Chapter Thirty
Not one man had been killed.
We counted them, eight hundred and seventy of them, as they returned in the morning, making their way up the steep path, to the inner courtyard gate.
They were admitted one at a time through the narrow opening in the barricade which had been set up at the gate. Each man, as he entered, cast his weapons in the pile to the right of the barricade, as he passed through it, was searched by Pani, relieved of any unsurrendered weapon, had his left forearm stained, and was then conducted to one of the barracks which had been reinforced that it might serve as a prison.
“Lord Okimoto is generous,” said Tyrtaios to the superior with whom he was liaison, Lord Okimoto. “On the continent the desertion of a single man is usually punished by his death, the desertion of a unit, its impermissible flight from the field, not routed, its refusal to engage, or such, by decimation, putting to death every tenth man, this determined by lots.”
“It would be pleasant to crucify them all,” said Lord Okimoto, “but, unfortunately, that is impractical, for several reasons. They retain value. It is difficult to replace them. Too, their fellows, those who did not join them, those who remained loyal, questioned, object strenuously. The application of appropriate measures, thus, might precipitate a new mutiny. Too, of course, there is fear abroad, and, should customary measures be inflicted, it is recognized that the strength of our force would be considerably reduced by the elimination of these men, this in the face of the enemy, whose attack may be imminent. Too, unfortunately, several of our officers, Turgus, Pertinax, Cabot, and such, have made clear their opposition to such things. We do not know how serious they are, but we cannot risk the loss of the cavalry.”
“Lord Nishida recommends clemency,” said Tyrtaios.
“It is his way,” said Lord Okimoto.
“It is perhaps wise,” said Tyrtaios.
“It seems,” said Lord Okimoto, “that you wish to preserve the men, as well.”
“Surely they may prove useful,” said Tyrtaios.
“That will be our hope,” said Lord Okimoto.
“What is the view of Lord Temmu?” inquired Tyrtaios.
“Those who would desert have been marked,” said Lord Okimoto. “Records will be kept. Lord Temmu is patient.”
“I see,” said Tyrtaios.
“It would be pleasant, of course,” said Lord Okimoto, “to know who were the captains of this business, those who planned and organized it.”
“Surely Tereus, the oarsman,” said Tyrtaios.
“We think not,” said Lord Okimoto.
“Oh?” said Tyrtaios.
“Others,” said Lord Okimoto, “remain in the shadows.”
It will be recalled that the trail to the wharf was walled-in.
It will also be recalled that Lord Nishida had had the gate opened, rather as though he recognized the futility of defending it, as though, perforce, he recognized that the desertion could not be forestalled. Those who would desert, then, rejoicing that they were unopposed, hurried down the trail. Apparently they did not question that the two further gates lay open. When they reached the foot of the trail they found it barricaded, before the wharf, a barricade manned by several Pani, drawn from the ship, a barricade, given the narrowness of the passage, easily defended by a few against many. Outside the trail walls, Pani archers had been stationed, lest any, held inside, attempt to scale the walls. When the deserters had sped down the trail, Lord Nishida had had a similar barricade erected at the height of the trail, similarly easily defended. In short order then those intent on desertion found themselves trapped in a steep, narrow, tortuous passageway, without food and water, from which they could not easily extricate themselves. At best, from the trail, they might see the wharf, and the great ship moored there, on a dozen lines, the ship they were unable to reach. Then, presumably to make more clear the hopelessness of their position, several barrels of oil were poured onto the stone flagging flooring the trail, oil which, obviously, if desired, might be ignited. Other inflammables, pitch, and such, were cast over the walls from the outside, which, by a flung torch, a cast, flaming bundle of straw, or such, might be as easily ignited. In such a way the walled-in trail might, at selected points, as desired, be transformed into a blazing furnace. The principle points in question were the approaches to the entrance and exit of the trail. Any concerted attempt to storm the barricade at either end then, in addition to its dubious prospects at the outset, might also find itself forced to proceed through a wall of fire. Similarly, if the deserters should congregate in any part of the passage, or be forced to do so, say, by Pani entering the passage, they might be similarly discomfited. Accordingly, by morning, well apprised of the desperateness of their situation, the deserters had surrendered. Whereas the surrender was unconditional, the deserters realized, as well as others, first, that the Pani would not be likely to accept a grievous loss of armsmen which would be likely to jeopardize, if not ruin, their cause, and, second, that their brethren, their fellow armsmen, and their fellows of the ship, would not be likely, particularly under the circumstances of the desertion, to accept their wholesale slaughter, or even decimation.
When Tereus emerged from the trail, to surrender his weapons, and have his arm stained, Seremides was waiting for him, leaning on his crutch, grinning.
“Sleen,” hissed Tereus, as the stain was spread upon his left forearm.
“You would not take me with you,” said Seremides.
“Had you been with us,” said Tereus, “you would not be alive now.”
“How fortunate then,” said Seremides, “that I was not with you.”
“Treacherous tarsk,” said Tereus.
“Here, noble lord,” said Seremides to Lord Okimoto, indicating Tereus, “is the leader of the desertion.”
Seremides, prior to his crippling in the Vine Sea, had been liaison to Lord Okimoto, a post now held by Tyrtaios.
“If so, Rutilius, half of man,” said Lord Okimoto, “what should be done with him?”
“I resign that matter cheerfully, noble lord,” said Seremides, “to your judgment, or that of the great Lord Temmu.”
“It is our view,” said Lord Okimoto, “that the leader of the desertion did not participate in the desertion, but would have appeared shortly, had it proved successful.”
“Lord?” said Seremides.
“If that is so,” said Tyrtaios, “the true leader would not have been Tereus.”
“He led, clearly,” said Seremides.
“Perhaps another,” said Tyrtaios.
“Another?” said Seremides.
“Perhaps you,” said Tyrtaios.
“I?” said Seremides, startled, turning white.
“Did you not inform Lord Nishida of the conspiracy?” asked Tyrtaios. “How would you know of it, had you not been involved in the matter?”
“If I designed the matter,” said Seremides, “why would I betray it, and thus preclude its fruition?”
“Perhaps that one you fear might be thereby slain,” said Tereus.
“Ah,” said Tyrtaios, thoughtfully.
“Would it not have been simpler to strike him in the night?” asked Lord Okimoto.
“I am loyal!” said Seremides.
“To whom?” asked Tereus, his left arm dark with stain.
“If the matter carried,” said Tyrtaios, “I expect you would have profited from it.”
“You do me too much credit,” said Seremides. “How could I, no more than a worthless cripple, ridiculed and scorned, manage so great an affair?”
“Your wit is not crippled,” said Tyrtaios. “Who knows what venom you might brew?”
“I am innocent!” said Seremides.
