“You have to learn to fight in adverse conditions, and to face defeat too.”
“To lose? Of course, I forgot that you are a Baragan,” he derided me. Scharon has some bad influence here. Not only Scharon.
“Let’s try a small exercise, to get a better understanding of the facts.” Houston’s words coming from another life. I smiled inside and the smile was bitter. I must suppress past invasions; they’re a weakness. I can no longer afford weakness. I am alone, and many here are hostile to me. The Baramunti cadets are unhappy with the new Baragan commander. Baragans are war games losers, why should they like it? “A duel, I’m just curious to see your level of training.” I smiled at him. “Take a wooden sword.”
“Wooden sword!” His eyes measured me again with distaste. You will love it soon, young man. “Of course,” he sneered. After two minutes, his ears were bleeding; a wooden sword does not kill but it bruises. Ears are the most sensitive exposed organs, and they bleed fast. A rictus chased away the smile from his face. Pain is a good teacher, Cotiso, listen to what it is telling you now. You will be a good swordsman ... in time. He did not listen and attacked again, fury and fear both were killing his mind. I knocked the sword from his hand with a slash to his wrist.
“The exercise is over. Maug, continue the training with the new teams.” I gave my wooden sword to another cadet. “Come with me, Cotiso.” He trailed me in silence, followed by many eyes displaying different feelings. I did not address him until we were in my office. Let him boil a little, the pain, the shame must have their full effect. My office windows opened onto the barracks, nothing exciting apart from people training. “Have a look,” I said to Cotiso. The cadets were charging, crossing wooden swords, none of the two teams retreated. The previous day the Baragans had lost their place in minutes.
“They are still fighting!” I saw a hint of shame in his eyes. “I apologize,” he abruptly said. “I understand now.”
“You may go now.” He moved to the door. “You fought well; I will have a weekly training session with you, I need to keep myself in good shape.” He left, a hint of pride lingering in his eyes. Now you will remember that the best sword in town – Who said this? Scorylo. I have to ask him to spread these words further. – praised your skills and ‘forget’ that I am a Baragan loser. A loser’s words cannot enhance your self-esteem; I have to play this in my favor. Small things can dramatically alter one’s perspective.
“I like this cadet,” I said to Maug. An eyebrow rose on his face, and a smile spread on it. “Did I miss something?”
“Cotiso is my nephew.” For the next three days, everything worked perfectly.
*
Scharon had a real sword with him, and that should have told me something. “Change the teams,” he shouted, overriding Cotiso; Maug was with me in my office. Scharon was already a lieutenant, his grade was informal in the school, with no real authority, but he was accustomed to command and they to follow him. “I don’t like mixing cowards with soldiers.” The Baragans did not move; some of the Baramunti walked to the old positions. “Faster!” Let’s go down, I signaled to Maug. “I said move!” Scharon hit the cadet with the flat of his sword, his real sword. Dicomes was the smallest cadet, both by age and by size, yet he did not move. His gaze was defiant. “Move!” Hit. “Move!” Hit. “Move!” Scharon knocked him down with the hilt; blood welled from Dicomes’s face. We had arrived too late. How to handle this now?
“Enough,Scharon!”
“He has to obey.”
“His order was to form a team and train and he obeyed.” His eyes were sparkling. I have to break your will first. “You have no role of command, you are only a disobedient cadet.” His face went red: be careful, you chose the wrong strategy. NO, I have to break him, and I have to do it now, in front of all of them. “You disobeyed an order and hit an unarmed colleague. Three days in a cell, alone.”
“You forget who I am,” he sneered.
“A disobedient cadet. Take him,” I said to the reluctant guards advancing slowly, as though waiting for the event to consume itself without their intervention. “Your sword, Scharon.” This was a mistake.
“My sword,” he sneered again with a burning glare. “Yes, you will have my sword.” He leaped forward, and I reached for the hilt of my blade, but I found nothing; it was still in the office. He raised his sword; I stepped aside just enough to avoid the blade.
“Scharon!” Maug shouted. “Stop it!”
Scharon’s sword fell again. ‘Your body is your weapon.’ Munenori’s voice whispered to me. I moved aside once more, a split-second earlier than the fall of the blade. A wicked smile crept onto his face. You smile and want to play, but you will not like the end of the game. The sword went up and down, chasing me. “Yield!” he shouted again. “You are a Baragan coward. Yield!” One of the guards gave his sword to Maug. I understood him, he was afraid; a Baramunti guard could attack the Chancellor’s son. I circled again, on the opposite side of Scharon’s sword hand. Keep away from that hand. Easy to say. A side-swing surprised me; I jumped back, but the blade cut my shoulder. The first Samurai I trained with laughed again inside my mind. The same cut, the same pain and burning feeling. It hurts. Stay away, Maug, I glanced at him; he nodded, uncertain. “Yield!” Scharon’s voice became quieter, his smile disappeared, a shadow covered his face with indecision. You overreacted, Scharon, and wounded a superior, you are desperate to end this, and you don’t know how. You see the outcome now; fear pours into your mind, and uncertainty; Garon will not be happy with your stupidity, it’s my turn now. The smell of blood filled my nostrils. “Yield,” he whispered, no longer sure what to do with his sword still up. I made a step forward, catching his hilt, and turned, throwing him over my shoulder – the cut burned. Scharon fell face up, wide open eyes not understanding his sudden flight. His spine hit the stones, he gasped. It hurts too; I smiled. I pressed my boot over his fingers, which were still gripping on the hilt.
“Your training is poor, Scharon. At your age, it’s a pity.” I pressed my foot on his fingers, and he groaned. This is for attacking an unarmed man. “A soldier without discipline is like a headless mosquito, flying nowhere.” I pressed again. This is for the Baragan cowards. “You will stay three days in isolation.” I pressed again, harder, blood spread on the rock, he cried in pain. This is for giving to Altamira those bloody flowers. “Take him.” The guards executed the order with no delay. Good, they have learned something.
Garon’s glance told me nothing, cold and inexpressive as if bored by a passing fly happening to be there at the same time. “Please have a seat,” he said formally. “There were some inappropriate events in the school today.” He pushed forward a bunch of papers, which rustled in the sudden silence. I read the title: Disorder in the Military School. Good report... I wonder who wrote it; there was no name at the end. And so fast, Garon summoned me the same evening. Maug? No, he was with me all day. Who the hell is the spy in my school? Your school? Yes, my school.
“The military institution is well respected in Dava. Many unfortunate things happened during the previous months, and the last thing we need is to lose this respect.” The report was saying things about lost chain of command, no names were mentioned; the guilt was pushed toward me as leader, not able to maintain the discipline in a group event ending with three wounded. “Your command there is new and the cadets are ... well, young.” How hard would you play this? Given Scharon, I bet not too much. If I could buy tomorrow’s papers now ... they would tell me what is in your mind. “Small disturbances are understandable, but not this; three people were hurt, there is a bad mood in the school now.” I know, I was one of them. Thank you for asking how I feel.
“Mood? Mood is something we cannot afford in a military school. Soldiers have to obey the rules and be disciplined. I agree that I have to work more with some of them, who may have shown too much temper and not enough discipline. Somehow this got lost in the report. Measures were taken to cope with the lack of discipline. If you th
ink, as it is written, that they were not enough, I am open to pushing things further.” Now Garon, will you step in?
“The report is, yes ... a preliminary one.” He took a step back. “Measures were taken, yes, a good reaction after the things that happened. I wonder if pre-emption is not a better course of action than pushing hard measures once the dust has settled.”
“Do you remember the ‘death to Baramunti’ shouts happening not so long ago?” His eyes thinned, as if anticipating my words. “I heard something recently in the school, slightly different: ‘Baragans are cowards.’ Brainless shouts provoke bad outcomes. Mixing the cadets was the kind of pre-emptive measures you are rightly asking for. What I couldn’t foresee is a cadet missing school time for a week.”
“Cadets are young and in need of discipline.” His voice changed its tune. “They are irritable and prone to losing their tempers. A school master must be able to handle them without exposing himself too much, and be less confrontational.” This is a military school Garon; it produces soldiers not nurses. I pushed Scharon when asking for his sword, just a little. He deserved it. “I have to inform the King about this.” He dismissed me.
“You just lost a good opportunity.” Scorylo sneaked into my house together with the night covering Dava and sat at my table. His air was distraught and the glass still full in his hand. “This was worse than wrong, it was a mistake.” You bastard, I wish you’d stepped into my shoes once, just once, confronting Scharon’s sword with bare hands. ‘Worse than wrong’... I heard this in the past, Earth’s past. Yes, Talleyrand, and yes, this tricky journalist matches the maverick there. Be careful. “There is an old saying: if your opponent makes a mistake it is impolite to stop him going further. Why did you break Scharon’s fingers?”
“What fingers?” Shit! That’s bad. Garon knew for sure and said nothing to me. ‘I have to report this to the King.’ Scorylo answered my question with a sigh. You are not only stupid, that sigh told me, you are hopelessly uninformed too, and you think of being a player in this game. I am alone... You are an idiot. And alone, I agree. “I had no idea. I suppose that his broken fingers balanced my wounded shoulder. Yet he used a sword against two unarmed people, one of them almost a child.”
“Some will find this understandable for Scharon; he is young, too. I hope you understand what I mean. You don’t have this excuse, and you don’t have the ear of the people in power to whisper things.”
*
“Good morning master,” Cotiso’s voice woke me as I passed the school’s gate the next day. Master? Munenori is a master, not me. He was not alone, another three Baramunti accompanied him. Why are you waiting here? I hope no more bad news.
“Good morning, cadets,” I forced a smile.
“How is your shoulder?”
“It is fine. Where is Dicomes?” I suddenly remembered. Stupid, I should have already known this. The ‘master’ is asking the cadets. “I had no time to check.” Stupid excuse.
“He is fine. A scar will mark his face from chin to ear, but nothing else. He will be back soon.”
“Thank you. Cotiso, please oversee the training today. You know what to do.” I tried to move on.
“We,” he reluctantly stopped me. Yes, I nodded. “We are ... glad to have such a master.” And they almost ran back inside the training court. I am glad too. Good that you ran... Tears swept over my cheeks. You are a sentimental fool. Pray they did not see you weeping like a young girl.
I spent all day in the school, and the next one, and the next. The King did not summon me to the palace, neither did the Magister; nobody asked about my wound. Okay, it was not a big deal, little more than a scratch. Neither did Altamira, and this hurt more than all the other things together. This is not without purpose. I decided to force an encounter with her and went to the garden. She was there ... with Scharon. She observed me, and did not make any sign of acknowledging me. I let them alone.
We met by chance a few days later. “How is your shoulder?” she finally asked.
“After one week it is almost healed,” I hinted at my anger.
“Scharon’s hand is healing too,” she paid me right back. “And I heard good news about the few minor scratches of Dicomes.” She reluctantly made a step in my direction.
“Minor scratches?” You idiot, Dicomes is your winning ticket and you never played it. Do they really not know? Do you really have to ask this after one week? What else are they missing?
“Minor, yes.” She felt my uneasiness. Who told you this? Garon?
“Dicomes has an ugly scar from chin to ear.” She frowned when I said ugly scar. Ugly ... ugly, yes, press this on her. Girls are impressed by bad words. “I doubt it is a minor disturbance for a young lad dreaming of girls. I don’t know if the girls in Dava love ugly scars on boys’ faces.”
“I ... we had no knowledge about this.”
“You have now. And remember that Dicomes was unarmed when attacked by Scharon ... and he is a Baragan coward.” She frowned. “Scharon’s saying.” I almost smiled seeing the change on her face. Yes my pretty lady, I understand your repulsion, he is a monster. Tell this to your parents. Who knows...
The Queen had a melancholic look. Who cares? It’s autumn. It was late in the night when her message reached me. Thank God she is too old to make people think about inappropriate behavior. Don’t be stupid, they don’t have the concept of adultery.
“Please read this,” she offered the report to me. Disorder in the Military School, I read the title. Signed ... Garon. I glanced at her. “Take your time,” she whispered and went to the balustrade of the terrace. It was a quiet night with a full moon and the fragrance of grapes filling the air. The wonderful autumn promised a good wine. I unfolded the paper. Loose chain of command. I already know this. Three people slightly wounded. Not quite correct. Scharon disobeyed an order from a superior. This is good. He was reprimanded with three days in isolation. Wonderful. The chief let things escape his control. I suggest not taking any measures yet, he is still marked by the disappearance of Batranu. Something was fishy. I started again from the beginning. Yes, something is fishy. What is fishy? Everything. I massaged my chin, not yet fully aware of the report’s intentions. The Queen was losing her patience but said nothing. Garon you are a bastard.
“Interesting report,” I finally said. She glanced at me. “It gives enough information to avoid questions about what is missing.”
“I have the same impression ... now. Garon took care to parade Scharon’s broken fingers without mentioning them in the report in order to look impartial. We heard only later that the wounds inflicted on you and Dicomes were not so light, and that both of you were unarmed. You stopped him with your bare hands; our cadets can learn many things from you.” She stopped and glanced again at me. “What do you want to do now?”
“Nothing, I am a Baragan coward.” I waited some seconds for the ‘coward’ effect to bear fruits. “Things are now known and lessons learned. I hope.” Her head turned nervously. Sorry, but it was needed, next time open your eyes and read between the lines. To rule is to be informed. This applies to you too. Yes, this applies to me too; I was even more stupid than them. “There is no need to push things further, it will only poison the atmosphere.” She nodded. I thought she had ended the audience and rose from my chair.
“Altamira will marry Scharon.” That stopped me, and I blushed. Thank God it is dark enough to hide my face. “It was not an easy decision, but I think you know the necessity of it.” I know, but why are you expecting me to know it? Be careful. I avoided her eyes, not sure what to say. Say it. She suspects that you know about it, if you deny it, it will haunt you later. You are a traveler who has seen many things. Who said this? Altamira...
“Blood renewal,” I whispered.
“And political alliance, I am glad you understand the importance of this marriage.” What if I try to offer another solution? You for example. Not me, someone else, enough to make them think of possible alternatives of which one can be me.
“What about Munti?”
“That was our first try. Something happened this time, all the arrangements went nowhere.”
“Garon?”
“We cannot use Garon when negotiating with Munti.” You are right, stupid question. “The Magister tried several times, without success.” The Magister, he works for Faction two... Houston was right, some forces are trying to push Munti against Baragans. I need Houston. You need a lot of things.
“I don’t know what you did ... if it was really you.” Two days later Scorylo was looking pensive in the filtering light of dusk on my terrace. It must be really important if you are here before the night has come. ‘If it was really you’: Bastard! What are you expecting? Nobody thinks of you as being a maverick. I met his eyes and said nothing. “Garon’s request to replace you was rejected in the Council. Three days ago, it was an almost sure thing. Something broke Scharon’s fingers again ... figuratively,” he whispered to my frowning eyes. I suggest not reprimanding the chief ... yet, I remembered his writing. Bastard!
“Garon forgot to mention how badly Dicomes was wounded, and that we had no weapons, and of course the ‘Baragan cowards’.”
“And you waited one week to tell them.”
“Yes, that was worse than wrong. How come you couldn’t figure it out in time?”
*
At midnight, someone knocked on the door. Must be Scorylo, no one else comes so late. “Batranu!” Ssst! His finger, pressed to his lips. I pushed the door open, and he crept inside.
“You are alive! Sorry. You escaped.”
“Do you still have some old Porto?” He crushed the armchair. “I missed it. No, I did not escape, they let me escape, quite a big difference. I am hungry too.”
“Leftovers.”
“Good enough.” Teeth crunching meat and chicken bones filled the silence for a while, too long for my pleasure, too short for his. “That’s all?”
Io Deceneus: Journal of a Time Traveler (The Living Universe) Page 23
