The Blood-stained Belt (6 page)

There was a
buzz of both interest and scepticism. Someone shouted, ‘We want a
council of the people!'

Someone else
bellowed, 'They'll just be a gang of arselickers.'

Vaxili ignored
the hecklers and continued, 'My second task is to defend Keirine’
He paused, took a step forward, and said firmly, ‘To do that, I
will create a standing army.’

Someone called
out, ‘Are you going to abolish the militias?’

Vaxili replied,
‘The militia system has served Keirine well but it’s too cumbersome
to be the first line of defence.’

Someone else
called out, ‘There you are. You heard him – away with the
militias!’

The muttering
and heckling increased to an uproar when Vaxili announced that he
would introduce taxation to pay for the costs of the army and the
monarchy. Keirineians had never paid taxes and the people of
Osicedi didn't like the idea any more than did people anywhere else
in the country. The hecklers redoubled their verbal assault on
Vaxili.

‘If a tax
collector knocks on my door, I’ll put a boot up his backside.’

‘We already
tithe to Zabrazal. Do you think we’ll also pay taxes to a king?
Forget it!’

‘Hey, Vaxili!
Go back to Upper Keirine and tax them! We’ll take care of ourselves
like we always did.’

‘Are the rich
going to fix it so that they don’t have to pay, as usual?’

Listening to
the protests, Sharma said disdainfully, ‘Ha! Listen to them talk!
Oh, sure, they don’t like the idea of taxation. But either they pay
tax and have an army or they don’t pay tax and they don’t have an
army. No army, no chance of defeating the Dornites! It’s simple.’
Sharma snapped his fingers impatiently. ‘Talk, talk, talk! They
think they can wriggle out if they carry on talking long
enough.’

I couldn’t help
grinning. Sharma was right. Whenever the debate lurched a few paces
towards accepting the inevitable someone would intervene with a
remark that would take the matter back to an earlier stage. It was
like trying to get a flock of sheep through a gate – a few animals
would pass through while the rest balked and scattered in all
directions. Then, while the shepherd raced after the escaping
animals, some of the corralled sheep would slip out through the
gate and the whole thing would start over again.

However, the
atmosphere had changed by the time the meeting drew towards an end.
The crowd had hurled their verbal missiles at Vaxili but had
achieved nothing. Now they were weary, like workmen who have
shoveled for hours to shift a rock and have at last realised that
their labours have been in vain. Vaxili had got what he wanted; a
wise man would have left it at that. Instead, as the saying goes,
he snatched defeat from the jaws of victory. Perhaps it was
weariness, perhaps it was the strain of having to deal with the
same old predictable arguments wherever he went ---- I really don't
know. Suddenly, in response to a provocation by a lone heckler, he
retorted vehemently, 'I'm king over all of Keirine -- remember
that! I'm the king! Oppose me and you will regret it!'

Vaxili’s
outburst had the effect of oil thrown onto smouldering coals. The
crowd swayed and surged forward, shouting, while the people
standing next to the platform began to shake it. It was a
precarious base, fashioned from tables lashed together and it
looked like the whole contraption was going to collapse taking
Vaxili and his party with it.

Vaxili stepped
back in alarm and half drew his sword. The noise increased and the
platform swayed and trembled as more people took hold of it.
Suddenly a member of Vaxili's entourage stepped forward. He was a
middle-aged man with a stocky, powerful build, long hair tied
behind his head, and a square face. This was the same Jainar who
had spoken so forcefully at the meeting of the Assembly and had
recently been appointed as commander of the army. He advanced to
the front of the platform, stood there with his hands on his hips
and his feet apart like a sailor on a rolling deck, and bellowed,
'Quiet! Quiet, I say!' His voice was so deep and powerful that it
transcended the noise of the crowd. Everything stopped as if the
town square had suddenly been frozen in time. Then Jainar began to
sing. He had a good baritone voice that rang out with power and
confidence and he sang 'The Rose of the Hills', the ancient battle
song of the north. Soon the whole assembly was singing along with
him.

When the song
ended, Jainar put up his hands and declared, 'We are all one in
Keirine!' He looked over his shoulder and nodded briefly. Vaxili
and his entourage mustered their dignity and walked off the stage
while Jainar stood there foursquare holding up his hands. Then,
when the stage was empty, he cried, 'Osicedi is the cradle of
champions! I salute Lower Keirine!' He stretched his arms upwards
and cried, 'Honour to Osicedi! Honour to Lower Keirine!' In the
silence that followed, Jainar raised his hands in greeting, turned,
and left the stage.

In spite of the
near-debacle, everyone agreed, more or less grudgingly, that they
would have to pay taxes. Vaxili got what he wanted. However, on the
point of achieving success, he came within a whisker of throwing it
away. It was a foretaste of what was to come.

Within a month,
the call went out for recruits for the army and the elders of
Osicedi selected Sharma and me to join the squad that marched
southwards to join Vaxili's new army. Perhaps the elders thought
that our youthful escapade with the Dornite rustlers was proof of
our warlike dispositions or perhaps they thought that it would be
prudent to get rid of hotheads like us before we caused more
trouble. Whatever the case, we didn’t complain at the prospect of
military service. Life in the army promised to be a lot more
exciting than raising sheep, shearing sheep, and taking bales of
wool to market.

As we marched
southwards trying to look disciplined and soldierly, Sharma looked
at my waist and remarked approvingly, ‘I see that you’re still
wearing the belt.’

I replied, ‘Why
not? I told you that I would always wear it.’

Sharma chuckled
and replied, 'It was the proper gift. Already you look like a
soldier.’

CHAPTER FIVE:
GOOD THINGS COME TO THOSE WHO WAIT

A commander
named Zaliek was in charge of our squad during our three months of
basic training. With his half-severed right ear, scarred forearms,
and face with the contours and colour of a weathered granite
boulder, he looked like a brigand or a desperado. There was plenty
of speculation about Zaliek – for instance, one rumour had it that
that he was a Dornite renegade, while another had it that he was of
royal descent from one of the kingdoms somewhere far to the west of
the Great River. Many years later, not long before I sent him to
his death, I did learn the truth about Zaliek's background and it
turned out that these rumours weren’t far off the mark. It was also
said that Zaliek fled from the Dornites when it was discovered that
he was having an affair with a senior official’s wife. Sometimes
the rumour was supplemented by the view that he refused to have an
affair with the woman, which made life even more dangerous for him
than if he did have an affair. I never found out whether or not
there was any truth in these rumours.

No matter how
many rumours were doing the rounds, Zaliek kept his past to himself
and his relationship with the members of the squad was strictly
professional. At our first meeting, he scowled at us and growled,
‘I’m Commander Zaliek. That’s all you need to know. I don’t ask who
you are and I don’t want to know. You could be murderers, faggots,
or mommy’s boys, or all three together – it’s all one to me. You’re
here for only two reasons. The first is to learn to protect
yourselves so that you don’t get killed. The second is to learn how
to kill an enemy ---- barehanded or with weapons, it doesn’t matter
how. Never mind tactics and strategy – you can learn those things
later, if you survive.’

Basic training
was tough. We tumbled out of our tents at daybreak, ate a quick
breakfast of salted mutton and corn bread, and spent two hours
doing squad drill. Then we learned unarmed combat and, after the
mid-day meal, we practised armed combat. By late afternoon we were
exhausted. After the evening meal – more mutton and bread, tarted
up with gravy and a few vegetables --- we had to clean our weapons
and equipment by lamplight. When that was done, we collapsed into
bed only to stumble out at dawn to repeat the same grinding
routine.

Zaliek was
fanatical about fitness. He made us run and, when we were ready to
drop, he made us run some more. He made us carry boulders up the
stony hillsides that surrounded the camp and he made us carry each
other across the marshy ground at the end of the valley. He taught
us how to run with shields and spears strapped to our backs,
holding our swords to our chests. Then, when we thought we had done
something to perfection, Zaliek made us do it again.

In spite of his
size, Zaliek was fit and agile. He did whatever we did and he did
it better. He would growl at us, ‘You think you’re getting good,
hey? Well, you’re still so soft that the Dornites will have you for
breakfast. When you can beat me you might have a chance against the
Dornites – but until then, forget it!’

During basic
training, we cursed Zaliek with every panting breath. However, when
Sharma and I ran from the Dornites at Gandonda, remembering to
carry our shields and weapons --- and finding that we were fit
enough to carry them --- we were thankful for Zaliek’s training. We
were just as thankful when we had the stamina to return and harass
the enemy a few hours later.

After about six
weeks of training, Zaliek took us on a long run. We carried only
our swords, strapped across our backs. After two hours we reached
the highest point of the range of hills that now marked the
easternmost limits of Keirine. During one of their recent pushes
into Keirine, the Dornites had captured the foothills that lay
between the hills and the coastal plain and from our vantage point
we could see the smoke rising from some of their new
settlements.

Panting, we sat
down on the slope and reached for our water bottles. Zaliek
shouted, ‘Three mouthfuls each! That’s all!’

‘But, commander
–‘

‘I said three
mouthfuls and that’s all you’ll have! Do you think you’ll get more
when you’re fighting a battle?’ There was some grumbling but no one
disobeyed the command. While we were drinking and regaining our
breath, Zaliek paced in front of the squad and then planted himself
squarely before us and roared, ‘Ha! Do you think you’re ready to go
into battle?’

A few members
of the squad muttered, ‘We’re ready.’

‘What did you
say?’

‘We’re ready,
commander!’

‘Ready? You
think you’re ready? You think you’re ready to take on that lot down
there?’ Zaliek gestured towards the smoke rising from the foothills
below. ‘You think you’ll stand steady when the Dornite cavalry
comes at you not to mention their chariots? You think you won’t
turn tail when the Dornite infantry comes at you in closed ranks?
You think that, eh?’

Now the reply
was less certain: ‘Yes, commander.’

Arms folded,
Zaliek surveyed us sadly. He shook his head and growled, ‘You lot
are pathetic. Do you hear me – pathetic! Oh, you’re brave enough –
I don’t doubt that. You’re brave enough to die in your ignorance.
You’re brave enough to die with a Dornite sword or lance through
you. I don’t doubt that either. But do you think that bravery is
enough, eh? Do you think it’s enough?’ There was more muttering.
Zaliek roared, ‘Well, what do you say? Is it enough, eh? Speak
up!’

‘No,
commander!’

‘I said speak
up!’

We roared back
at him, ‘No, commander!’

‘No – what
isn't enough?’

We roared,
‘Bravery is not enough, commander!’

‘Good! Very
good! At least you’ve learned something. Now, tell me the first
thing that I taught you.’

‘We have to
know how to defend ourselves, commander.’

‘Right! And the
second thing is --?’

We roared, ‘We
have to know how to kill our enemies, commander.’

Zaliek regarded
us half sceptically and half approvingly. Then he roared, ‘Huh!
When you do those two things better than your enemy, and when you
add bravery, then maybe you’ve got what you need to defeat the
Dornites.’ Zaliek dropped his sword and cried, ‘Let’s see what
you’ve learned.’ He bared his arms and roared, ‘Who’ll take me on,
eh? Man to man, unarmed combat – who’ll take me on, eh?’

We shifted
uneasily and exchanged furtive glances while Zaliek paced in front
of us, grinning and flexing his arms. After a while, Sharma got to
his feet and called out, ‘I’ll take you on, commander!’

‘Ha! Sharma,
eh? You fancy yourself? Come on, then, let’s see what you can do.’
Zaliek bent forward in a wrestler’s stance, arms wide, balancing on
the balls of his feet, taunting Sharma, inviting him to
approach.

As Sharma stood
up, something twirled, Sharma’s hand flicked, and there was a
swishing noise. Zaliek shouted in pain and straightened, clutching
his shoulder. Sharma dashed at Zaliek, kicked his feet out from
under him, and pinned him to the ground, face down. Zaliek turned
his face to one side and growled, ‘All right, you win. Let me
go.’

Sharma released
Zaliek, who got up and dusted himself off. Still rubbing his
shoulder, Zaliek said, ‘A sling, eh? You call that unarmed
combat?’

The squad was
deathly silent while we waited for Zaliek to descend on Sharma in a
storm of wrath.

Sharma replied
steadily, ‘No, commander. But it helped me to defeat you. That’s
what’s important.’

Zaliek squinted
at Sharma narrowly. Suddenly he lunged forward, grasping. Sharma
avoided him, springing to one side. Then he leaned forward, legs
braced, with his hands in front of him. The yellow flecks in his
eyes gleamed and his left eyelid twitched. I knew the signs. Sharma
was coiled for action – and he was enjoying the challenge.