As it seemed that Anaxantis was debating whether he would ask further questions, Tomar decided to volunteer some advice.
“If the person in question has easily movable assets... oh, well, money, we could still arrange something by being, eh, creative with the date. If certain transactions were agreed upon and concluded yesterday, that would be perfectly legal. Even if they reached the bank at Ormidon much later. Ormidon is far away, after all. It wouldn't even require the express consent of the concerned party. His seal would be sufficient. I could draft such a document. But, of course, you are the only one of us to know the true intent of your brother.”
“I see. I'll ask him. But to cover all eventualities it is probably sensible to prepare this document.”
“Very good, the drafts will be ready by noon. You can look them over before the actual documents are written out.”
Anaxantis thought for a few moments.
“Bring the drafts to me at the training grounds in the woods. I will send one of my guards to fetch you.”
When Tomar, carrying a leather shoulder bag, arrived at the clearing in the woods he was immediately spotted by the lord governor, who motioned him to approach. He and some friends had clearly been exercising, judging by his flushed face.
“Everything is ready?” Anaxantis asked while he dipped his hands in a bucket with ice cold water and wiped his face.
“Yes, I have the drafts here, for your inspection.”
Tomar tapped his shoulder bag.
Anaxantis dried his face with a towel.
“Follow me,” he said.
They went to sit under a tree where they had a an overview of the clearing, but could not be heard by the others. Tomar handed the lord governor the drafts. Anaxantis studied them carefully.
“That seems to be in order, master Parmingh,” he said at last with some sadness creeping in his voice.
Tomar, who had noticed, looked up in surprise.
“Second thoughts, My Lord? Sorry... it is not my place—”
“No, it's all right. And no, not exactly second thoughts, but it seems all so... so final.”
Tomar thought for a while.
“Every law that was ever made can be undone. The renunciation can be revoked, I suppose, but only by the high king himself.”
Anaxantis sighed. He handed the drafts back to Tomar.
“Take note, please. I want some people summoned for this evening at the great hall in the tower of Lorseth Castle.”
Tomar took a wax tablet and a bone stylus out of his leather bag. When he was ready, Anaxantis dictated him a list of names.
“See to it that they all get this, eh, invitation.”
“That's quite a lot of witnesses,” Tomar thought. “Yet it seems as if he is doing this against his better judgment. No, it is as if he wished he wouldn't have to do this, yet somehow feels compelled to go through with it. No, that's not it either. I can't put my finger on it.”
“On a totally different subject, have you any experience or insight in the finances of the army and the tax revenues of the city of Dermolhea?” Anaxantis asked.
“There should be copies of reports of both in the archives, though neither fall under the direct jurisdiction of the lord governor.”
“Could you give me an estimate of what the army costs on a yearly basis?”
“Not to the last sarth, not even to a few thousand rioghals, but a rough estimate should be fairly easy to calculate.”
“And the yearly tax revenues of Dermolhea of, say, twelve years ago?”
“That should be even easier and a lot more accurate. If I remember correctly, we should have a copy of the report of the tax collectors to the Royal Treasury. There will be nothing to calculate. The totals should be there.”
“Good. You will be officiating as the notary at the renunciation this evening. Come half an hour early and bring me those figures, please.”
The High King sank back in his easy chair by the fire. He had just finished reading the last report his friend Dem had sent him and mulled over its content.
“Whatever is happening at the northern border? First, like I expected, Ehandar takes over complete control, then he relinquishes it again, and now he seems to have himself let be demoted to a factotum for his little brother. If Dem is to be believed he does nothing more than occupy himself with the day to day drudgery of the Northern Marches. Meanwhile little Anaxantis is frantically building his own fighting unit. He keeps his own counsel and ignores Dem to the point of not even consulting him anymore.”
The High King rose and went over to a nearby table to pour himself a cup of spiced wine. Returning to the fireplace he smiled.
“Well, I suppose I should be proud of the little guy. Although it is a little worrying that I still haven't got a man in place in his inner circle. I can only guess what his next move will be. It appears he will try to resist the Mukthars, but by now he must see that his forces are inadequate. The only resource he hasn't tried yet is the duchy of Landemere. Ha, I'd like to see him try to wring something more than some alms out of old Athildis. He'll be lucky if he gets a few copper sarths for his trouble. And then, my dear son, you have played your last card...”
He drank deep from his cup.
“Maybe I shouldn't be so hasty. After all he is not only a Tanahkos. That vitriol that passes for blood of his mother runs also through his veins. The Gods alone know what that infernal witch has passed on to her son. By Zardok, that woman can hate. With an all devouring, unflinching passion. At least I'm rid of her. A pity she escaped, but on the other hand, she's powerless in Soranza and even farther away from the center of government. Let her plot and rot, for all I care.
“So, Anaxantis seems to determine what's happening in the North. What was that motto again he chose? Something wimpy... Ah, yes. Maktra Va Derimar. Loyalty Binds Me. Is that how you oblige people to yourself? A clever trick. It seems to have worked on his older brother at least. There is no doubt in my mind that there will come a time that Ehandar will rue the day he put his trust in Emelasuntha's brood.
“All in all it's safe to say that Ehandar is no longer in the running for the Devil's Crown. Anaxantis on the other hand has proven that he is good with people. For better and for worse. He may even prove to be a leader. But has he what it takes to be a ruler? Is he a statesman? We'll know soon enough. He must at least begin to suspect what is in the best interest of the realm by now.”
He stood up to refill his cup.
“And if not,” he thought smiling to himself, “there is always Dem and the secret charter to prevent him from doing damage. It takes just one order from me. In that case he will at least have learned that to rule is to foresee.”
“Is everything ready?” Anaxantis asked.
Hemarchidas nodded.
“They're installing the anvil as we speak, and the notary has just arrived. You wanted to see him?”
“Yes, send him in please.”
Hemarchidas left the war room and Tomar entered.
“The documents are prepared, my lord, and I have the calculations you asked for. But something occurred to me. You do realize that your brother did most of the administrative tasks that go with the governorship?”
“I knew that, of course, I just hadn't realized that now I would have to do them. That's what you mean, isn't it?”
“Exactly. It is not my department, nor my responsibility, so I kept quiet, but the fact is that they are a lazy bunch and made him do the work they should have done.”
“How so?”
“They just gave him the parchments in the order they came in, without preparing them.”
“Preparing them?”
“Yes, they should not only have opened them, but they should have ordered them according to subject and made a summary of each. That way your brother, or you from now on, would only have to read the summary and the most important pieces. What takes about three hours each day could be handled in about twenty, thirty minutes. If you wish...”
Anaxantis looked utterly astounded at Tomar. He suddenly realized how dependent a lord governor was on his administration. They could bury important stuff in mountains of trivial documents. A good and dependable administration, on the other hand, could make his work not only much lighter, but also more efficient and effective.
“I see,” he said pensively. “I think you and I ought to have a long talk. I would like to hear more about your ideas. I also want to know more about how you came to be stationed here, at the end of the world, instead of running your own department in the Royal Administration. Tomorrow around noon? You know the place by now.”
“Smart boy. He recognizes talent when he sees it,” Tomar thought. “That alone gives him an edge. This could be mutually beneficial. My floundering career could get a second breath, and I know so many ins and outs in the legal system and the administration that I can be invaluable to him. I'll make sure he doesn't regret it, and for the rest I can but hope that it isn't true what they say about the gratitude of princes.”
“Of course, my lord. I'll be there.”
He lay a piece of parchment on the table.
“This is a comparison between the cost of keeping the army in the field for a year and what the revenues of the taxes would have been for seven years, beginning 1440. There is a third number. That is what the Royal Treasury has contributed to the reconstruction of the city after the sack.”
For the second time Anaxantis look surprised at him.
“I didn't ask for that last figure.”
“No, but it is what you wanted, isn't it? I just took the liberty of... completing your instructions.”
“By the Gods, I hope I have guessed right.”
“It is exactly what I need. But how did you know?”
Tomar shrugged.
“It is the duty of a good assistant to know such things. It wasn't too difficult to guess that you wanted to compare costs in two scenarios.”
“Summarize your conclusions. I hope you don't mind me throwing your own words back at you.” Anaxantis smiled. “Didn't you say I should make my administration make summaries?”
Tomar permitted himself to grin briefly.
“Indeed, I did. Roughly speaking, keeping the army in the field for a year costs about three times as much as the net revenues in taxes for seven years of Dermolhea, plus the total amount of the reconstruction aid.”
“Ha. The army was kept in the field for only eight months. And there are other factors—”
“Anaxantis, it is time,” Hemarchidas interrupted, entering the room.
“We'll finish this tomorrow, master Parmingh. Now we have another task waiting for us.”
It was in deep thought that Anaxantis left the war room on his way to the great hall.
The moment he entered the great hall through a side door, Ehandar knew he was about to make what could very well be the biggest mistake of his whole life until now. He had expected Anaxantis, a notary and two witnesses. He had hoped to put his seal quickly on a few documents and be done with it in about five minutes. In the hall were at least thirty men. Anaxantis sat at the great table with on his left side Hemarchidas. The commander was there and all the generals. Farther down the hall, standing, were the members of their staff and some captains. At the main doors stood Anaxantis's guards. His own were nowhere to be seen. There also wasn't a chair left at the table for him to sit down, but at the right side of where his brother sat, a place was kept open for him to stand. Before him on the table lay the documents.
Anaxantis looked at him as if to say ‘Are you ready?’ He nodded almost imperceptibly. He kept his face impassive as the notary began to read the document in which he declared to renounce his name, birth and lineage. He didn't hear the individual words through the rustling noises in his head, except for some shards of sentences. “I understand that I am not worthy to carry the name of the royal House of Tanahkos” ... “in the knowledge that I never will be able to fulfill the duties that my name and birth impose upon me” ... “I therefore commend and entrust myself in the protection and care of his royal highness, prince Anaxantis”.
“Was this really necessary, little brother?” he thought not without some bitterness. “Displaying me before all these men like this? The humiliating public reading of the motivation?”
Finally the document was read ,and the notary invited him to put his seal on them. He removed his seal ring from his finger and pressed it in the wax that the clerk dripped on the parchments. There seemed to be several copies. In a haze he just did what was asked from him.
During all this he noticed that at the back of the hall, one of Anaxantis's guards quietly left. Some of the captains were openly smirking at the scene they were witnessing. Others were more subdued, but it was clear they didn't disagree with the proceedings. Only a few were surprised. One was even sorry, judging by his expression, and Ehandar felt grateful for that one friendly face in the crowd. It was almost the same with the higher officers who were seated at the table. A few seemed to despise him and let it show, something they wouldn't have dared only minutes ago.
After he had pressed his seal in the last blob of wax, he wanted to put his ring back on his finger.
“Hey, you. Not so fast. Give me that ring,” a young man, a friend of Anaxantis, said.
It was as if someone had slapped him in the face with a wet towel. Nobody had ever dared call him ‘Hey, you’. He wanted to lash out at the impertinent man, but remembered in time, that he couldn't. With a face as if made of stone he handed the ring over.
Lethoras took the ring and walked over to were the smith was waiting beside his anvil. He lay the ring down on it and the smith let his sledgehammer descend on it several times. When Lethoras returned, he laid an unrecognizable, shapeless chunk of gold before Anaxantis.
The soldier who had left a moment ago, returned carrying some piece of cloth. On a sign of Lethoras he carried the eagle flag to the open hearth and threw it on the fire. The moist fabric hissed and produced dark clouds of smoke.
“Your sword,” Lethoras said, while he started ungirding it from Ehandar's waist.
Held by the smith's assistants in an angle on the anvil, it shattered in several pieces on the first blow.
“Remove that tunic,” Lethoras ordered.
Ehandar did as he was told, his face still impassive. The green tunic with the eagle crest followed the flag into the fire. The dagger Ehandar had carried under his tunic was now clearly visible.
“Hand over that dagger,” the curt order came.
“No,” Anaxantis intervened softly. “No, that was a gift from me. He can keep it.”
Lethoras looked for a moment at him.
“I said that he can keep it,” Anaxantis repeated, in a commanding voice this time.
Ehandar stood in his shirt, straight, impassively looking at the faces that stared back at him. Only a pitiful few seemed to feel sorry for him. Quite a lot, the majority, was visibly enthralled by the loss of his status and standing. They made not the slightest effort anymore to hide it. Only Demrac seemed more surprised than anything else. He wanted desperately for this painful ceremony to be over, but he daren't move without having been given permission to do so. Finally the deliverance came.
“Go to my room and wait there for me,” Anaxantis said softly.
“He has never looked more like a prince than now,” he thought.
Another slap with the wet towel. What had always been ‘our room’ had suddenly become ‘my room’. Without showing any emotion, he turned on his heels and, feeling the stares burning in his neck, left the great hall. Once on the staircase, out of sight, the first tears began to roll down his cheeks.
The notary thanked everyone for their attendance and the meeting began to break up noisily as people discussed the event they had just witnessed among themselves.
Nobody paid any attention when Lethoras handed over a small object to Anaxantis.
“I switched the ring with the one you gave me. It was easy,” he whisp
ered.
Anaxantis nodded his thanks.
When Anaxantis entered the room about half an hour later, he found Ehandar sitting, curled up, hugging his knees, in the very spot next to the fireplace, where he had spent most of the time while chained to the wall. He was sobbing softly. Anaxantis knelt beside him and started stroking his hair.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” he asked softly.
“Isn't this were you want me?” the answer came in tears. “Isn't this what you intended all along? You can take your revenge now. Look, the chains are still there.”
He held out his neck and his wrists.
“I don't need those chains,” Anaxantis thought sadly.
“Look what you made me do,” Ehandar sobbed in utter agony.
“I warned you,” Anaxantis replied almost inaudible, all the while stroking his hair. “Several times. I told you not to do this. I told you I didn't want the responsibility. I told you to think again. It was all you, Ehandar. All you.”
The answer was a new outburst of sobs and tears.
“Come, let's go to bed,” Anaxantis said after a while, taking his hand.
Caressing his body against Ehandar's, Anaxantis's love making was caring and tender, where the night before it had been greedy and demanding. It took a while before Anaxantis got his brother to respond, but finally his lips got a shy, timid answer. He kissed Ehandar's tears away and put his arms protectively around him, as if silently promising him cover and warmth.
When later he looked at his sleeping lover, Ehandar almost felt as if it had been worth it.
Chapter 13:
A Traitor in our Midst
Birnac Maelar had sunk in a deep depression. Nothing remained of the fastidious, cultured and civilized near-noble doctor. He was one pig among the swine. It had proven impossible to maintain even a minimum of personal hygiene, let alone dignity. He was forced to live on hands and knees on a constant diet of cabbage leaves, that left him embarrassingly flatulent and made his stool nearly liquid. The nights were so cold that he was reduced to seek the companionship of the swine for their body warmth. The first time he had been afraid, but his cohabitants didn't seem to mind too much. He took care to relieve himself as near the gutter as possible and always in the same corner. The swine were not that choosy and just let nature take its course where they happened to be at the time. He had tried to use some of the cabbage leaves to clean himself after defecating, but they appeared to be disappointingly unsuited for this purpose as he noticed when his fingers ripped through them. The buckets of water the man emptied over the cage were just enough to rinse the biggest chunks of dirt and manure off his body, but they left him all but clean.
The Invisible Chains - Part 1: Bonds of Hate (Dark Tales of Randamor the Recluse) Page 19
