The pained, long-suffering look; Bassano did it ever so well. If it had been anybody else, Basso would have suspected him of practising in front of a mirror. But Bassano never had to practise anything. "Sure," he said. "Fire away."
"All right," Basso replied. "Feel free to take notes; there may be questions afterwards. Because of me," he went on (and his voice hardened just a little), "you grew up without a father, and with a neurotic, overprotective mother. It eases my conscience a little to try and offer you a little guidance from time to time. Now guidance isn't always the most welcome present an uncle can give. It's better than socks or a nice illuminated hymnal, but it's no match for a pedigree falcon or actual coined money. Never mind. Here we go."
He paused. Bassano was looking at the wine bottle over the rim of his empty glass. Basso moved his head almost imperceptibly from side to side.
"What you are," Basso continued, "is a typical product of your class and background; a better specimen than most, I'll grant you, but even so, pretty much standard issue. Thanks to your excellent education you're perfectly equipped to debate philosophy with a Master or literature with an Arbiter, but you couldn't boil an egg or sew on a button. You're smart, lazy, fussy, a perfectionist--if you can't do something perfectly first time, you can't be bothered with it at all; fortuitously, you've got so much natural talent that you actually can do most of the things that interest you by light of nature, but all that means is you get bored easily, and move on to the next thing. You've got maybe a bit too much charm, but on balance I'd be inclined to say there's no real malice in you--"
"Thank you so much, Uncle."
"You're welcome. It's actually a major compliment. Your cousins the twins are good lads, both of them, and I love them dearly, but they've both got a vicious streak in them that worries me to death. You, on the other hand, are genuinely kind-hearted, when you can be bothered to take notice of anything that calls for kindness. In other words, you're ideally suited to the life you were born to, and I think you'd probably make a very good job of it. I can see no reason why you shouldn't keep yourself harmlessly amused for a good long lifetime, and everybody will like you, and you won't make many very bad mistakes. You want to watch your drinking, mind. It's getting to be a habit."
"Noted," Bassano said dryly. "Is that it?"
"Not quite. You remind me ever such a lot of my father; not as I knew him, but what people have told me about how he used to be when he was a young man, before he married my mother. Objectively considered, that was a bad decision. My mother was a strong woman, intelligent, rather more so than Dad was. It made him want to do things, make something of his life rather than just let it wash over him. She was why he went into politics, and why he was always trying to do well in business, and both of those ambitions nearly ruined him. But he had a ridiculous amount of good luck, which balanced out his appalling judgement, so he ended up breaking more or less even." Basso paused, reached for the wine bottle and Bassano's glass, poured a small measure and drank it. "He wasn't nearly as intelligent as you are," he went on. "In fact, not to put too fine a point on it, he was an idiot. But he had other qualities that made up for that: he was brave, loyal, never particularly self-indulgent, and he had enough sheer force of personality to punch his way through. That's what he turned out like. That's not how he started out. With me so far?"
Bassano nodded slowly. "You reckon that if I go into business, it'll make me all nasty and twisted."
"That's something of an oversimplification," Basso said quietly, "but you're on the right lines. I think that if you go into business, and you knuckle down and try really hard and apply yourself and harness all your considerable abilities, you might end up something like me. And that," he added softly, "would be a dreadful shame. That's all," he went on, "sermon over. Feel free to slam out of the room, if that's what you want to do."
Bassano shook his head. "That'd be flouncing," he said. "I don't flounce. But seriously, Uncle, I don't see what the problem is. And," he went on quickly, before Basso could say anything, "I really don't want to read for the priesthood."
"All right." Basso spread his hands in a soothing gesture. "We'll forget about that, then. And in return, you'll forget about the Bank. Agreed?"
He knew the look that passed quickly over his nephew's face: an orderly retreat to regroup before counter-attacking. "Fine," Bassano said. "Whatever you say. And at least that way, Mother won't have the satisfaction." He grinned. "That's worth something, at any rate."
"You shouldn't antagonise your mother."
"Why not?" The grin became a smile. "She loves to quarrel, and I don't mind, so long as it's just stupid stuff. Actually, it's about time we had a good fight. She's been a bit down lately. Raw emotion cheers her up no end."
Basso asked him to stay to dinner, but he said he was meeting some friends. "Next week some time," he added vaguely. Basso nodded.
"Seen much of the twins lately?" he asked.
Bassano raised an eyebrow. "You have a reason for asking?"
"Of course."
"In that case, yes, I ran into them at the Ring the day before yesterday."
"What's new?"
"Really," Bassano chided him, "why don't you ask them yourself, instead of having me spy on them? They haven't got any ghastly secrets, if that's what you're thinking."
"Would you tell me if they did?"
"Yes," Bassano replied. "But there's nothing to tell, except that Festo's got a crush on the Blues' new snake-girl. Nothing you need to worry about," he added quickly, as Basso breathed in sharply. "She's way too old for him, and practically engaged to the bear-master. And he's far too savvy to go smashing in the face of the First Citizen's son."
Basso smiled. "I knew a soldier once who did just that."
"Really?" Bassano looked surprised. "You, you mean."
"That's how come I'm deaf in this ear."
"I never knew that. So what did you do to him? This soldier, I mean."
Basso leaned back a little in his chair. "He's just about to lead the attack on Auxentia."
"General Aelius?" It wasn't often Basso managed to stun his nephew quite so effectively. "You're kidding me."
"Ask your mother," Basso replied. "She was there. Actually no, better if you don't, unless you really feel the need to verify my assertion. It's perfectly true, though. And you're the first person I've ever shared that particular fact with, so I'd be obliged if you'd keep it to yourself."
"Of course." Bassano waited, then said, "Well?"
So Basso told him.
"Seriously? You beat up a soldier when you were fourteen?"
"He wasn't expecting it," Basso said mildly. "I kicked him very hard on the kneecap, which hurts a lot; and while he was groggy with the pain, I laid into him as quickly as I could. I recommend the method to you, if ever you have to fight someone bigger than you. Start off by causing the maximum of pain. It buys you time."
Bassano shook his head in wonder. "You'd be better off telling Festo that," he said. "I don't get into fights, ever."
"But Festo does?"
Bassano nodded. "But he always wins. And he never starts anything. Fights just seem to blossom and grow around him, like flowers round the feet of the Goddess. I saw a man take a swing at him the other day just for blowing his nose in a flower shop."
"What was Festo doing in a flower shop?"
"A bouquet," Bassano said gravely, "for the snake-girl. He sends one round to the dressing room after every performance. There you are, you see. Harmless."
"Except when he's starting fights."
"Causing," Bassano said, "not starting. There's a difference."
It was the custom for the First Citizen to send a suitable gift to the Commander-in-Chief on the eve of his departure at the start of a new campaign. Basso sent three. One was a beautifully illuminated copy of Bryzes of the Stadium's History of Auxentia; the third edition, two hundred years old, in a gold tube embossed with scenes of naval warfare. Another was a dozen bottles of resinated
black wine, a vice which Aelius had always thought he'd managed to keep secret. The third was a life membership of the Blues; an extraordinary gift, something that no amount of money could buy. Two life memberships a year were awarded by each team's general assembly, who were reckoned to be the only incorruptible officials in the Republic; it strained his imagination to think what Basso must've done to secure one for him. All in all, it was a pity that he was the only adult male in the City who didn't follow the horse racing.
("Presumably he didn't know that," commented Major Artabazus, his adjutant, as they watched the City grow faint over the stern rail of the ship.
"Of course he knew," Aelius replied. "He knows everything.")
The fleet sailed at the start of the one month in the year when the Garrhine Strait could reliably be navigated in relative safety, and swept into the Gulf before the beacons could be lit. The intelligence reports were proved right: the main Auxentine fleet was in the harbour at Perigouna, where the prefect immediately raised the great chain that blocked the harbour mouth, quite reasonably fearing that the enemy intended to break in and burn the ships at anchor. However, a squadron of six galleys and three auxiliaries, escorting the grain fleet, had earlier been forced into the little port of Obrys by bad weather. When Aelius' ships were sighted off Garrhae, this squadron put out to sea and launched a frantic, unexpected attack, just as Aelius was about to change course for the Opoion promontory. Having no choice but to fight, Aelius engaged, only to find that the Auxentines had rigged out four grain freighters as fireships. As luck would have it, the wind changed just as the fireships emerged from the centre of the Auxentine line; they were carried straight at Aelius' troopships, which were too slow and heavy to get out of the way. Ordinary fireships would have been bad enough; but the Auxentines had packed them with barrels of flour, soaked in oil and garnished with tubs of pitch from the Obrys dockyard. Fanned by the brisk, fortuitous breeze, the pitch burned hot enough to ignite and detonate the flour. Three of the troopships, each carrying a thousand men, were blown out of the water; burning debris fell on the decks, sails and rigging of another six, which immediately caught fire and burnt down to the waterline before anybody aboard could organise a proper evacuation. Meanwhile, the six Auxentine galleys, displaying a level of courage and seamanship nobody had expected of them, managed to cut Aelius' line, sink five brand new Severus-built galleasses, and force their way through and out the other side. They then sailed on to Perigouna, where the chain was briefly lowered to let them into the harbour. For his part, Aelius kept going with what was left of his fleet to the Opoion promontory, where, as anticipated, he met no resistance whatsoever. His final count put his losses at eight thousand soldiers and marines, three hundred and sixty sailors, five galleasses, nine troopships and two seventy-oar galleys (run aground in their haste to get as far as possible from the fireships). It was the Republic's worst naval defeat in three hundred years.
The eight thousand soldiers weren't really a problem. As Basso remarked at the time, that was what was so good about hiring mercenaries: plenty more where they came from, and dead men don't need to be paid. The three hundred and sixty citizens of the Republic, on the other hand, were a different matter entirely.
"We'll just have to declare victory as convincingly as we can and move on," Sentio said. He hadn't touched his wine, or the plate of cinnamon honey-cakes Basso had sent out for specially. "We can say that in spite of our heavy losses, we successfully achieved our objective in capturing the Opoion promontory, which gives us the leverage necessary to force the Auxentines back to the negotiating table."
Basso smiled. "Very good," he said. "You know, that's what my father would've done. Tazio?"
"What he said," Tazio grunted. "I've been reading the dispatches. Their ships definitely attacked us after Aelius changed course towards Opoion. So, we can choose to interpret that as the Auxentines attacking us because we started to make for Opoion, in which case the fact that we carried on and seized control of the promontory, in spite of the attack, means we won. We achieved our objective and were left in possession of it when they withdrew. Victory."
"Indeed." Basso rolled up the report and stuck it back in its tube. "But that's not what we're going to say."
Two hours later, in front of an emergency session of the House, Basso made a formal report on the battle of Obrys. He himself made the point that it was the most serious defeat since Vrissa; all the worse, he added, because the Republic had been beaten by numerically inferior forces displaying reckless courage in the defence of their homes and families. Quite apart from the horrific loss of life, it was a shattering blow to the Republic's prestige and practically an invitation to other hostile nations to treat them as a second-class power. Therefore, he went on, the only possible option was to wipe the disgrace off the record by taking Perigouna. To this end, he proposed reinforcing General Aelius with an additional fifteen thousand infantry and six thousand cavalry, supported by a fleet of twenty galleasses--which, he undertook, would be furnished by the Severus yards at no expense to the state within fourteen days--and all necessary supplies and materiel. He had not, he went on, wanted an escalation of the war. Indeed, it was a guiding principle of his that war is an admission of failure. But in this case, such an admission was unavoidable. The Republic had failed in battle against its enemy. Unless and until that failure was reversed, it could not expect to enjoy the position on the world stage to which its achievements entitled it. In the circumstances, it would be reckless, irresponsible and arrogant of him to allow his personal distaste for war and his reluctance to engage in it to prejudice the real interests of the state. Therefore (although, as he reminded the House, no vote was needed) he commended his proposals to a division and trusted that he would enjoy their support.
" 'Out of your tiny mind' was the actual phrase he used," Basso said. He drew the tip of his forefinger down the line of the falcon's neck. It shuddered and wriggled its wings. "Well?" he said. "Worth the money?"
"You know I haven't got a clue about falcons," Bassano replied. "It's just a bird with big claws. How much do they want for it?"
"Five hundred."
"My God." Bassano seemed genuinely shocked. "Is that usual?"
"For a bird that's as good as this one's supposed to be, it's actually quite reasonable." He stooped and lowered his hand below the bow-perch, obliging the falcon to step up onto it. "I'm not sure, though. I'll need to see it fly first. Come on, let's find the man."
They walked out of the darkened shed into thin gold sunlight. The falconer was nowhere to be seen. "You know, Uncle," Bassano said, "I'd be inclined to agree with your man Tazio. It seems such an odd thing to do."
Basso laughed. "Good," he said. "What I'm hoping is that right now, all over the City, people are scratching their heads and asking each other, What's he playing at? After the first month or so, a First Citizen is like a middle-aged wife. She's got to make herself interesting, or as soon as an opportunity presents itself, she'll be replaced."
"Very good," Bassano said. "But I still agree with Tazio. You must've been out of your tiny mind."
Basso quickened his pace. "The House certainly thought so," he replied. "Which is why they voted for me. Give him enough rope, they thought. It's how I'd have voted. If we win, they were loyally supporting the army. If we lose, it was all my fault. A vote against me was a vote for national humiliation." He shrugged. "I like to be nice to the Opposition," he said. "If I kept beating them all the time, they'd just try harder to get rid of me."
"You're an infuriating man, Uncle. Why?"
Basso stopped. "I'll give you a hint," he said. "My father always used to say, the man who wins in the end is the man who can get the most out of a defeat. Ah, there's the falconer."
So, while they were being shown the falcon in flight, Bassano thought about it; and when the falcon pitched in a tree and refused to come to the lure, and they were waiting patiently for something to happen, he said: "You want to take Perigouna."
B
asso smiled. "I'm still not going to let you join the Bank," he said. "But yes, essentially. Now then. Why?"
The falconer muttered something about going back for some more bait. They watched him stomp away, head bowed. "Because," Bassano said, "you've decided--don't ask me to account for your decision--that the Republic needs an empire. Well?"
Basso grinned. "I wouldn't put it in those terms," he said, "but something like that. Territorial expansion. It's something we've never gone in for, unlike most of our neighbours, rivals and enemies. We've always been merchants, traders, businessmen. We don't invade other countries or take their land, because we're not farmers or colonists. It's a nice idea, but a bit old-fashioned for the modern world. Of course, if I got up in the House and said, We need to expand overseas, let's annex somewhere, they'd have my head on a stick. But if we acquire a foothold on the mainland purely by chance, as a side effect of an unwanted but necessary war, that's quite different." He looked up, but the falcon hadn't moved. "Of course I'm gambling that we'll win, but I think it's a safe bet. I trust Aelius; he'll be utterly determined to win and win big. If we win, everybody'll decide the war was a really good thing after all and the defeat won't matter. We'll have our first colony, and I'll have the timber on Opoion. Really, you can see, I didn't have any choice in the matter. It's a curious thing," he added, "but such successes as I've enjoyed in my life have always come as a result of my having no choice."
Half an hour later, the falcon flew away and didn't come back.
"He must be mad," Aelius said.
Nobody seemed to be in a hurry to disagree with him. Just outside the tent, someone was having trouble with a cart bogged down in the mud. One voice was shouting what sounded like orders, another was shouting back, presumably reasons why those orders could not be obeyed. The sound of the rain on the canvas roof was like the drumming of impatient fingers.
"But he's the boss," Aelius said, and the half-dozen men grouped around the rickety folding table from which the war was being run relaxed a little, as men do when the worst possible option is confirmed. "So here we go. First things first. Phernes, it looks like we'll be having company in a week or so." He squinted down at the letter on the table. "Twenty-one thousand men and six thousand horses. I suppose you'd better see if you can find something for them to eat."
The Folding Knife Page 11
