You call that being asked to do something?'

Sharma
stretched his hands above his head and flexed his shoulders,
looking tired. He pleaded, 'I need you, Jina,'

'Why?'

'Because I can
trust you.'

For a moment I
felt like taunting him. Trust, eh? What about all your generals and
all your governors, Sharma? What about your women and your many
children, Sharma? What about your sons – yes, Sharma, what about
your sons? I looked at the flabby shell that was sitting in front
of me, shifting his lame leg uncomfortably and rubbing his jowls
and I pitied him. I remembered the old Sharma – the brave, quick,
and generous friend and comrade, the comet that had blazed its
bright path through our lives and through the destiny of Keirine.
Oh, the memories and emotions were all out of their lairs now. They
were flooding all over me. Damn, damn, damn! I bit back my taunts
and asked, 'Trust me? What of it?'

'I need you,
Jina. Who else can I really trust?' I put up a hand to halt him
while I got a grip on myself but Sharma continued, 'You always put
the destiny of Keirine first, didn't you? You always drove straight
for it without allowing yourself to be diverted, didn't you?'

I muttered, 'I
did, once.'

'Do you know,
Jina, you're the nearest that I've ever come to an honest man.'

'I doubt that.
For one thing, the service of Keirine has corrupted my
honesty.'

Sharma's eyes
flickered but he ignored my words. He leaned forward and asked
persuasively, 'Do you remember how as boys we sat on the hills and
looked over the coastal plain while --?'

'Stop it,
Sharma! No more!' There was a deep silence. Sharma reached into a
drawer in the cabinet next to him and held something up for me to
see. It was a sling. Sharma asked, 'Do you remember this?' I
nodded. Still holding it up, he said, 'It's the same old sling,
Jina.' He heaved himself out of the chair and, supported by a
stick, waddled across to a large dresser. There he took out a
number of small wooden objects -- the same targets that we used for
slingshot practice while we sat around in the evenings drinking
wine and chatting companionably. Sharma draped a cloth over the
dresser, set up the targets, and heaved himself back towards me. He
took some pebbles out of a pouch and gave them to me, saying, 'Have
a go, Jina.'

'I don't feel
like it, Sharma.'

'Please, Jina,
for old time's sake?'

I surprised
myself by hitting four out of the seven targets. Sharma grunted and
said, 'Watch this, Jina.' He whirled the sling and let fly. Plink!
The pebble hit the wall leaving the targets unscathed. He let fly
again with the same result. Finally, after eight attempts, he had
hit only two targets. Sharma said gruffly, 'You see how it is with
me, Jina.'

'Oh, come on
Sharma, you’re just faking it.'

He looked at me
heavily and muttered, 'I assure you that I am not.'

'I don't
believe you.'

'By Zabrazal, I
can't do it any more, Jina. Don't you see – I can't do it.' Sharma
slumped into his chair. 'I can't do it, Jina. That’s the
truth.'

I looked at
him, pitying rather than despising his despondent and fallen state.
I picked up the sling, took aim, and sent one of the targets
whirling. Then I said, 'All right, I'll do it. Just don't ask
anything more of me. When it's over, I will be free to go back to
the islands. Agreed?'

Sharma sighed
as if he had been relieved of a great weight. He leaned further
forward and, with both hands clasping the carved head of his stick,
said, 'Don't harm the boy, Jina. He's my oldest son and he’s my
heir. Whatever happens, don't harm him.'

‘What if he
resists?’

‘Whatever you
do, don’t harm him, Jina. He has to be the next king of Keirine.
Anything else will bring chaos.’

CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX: THINGS OF OUR OWN MAKING

Keirine was in
turmoil. Bedaxili had only articulated and exploited the
dissatisfaction that was already widespread by the time he came out
into the open. People were tired of paying taxes that were spent on
grandiose projects rather than on benefits for the public. They
were tired of paying for extensions to the palace, a royal villa at
the coast, clothing and jewelry for Sharma's wives and children,
and triumphal cavalcades that accompanied Sharma wherever he went.
They were tired of their young men being rounded up for forced
labour gangs, to serve for two years in convict-like conditions.
And such is the human desire for novelty, they were probably tired
of the tedium of stability and security – or, at the least, they
had forgotten what the alternative was like. Under the
circumstances, Bedaxili offered something new and attractive. He
was a handsome populist who sat in town squares and spoke to
ordinary people, making promises of reductions in taxes, an end to
forced labour, and the sweeping away of the old guard who
surrounded Sharma. The priests added credibility to Bedaxili's
campaign by coming out in support of him. Isahile, the High
Priest-elect, stayed out of the fray but a number of his colleagues
accompanied Bedaxili's cavalcade, proclaiming that Zabrazal
approved of this flamboyant young man who, amongst his many
promises, assured the priests that their authority and privileges
would be restored.

However,
Bedaxili played his hand too soon. He didn't know – or, in his
eagerness for power, he didn't want to know – that there is a big
difference between leading a populist movement and leading an army.
He also made the mistake of thinking that the junior officers who
clustered around him, eager for swift advancement, had the
experience and the knowledge to organise a campaign and lead an
army to victory. Ha! Their ambition had no more substance to it
than the self-aggrandisement of a peacock that promenades and
thinks well of itself until the eagle swoops. Then the peacock
finds that its strutting pride, pomp, and fine feathers are torn to
shreds within seconds. That's what happened to Bedaxili's army when
we finally closed on it.

Thank Zabrazal,
Sharma still had an army. The most senior commanders were dead and
some of the middle-ranking officers had joined Bedaxili but he
still had a core of officers and soldiers who had served Keirine
well during the past twenty-five years. In the present crisis, they
had been ineffective not because they lacked the capacity to act
but because Sharma didn't have the heart to act against his
treasured son.

It took me
three weeks to sort things out. During that time, we sent a small
force against Bedaxili's army. They were instructed only to feint
and withdraw so that Bedaxili would gain confidence and become
careless. To aggravate Bedaxili's delusions, as he advanced ever
closer to Koraina we steadily evacuated the town. First Sharma and
his court retired northwards. Next, units of the army also
retreated. The civilian population, ignorant of what we were
planning, began to panic and many of them also left Koraina. Their
hasty evacuation suited our purpose and we didn’t try to stop them.
Finally, when Bedaxili was within two days' march of Koraina, we
offered ridiculously generous peace terms that were intended to
suggest that we were weak and panic-stricken. However, in the midst
of the negotiations we struck at Bedaxili's force using the same
tactics that Sharma employed when we defeated Vaxili in the desert
foothills. Just as on that occasion, after we had slaughtered or
dispersed most of the enemy army in a night attack, next morning we
had to deal with a hard core of survivors who gathered around their
chief for a last stand. When they surrendered after two hours of
hard fighting, all resistance came to an end. The rebellion was
over.

When they
brought Bedaxili to me, it was a shock to see how much he looked
like his mother, just as he did when I first saw him as a youngster
in Orihedrin. Even although he was disheveled and frightened, I
could see why they praised his good looks and attractiveness.
Outwardly, he had a manly bearing and the same fresh and open
countenance that I remembered from his younger days. But – pha! –
what do these things count if the character is weak and the heart
is corrupt?

Bedaxili
disgusted me. He had not only threatened the stability of his
country but, to compound the offence, he had violated his siblings
and had revolted against his father. I had to fight down the urge
to strike him when I told him, 'You will be taken to Koraina where
you will be dealt with as you deserve.' Privately, I thought with
deep regret that, in actual fact, he wouldn’t be dealt with in
anything like the manner that he deserved. He would probably only
be wept over in maudlin fashion, rapped on the knuckles, and then
set free with a fond pat on the head to continue on his dissolute,
corrupt, conniving way.

It seemed that
Bedaxili had most of the faults and weaknesses of his grandfather
without having Vaxili’s one notable virtue, namely personal
courage. Bedaxili was cringing and shaking with fear. He stammered,
'May I speak to you privately?'

'No, you may
not! If you want to say something, say it right here.'

Sniveling,
Bedaxili looked around and then leaned forward and said in a
mumbling attempt at confidentiality, 'If you release me, I can
offer you wealth and a good position.'

‘Oh, you can
make offers like that, can you?’

‘Of course! I’m
the king’s oldest son and I’m heir to the throne.’

'All the more
reason why I won’t release you! In fact, I wouldn't release you if
you offered me ten kingdoms.'

Bedaxili
dropped to his knees and shuffled forward until he was right at my
feet. 'I beg you – have pity on me.' He was sobbing.

I looked down
at the pathetic creature at my feet, took a step backward to
prevent him from touching me, and asked, 'Why should I pity
you?'

'For my
mother's sake – I beg you, have pity for her sake.' He lunged
forward, grasped my ankles, and pressed his forehead against my
feet. I tried to shake him off but he was clinging to me like a
drowning swimmer.

I asked in
disgust, 'Should I pity you in the same way as you pitied your
sister, your brother, and your father?'

'I regret what
I have done. I apologise. I beg you – have pity on me!'

I managed to
shake one of my feet free and kicked him so hard that he sprawled
backwards. As he lay there on his back in the dust trembling and
sniveling, I pressed my sword to his throat and asked, 'Do you
admit that you are a scheming wretch who shouldn't even be allowed
to carry the shit buckets from the poorest hovel in Keirine?'

'Yes. I admit
it.'

'Do you admit
that a wretch like you who rapes his sister, kills his brother, and
betrays his father isn't fit to live?' I applied pressure to the
sword.

'Yes. I admit
it.' I pressed the sword harder into his throat and he screeched,
'Have pity, I beg you!'

One of my
commanders whispered urgently, 'Have a care, general! We must
return him to his father unharmed.'

Bedaxili
wriggled to his knees and tried to crawl away. I struck him on the
side of his head with the flat of my sword and he sprawled on the
ground, screaming in fear and pain, clutching his forehead. Someone
grasped my arm, saying, 'General! He must not be harmed.'

The writhing
creature on the ground filled me with disgust, all the more so when
I reflected that this flabby offal-bag was the heir to the throne
of Keirine. Worse still, I knew that Sharma would forgive him. He
would set Bedaxili free to rape, murder, plot and scheme again.
Even although he complained about them, Sharma never could do the
hard, proper thing when it came to dealing with his wives and
children. God, more than ever, I wished that they had left me alone
in peace amongst the islands. But now that I was here and was
forced to deal with these matters, I would do Keirine a favour for
old time's sake. I shook off the restraining hand, drew back my
arm, and plunged my sword into Bedaxili's throat. He gurgled and
toppled over. Someone wrestled the sword free from my hand and
someone else seized my arms to prevent me from drawing my dagger.
It didn't matter. Bedaxili was dead already. Whatever the future
held for Keirine, he wouldn’t be there to contaminate it.

When we arrived
in Koraina, Sharma refused to see me. In any case, he was in no
state to see anyone at all. I heard that when he got the news that
Bedaxili was dead, he let out a howl of anguish and dropped to the
floor insensible. Then, when he recovered, he reeled around the
palace calling down curses on me. After that, he staggered to the
temple where he prostrated himself in front of the altar, tearing
at his clothes and begging Zabrazal to withdraw his anger and to
smile on his house at last. If Zabrazal was listening, he must have
been grimly amused at the return of the apostate in this fashion.
In between his supplications, Sharma continued to curse me. They
say that he was so desperate and distracted that he repeatedly beat
his forehead against the stone floor while, his clothes having been
reduced to shreds, he tore at his flesh with his fingernails. When
he finally collapsed after this self-indulgent outpouring of anger
and remorse, his attendants had to half-carry and half-drag him
from the temple to the palace and heave him into bed, where he laid
moaning and shivering in a fevered, semi-conscious state.