76: NASADA GIVES ADVICE

At this season of the year the upstairs room adjacent to the Bramba Tower in the Barons' Palace—that same room in which Durakkon had been persuaded by Kembri and Sencho to consent to the killing of Enka-Mordet—was scarcely large or airy enough for ten men to confer together in comfort during the heat of the afternoon. Yet here they had been for half an hour already. The air had grown stale and heavy, for despite the height above the city there seemed to be no breeze. Durakkon, sweating under his robes of state, sat with one hand over his left eye, which had begun to hurt neuralgically. At the moment there was silence, for the Lord General, seated next to him, had just ceased speaking and was making notes and calculations with a stick of charcoal on a board.

The delegates were not seated formally, but here and there about the room. The governors of Kabin, Tonilda and Belishba sat side by side on the couch where Sencho had been accustomed to sprawl.

Bel-ka-Trazet, his hands clasped about his drawn-up knees, was sitting in one of the window embrasures looking (thought Durakkon) like some ravaged kobold waiting sardonically for propitiation. Gel-Ethlin, in the undress uniform of the Beklan regiment, was at the other end of the table, next to Donnered, the representative of Sarkid (for Sarkid, like Uriah, was a province where Bekla maintained no governor).

Eud-Ecachlon, who throughout the meeting had given the impression of being preoccupied and ill-at-ease, stood leaning against the door.

Despite Kembri's request, no representative had appeared on behalf of Gelt. None had been summoned from Paltesh; nor yet from Yelda, since the latter had effectively fallen to Santil-kè-Erketlis.

From time to time one man or another would glance towards the tenth person in the room; the oldest present, shock-haired, grizzled and silent, his sunken eyes gazing intently from his deeply-lined, brown face. He also, with his short, squat build, rather suggested to Durakkon some sort of goblin creature; yet—unlike Bel-ka-Trazet—one at the same time benign and magisterial, as though, while attending the meeting but not entirely of it, he was listening and even adjudicating from some detached, forbearing standpoint of his own. So far he had spoken only at the outset, when Durakkon had asked him to swear by Frella-Tiltheh the Inscrutable that he came in peace and would impart to Karnat nothing that he might hear about the forces, dispositions and intentions of Bekla. With this request he had at once complied in a manner which carried conviction to all present. This was Nasada, the renowned physician of Suba.

Evidently the Lord General had concluded that it would look better to grant than to refuse his request to attend.

"Captain Gel-Ethlin," said Durakkon, at length breaking silence upon a nod from the Lord General, "you've given us a very clear account of the difficulties our force met with in Chalcon, and I suppose we must also accept your account of what happened in the engagement with Erketlis on the Thettit-Ikat road. No!" he interjected quickly, as Gel-Ethlin seemed about to speak, "I'm not suggesting that there was anything wrong or inaccurate in what you've told us, though I hope for your own sake that what you insisted upon saying about Lord Elvair-kaVirrion won't turn out to have been malicious or exaggerated."

"Men's lives, my lord—"

"Yes, yes; well, I know the Lord General has something to say in a moment about the future command. But first of all, I think you'd better go on to tell us what's known— that is, what the assessment was when you left—of Erketlis's present strength and intentions."

"Well, my lord, we think that Erketlis's intentions have altered with his fortunes. He's a shrewd man and he knows how to seize an opportunity. We believe that at the beginning he probably intended nothing more than to defend Chalcon. But he seems to be very well informed about matters elsewhere. And also, of course, he was joined quite early on by young Elleroth of Sarkid, who brought him about five hundred irregulars—volunteers. No doubt it's Elleroth who's influenced him to go further."

"Well, Elleroth's already a proscribed traitor, of course," said Durakkon. "He'll hang upside-down, Ban's son or no. You're not going to dispute that, I trust, Donnered?"

"I've no instruction from the Ban to do so, my lord," replied the Sarkidian.

"We think," continued Gel-Ethlin, "that while Erketlis was following up our retreat from Chalcon, he realized he had a chance of making gains that would actually be worth more to him and his men than any harvest. Chalcon's not much of a corn-growing place, of course; but anyway, they didn't disband and obviously he must have persuaded them to attempt this dash for the Ikat road. They can't have slept for the best part of two days; and immediately after that we brought them to battle. And we could have beaten them, my lord," cried Gel-Ethlin, "if only—"

"Yes," broke in Kembri gruffly, "so you've said. But what's the position now?"

"The position now, my lord, is that Erketlis has taken Ikat Yeldashay—with all its resources, of course—and given out that he intends nothing less than the conquest of Bekla. He's pinning his hopes of popular support on his proclamation that he means to abolish slavery throughout the empire, except for prisoners taken in war. I haven't actually seen a copy of the proclamation, but I've talked to prisoners who have. What it boils down to, really, is the old heldro grievance. It starts by saying that taxation of the peasants in favor of the merchants is unjustly high, and then goes on that kidnapping and breeding for slavery have become an abuse and a danger—villages living in fear and so on, partly from the demands for slave-quotas and partly from gangs of runaway slaves turned bandit. Then it—"

"Yes, well," said Kembri, "we've heard all this, too. How does Erketlis stand, as you see it?"

"We've had refugee slave-dealers coming in from Ikat," replied Gel-Ethlin. "He's declared all slaves in Yelda free and offered enlistment to any who are ready to join him. Not only that, but immediately after the battle Elleroth led his own men about twenty miles into Tonilda, burnt the slave-farm at Orthid and brought most of the stock back with him. Apparently they actually carried the younger children on their shoulders. Their real purpose, I think, was probably to convince people that they're in earnest.

"Well, all this means, my lord, of course, that Erketlis has got a dangerously sizable army down there now, even though half of them are untrained. He's training them as fast as he can and he's said in so many words that it's to take Bekla."

"And Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion's force?" asked Durakkon.

"—Is moving westwards into Lapan, my lord, to put itself between Ikat and Bekla."

"Had they received any Lapanese reinforcements from Lord Randronoth when you left?"

"None, my lord,"

"No doubt they will have by now: but in the light of what you tell us, that may not be enough to make sure of defeating Erketlis. That's what the Lord General's going to discuss now. Thank you, Captain Gel-Ethlin."

"The first thing I want to settle," said Kembri, "is the command of the force in Lapan. I shall take it over myself as soon as possible, but meanwhile we need someone new, who wasn't in the defeat; someone who knows how to act quickly and ruthlessly." He looked round the room. "I don't think anyone's going to disagree about the choice. Lord Bel-ka-Trazet, I want you to go to Lapan at once and take over."

It was always impossible to perceive any change of expression in the features of the High Baron of Ortelga. As everyone turned towards him, he swung his legs down from the window embrasure, pulled his veltron straight with a quick tug and for a few moments faced the Lord General without speaking.

"My lord," he said at length, in his impaired, creaking voice. "I'll waste no time in thanking you for the honor you do me. I don't wish to take the command for two reasons. First, I think Ortelga has already contributed enough. We sent you young Ta-Kominion and his men, and whatever may have happened I don't believe they've disgraced themselves or that they're likely to. But secondly, have you thought about the Deelguy? They know very well what's happening and I feel sure Erketlis is in touch with them. Ortelga has always been Bekla's main defense against the Deelguy and if you don't want them taking this chance to come pouring across the Telthearna, I think you'd do better to leave me in Ortelga."

"Why shouldn't Ged-la-Dan command in Ortelga till you get back?" asked Durakkon.

"My lord, do you know why Ortelga remains loyal to Bekla? Because I do, principally. I was loyal to Senda-na-Say and I've been loyal to you. I personally believe that loyalty to be in Ortelga's best interests. But there are those who don't; those who dwell on the past, who pray for the return of Shardik the Bear, the power of God, and all manner of such-like nonsense. We're simple souls in Ortelga. I honestly believe you'd be taking me away from there at your peril."

Kembri tugged at his beard, reflecting. "Well, you may be right. I'd hoped to make this very well worth your while, but if you don't want the command you'd better not have it. I think you and I will have to consider this further in private, my lord," he said to Durakkon, "and confer the appointment tomorrow."

Then, without waiting for the High Baron's reply he went on, addressing the rest, "Now, I want to make sure of the reinforcements that each of you has undertaken to raise. Kabin, five hundred. Tonilda, a thousand and a half. Urtah, two thousand. Lapan I've already put at something short of two thousand. What about Belishba?" he said, looking up under his brows at the governor sitting on the couch. "One of the biggest provinces—the whole area west of the Zhairgen. You didn't tell me this morning. I need to know now. What can you promise?"

"My lord," replied the governor—an elderly, stern-looking man, with the air of one who, while he might not march out to move mountains, would be hard to dislodge from any position he had taken up—"I'm sorry to tell you this, but the truth is that law and order in the province have declined very gravely. In fact, I was lucky to get here and whether I shall be able to return is another matter."

"But the men?" pursued Kembri harshly.

The governor folded his hands before him. "I must make three things clear, my lord. First, heldro sympathies west of the Zhairgen are, I would imagine, probably stronger than anywhere else in the empire. Karnat himself, in fact, has a certain influence among the minor barons and landowners. It's not easy, you see, to prevent a certain amount Of intercourse with Terekenalt, even though we maintain a closed frontier across the Harridan Neck, and a boom across the Zhairgen. Secondly, as you know, I have been contending all this year with bands of runaway slaves turned outlaw. General Sendekar has given me valuable help— without that we would have gone under and no doubt about it—but as things are at the moment there can be no question of impressing able-bodied, law-abiding men away from their homes. They would simply resist; and to be frank with you, my lord, I don't know that I should greatly blame them. It's easy to sit here in Bekla and talk of levying provincial troops. Do you realize that in Belishba every village maintains an all-night guard, and that men work in the fields with their arms to hand, ready to assemble at the sound of a trumpeter on continual watch?"

Kembri seemed about to speak, but before he could do so the governor went on, "And now comes the proclamation of this man, Santil-kè-Erketlis, that he will reduce peasant taxation—we're a ploughman's province, my lord, stuck out on the edge of the Harridan—and do away with slavery apart from men taken in war. I have obeyed your summons to come here. You appointed me and I thought it my duty to come. But I'm afraid—and if this angers you I can only express my regret—that I can't undertake to send men to Lapan."

Kembri, head bent forward, spoke over a clenched fist laid before him on the table. "Do you mean that you'll send only a few men, or not owe man? Think carefully before you answer."

"I believe, my lord, rightly or wrongly, that my first duty is to the province. I have indeed thought very carefully, as you may suppose. I'm afraid my answer is, not one man."

Instantly, Kembri had drawn his dagger, crossed the room in two strides and thrust the point against the governor's throat. "Not one man?"

The governors of Kabin and Tonilda, at either end of the couch, sprang apart in consternation. Neither Gel-Ethlin nor Bel-ka-Trazet made any movement, but Eud-Ecachlon clutched Donnered by the arm as if for reassurance.

"Not one man?" repeated Kembri deliberately.

The governor, slowly lifting his hands to the back of his neck, drew over his head the official chain, from which depended his seal of office, and hung it on the dagger pressed to this throat, so that it was left dangling.

"I was expecting this. There's a letter to my wife in my pocket."

As every man in the room waited for the great spurt of blood from the jugular vein, Nasada got up from his stool and hobbled forward. With a kind of unreflective, self-possessed authority, rather like that of an adult who, though not given to interference, nevertheless thinks it time to part two children before someone gets seriously hurt, he gently drew the point of the Lord General's dagger to one side, took off the chain, which he dropped into the governor's lap and then, looking directly at Kembri with an air of apology, said, "I wonder, my lord, whether you'd be so kind as to call a servant to bring me some wine—or some water, for that matter. If you can allow me, there are one or two things about Belishba that I'd rather like to say before you all reach a decision. Only it's become so hot and stuffy in here, don't you think?"

While speaking, he had somehow managed to interpose himself between the governor and the Lord General, who drew back a pace, glowering. For an instant it seemed as though he would strike Nasada.

The old man continued to peer up at him with an unaltered expression of polite solicitation. Kembri laid a hand on his shoulder as though to push him out oj the way, but this he seemed not to notice. At this moment his very helplessness and frailty became instruments of great—indeed, of insurmount-able—power. If Kembri were to use violence on him now, he would injure himself far more than Nasada: and on this account, by the same token he could not practicably use violence on the governor.

After staring at him for a few seconds Kembri said, "Very well, U-Nasada. We'll hear you," and returned his dagger to its sheath.

"Thank you, my lord," replied Nasada. "I greatly appreciate your courtesy."

Kembri nodded to Gel-Ethlin, who went to the door and sent one of the sentries for wine, serrardoes and thrilsa. Meanwhile Nasada, drawing up his stool to the couch, began conversing with the governor, in an unraised but clearly audible voice, about the navigability of the upper Zhairgen where it divided Sarkid from Belishba.

"I've always wanted to visit Sarkid, you know," he said. "Only it's as difficult to find time in Suba as it is here, believe it or not. Donnered, do you think I could get up there by water from Suba in—what? Five or six days? It would be much the easiest way, at my time of life."

Before the wine had been brought he had become the center of a group of four or five men discussing, relaxedly and almost with animation, the entirely unexceptionable subject of travel by river throughout the empire.

"Only it's of interest to me, you see," he said, turning to Kembri with a slight suggestion of self-depreciation. "In Suba we seldom travel in any other way. I often wonder why I haven't become rheumatic: but it's possible, I suppose, that marsh frogs are immune to rheumatics."

Kembri was obliged either to smile or else to appear churlish, and a minute later himself handed Nasada his wine. The old man drank it slowly, and at a halt in the conversation got up and went over to sit beside Bel-ka-Trazet, with whom he was evidently acquainted. At length, as it became clear that the fear and tension had subsided and the mood of the room had cooled to something at least approaching composure, he returned to his stool and sat down as before, silent but alert.

"Well, Nasada," said Kembri, "let's hear, now, what you have to say."

"My lord," replied the old man, speaking slowly and appearing from time to time to pause to choose his words (Bel-ka-Trazet was not the only man to suspect that his real purpose might be to add weight to what he said and compel the attention of his hearers), "I told you that I wished to speak about Belishba. We each of us see things in the light of our own particular trade, don't we? You see with the eyes of a warrior. To a merchant the thing— whatever it is—appears different, and a farmer sees it in yet another light. I'm a physician—insofar as anyone can be, for the truth is that we really know very little about disease and cure, though one day that may change, I suppose. But, Lord General, being a physician I see your empire as if it were sick, and I don't think anyone could deny that at the moment it is, though we may differ about the cause."

He stopped, looking down at the floor and frowning. "Well, I mustn't stretch the comparison too far. I'm not a general or a statesman, so I'm not an empire-doctor— only a people's doctor. But nonetheless, I'm going to risk telling you something which may seem like impudence. If you'll—er—allow me to imagine for a moment that the empire is a human body, then the place where its illness shows most clearly is Belishba. Not Chalcon, but Belishba."

He seemed now to be waiting to see whether the High Baron or anyone else would interrupt him, but none did. After a few moments he looked up at Kembri, who merely nodded.

"I wonder," he went on almost gropingly, "that's to say—I'm not sure—whether you already know—all of you what the one thing is which makes people ill more than anything else. You'll tell me the gods inflict illness for their own best reasons, and you're quite right; so they do. They visit illness on people who for one reason or another are thwarting or crossing their divine purposes. I expect you think I mean you, Lord General, but I don't. Not in the least."

By this time he had caught the interest of everyone in the room, and there was silence as he refilled his goblet, took a few sips and cleared his throat.

"What I've learned, after years of experience of sick people, is that the one thing that makes them most likely to get ill—that holds the door open, you might say, for illness to come in—is hopeless frustration. The gods want people, don't they, to be human beings—to work and play and eat and mate and love and hate and all the rest of it? What's called living a natural life. They'll struggle for that. That's to say, when they haven't got what they want they'll struggle for it, because it's the will of the gods that they should. That struggle's healthy—quite often they thrive on it. But when they can't struggle—when struggle's not possible, so that they have to resign themselves and to give in, do without wives or children or money or cows or whatever it is—then they often get ill and in some cases they may even become deranged in one way or another. In other words the chief single cause of illness, in my experience, is hopelessness.

"People will go to almost any lengths to avoid hopelessness, and that's not really surprising, since the gods are telling them to—inwardly, I mean—and threatening them with illness or madness if they won't. I don't know whether you know this, but slaves get ill more than anybody else-much more than free people, even poor ones. The gods make them ill for not being what they want human beings to be; for existing for other people's benefit and not for their own. I'm not talking about slaves like bed-girls, who sometimes quite enjoy it and usually have the hope of buying themselves free. I'm talking about working slaves all over the empire. Their frustration's not so much a question of not getting paid. Quite a lot of free peasants hardly use money, come to that; in Suba it's almost unknown. No, their difficulty is that they're not free to come and go, not free to get married, to leave work or a master they don't like and so on. And that's where Belishba comes in.

"The governor here said just now that Belishba's a ploughman's province. So it is; but also, Lord General, as I'm sure you know, it's the principal province where wealthy Leopards work estates with slave labor. The slave quotas taken from local villages are high, too, and there are two slave-farms where children are being bred for slavery. The gods are continually telling these people in their hearts that if they accept that they have no hope of living naturally they'll become either ill or mad. So of course a lot of them have tried to prevent that by desperate measures. You've got a province full of desperadoes there, terrorizing villages. But Belishba's no more than the biggest abscess. The poison's all through your empire to some extent, I'm afraid."

He stopped, bending his head forward, scratching the back of his scrawny neck and screwing up his face as he did so. The effect was grotesque, but no one laughed. At last he said, "I think that's what this man Erketlis has in mind, really. Abolishing slavery—he doesn't think it's going to make anyone more prosperous. But it will mean that people can keep their own children, feel safer in their beds and journey about without having to choose between risking their lives or paying bribes to bandits."

"Isn't it more likely," interposed Durakkon, "that he's just a small baron who's suddenly seen a chance to become powerful and has hit on this idea as a way of gaining support?"

"I wonder, my lord," answered Nasada, "whether you'd forgive me if I leave you for a minute or two?"

He smiled wryly at Durakkon. "Old men have to pass water rather more often, I'm afraid." As he stood up Donnered handed him his stick and Eud-Ecachlon opened the door for him.

When he came back he said, "I suppose, my lord, that the time's come for me to admit—and if you don't like it I can only say I'm sorry—that in a way, I'm here as a sort of envoy or emissary or something like that, although it's entirely on my own account, I assure you. Erketlis hasn't sent me and neither has Karnat. I'm just an old Suban medicine-man. They both know I'm here—at least I think they do—but neither of them's told me what to say."

"Then what is it you want?" asked Kembri brusquely. "We've been waiting long enough to hear it."

"Well, I think, to avert bloodshed, really," answered Nasada mildly. "Like Maia, who swam the river, you know; though I don't look much like her, do I? But I am a doctor, after all, and that's my only excuse. I must admit it's gratifying that my reputation's apparently respectable enough to have got me in here: I never really thought it would. I feel rather out of place and I'm quite ready to go if you want me to."

"But you have some suggestion to make?" asked Durakkon.

"Yes; at least, I think I have," said he. "You see, the trouble is that this woman Fornis is back in Dari-Paltesh, and a good many people in Suba think that if you, my lord, get mixed up in a lot of fighting with Erketlis in Yelda and Lapan, she's quite likely to seize the opportunity to march on Bekla. If she and Han-Glat were to do that, Sendekar couldn't possibly stop them, you know—not with the troops he's got now; to say nothing of the state Belishba's in."

"For a country doctor, you seem to know a lot about the empire's problems," said Kembri sardonically.

"If you'll allow me to say so, my lord, I think he does," put in Bel-ka-Trazet from his seat in the window.

"But what's to be done about them's another matter."

Durakkon inclined his head towards Nasada.

"What is to be done?" he asked.

"Well, since you ask me, my lord," replied Nasada, "and I assure you it's only because you ask me—I'd say, give Erketlis reliable pledges that you'll abolish the slave-farms and slave quotas step by step during—well, say the next six or seven years; reduce the burden of taxation on the peasants and small landowners, and then invite him to join you in getting Belishba under control and perhaps in superseding Fornis."

"And you're seriously suggesting he'd agree to that, are you?" said Kembri.

"I happen to know it," said Nasada quietly. "I'm not saying anything about the possible long-term consequences for Suba, because I'm really here on Karnat's sufferance; but naturally I'm not unmindful of them."

Before Durakkon could speak again, Kembri had stood up and, gently enough, raised the old man to his feet with an arm under his shoulders. "Well, you won't be expecting an answer to all that this afternoon," he said. "You'd better leave us to think about it. I'll call my aide to escort you to your quarters."