Conqueror

'It ain't our war! This General Raj, he's treated peaceful people right well out in the country, from what they say. What have we ever got from the Brigade but taxes and a boot up our bums? Open the gates!'

'Open the gates! Open the gates!' A claque took up the chant.

Out of the corner of his eye Raj could see High Colonel Strezman's tight-held jaw. He murmured an order to an aide, who hopped off the podium; seconds later a squad of Brigade soldiers was heading for the man who'd spoken. There was a moment's commotion as the laborers closed ranks, and then thrust the man scrambling backward between their legs to lose himself in the crowd. Before the rifle-butts could force a way, a squad of civic militia shifted nearer. The Brigadero officer in charge of the squad looked over his shoulder at Strezman, then turned his men around and retired, followed by jeers and catcalls, but not by rocks.

Not yet, Raj thought.

Strezman shifted, and de Roors led him to the speaker's position.

'Silence!' he shouted.

When the murmuring grew, Strezman signed to the aide and a ten-man section of dragoons threw their rifles to their shoulders and fired into the air. And immediately reloaded, Raj noted.

Silence came at last. 'Civilians of Lion City,' Strezman began. His Spanjol was more heavily accented than Cabot's had been, with a Namerique clang to it.

Not too tactful, Raj thought. Civilian meant 'second-class citizen' at best in the Brigade lands. Only slightly more polite than grisuh, civvie.

'In his wisdom,' Strezman continued, 'His Mightiness, General Forker, Lord of Men-' that fell flat, and he ignored scattered jeers.

I imagine Strezman isn't too thrilled about Forker's little hostage play, Raj thought. The man seemed to be something of a soldier, in his way, and the intelligence report indicated he was a Brigade noble of the old school.

'— has sent a strong garrison to defend your city from the butcher Whitehall and his host.' More murmurings from the crowds, and a voice called:

'Yeah, he butchered a whole lot of you dog-sucker barbarians down in the Southern Territories.' Another, from a different section of the crowd:

'And restored Holy Federation Church, you heretic bastard!'

The crowd's growl was ugly. The militia shuffled, looking to the syndics. The armed retainers of the rich and the Colonists closed around their masters. Spots of red burned on Strezman's cheeks; this time there was a flash of armored gauntlet as he gave his orders. The Brigade troops marched out in front of the podium and brought their rifles up to face the crowd in a menacing row. Men surged away from their aiming point.

De Roors walked hastily to the High Colonel's side and waved his arms for silence. Strezman gave him a curt nod and went on, as the soldiers went to port arms.

'We have four thousand men, all veterans of the northern frontier, and plenty of powder and shot for small arms and the cannon on the walls both. Whitehall can't stay here long; the Brigade's armies are mustering, and they outnumber his pitiful force by five or ten to one. Unless he moves, he'll be caught between the relieving armies and the walls of Lion City.'

Accurate enough, Raj thought. If hostile. He hoped there weren't too many more like Strezman in the Brigade's upper ranks.

'Whitehall will have to march away soon, if we defy him. He doesn't have heavy guns either.

'The Brigade-His Mightiness the General-have allowed you a high degree of self-government within these walls,' Strezman went on; from his tone, he thought that a mistake. 'In order that the walls and your civic militia could be of help in time of war. That you are even entertaining this madman Whitehall's offer is a sign that policy may have been mistaken. If you were so foolish as to accept it, after the war is over and the Civil Government's little force is crushed, you will be next. His Mightiness won't leave one stone standing on another, or one citizen alive. Furthermore, I and my command will fight regardless of your decisions, so all that treason would gain you is to transfer the battle from outside the defenses to your own hearths.'

Strezman stood for a moment, the firelight breaking off his armor, then stepped back. 'Carry on,' he said to de Roors; gesture and voice were full of contempt for civilian sloppiness and indecision.

Speaker followed speaker; most seemed to be for holding out, although quite a few hedged so thoroughly that it was impossible to tell which course they favored. A few were so incoherent or drunk that the maundering was inadvertent. At last the representative of the Colonists took the podium; he was a plump man in a dazzling turban of torofib, clasped with a ruby and a spray of iridescent sauroid feathers. A scimitar and pistol were thrust through the sash of his long coat, but the voice that addressed the crowd was practiced and smooth.

'Fellow citizens,' the Colonist began. 'Let me assure you that the Jamaat-al-Islami-'

League of Islam, Raj translated mentally. That would be the local association of Colonists.

'— will fight by your side. We know this banchut Whitehall, our kin have told us of him-bandit, murderer, defiler of holy places! Our warehouses contain enough food to feed the whole city for a year and a day. There is nothing to fear from siege. We must defy the infi-the invader Whitehall. Were his followers within the walls, no man's goods would be safe, nor the honor of his women.'

A man walked into the light below the podium; he was dressed in workman's clothes, old but not ragged, and there were bone buckles on his shoes. An artisan, not wealthy but no dezpohblado either.

'Your goods will be safe, you mean, Haffiz bin-Daud,' he said. 'I-' de Roors was making motions. 'I'm one of the Sailmaker's Syndics, Filipe de Roors,' the man on the pavement snapped. 'I've as much right to talk as any riche hombe.' His face went back to the Arab. 'And as for the honor of our women, how safe was Therhesa Donelli from your man Khaled al'Assad?'

Another of the dignitaries on the dais pushed forward; he was an old man, richly dressed, with a nose like a beak and wattles beneath his chin. He waved his three-cornered hat angrily.

'Mind your place, Placeedo, and stick to the issues,' he warned. 'That case was settled and compensation awarded.'

The sailmaker Placeedo crossed his arms and looked over his shoulder. Voices out of the darkness spoke for him:

'Compensation? Our daughters ain't hoors!'

'You riche hombes is in bed with the Spirit-deniers and the barb heretics too!'

'Riche hombe bastards squeeze us and use the barb soldiers if we complain; now they expect us to die to keep them in silk.'

'Yes, and they bring in slaves and peons to do skilled work against the law, to break our guilds!'

Evidently that was a long-standing sore point; the bellow of the crowd rilled the night, and de Roors had to wave repeatedly to reduce the noise enough that he could be heard.

'Citizens! An army is at our gates, and we must not be divided among ourselves. Syndic Placeedo Anarenz, is there anything more you wish to say?'

'Yes, alcalle de Roors. My question is addressed to syndic Haffiz bin-Daud of the Jamaat-al-Islami. He says his countrymen have enough in the warehouses. Will he give his word of honor that the grain will be dispensed free during the siege? Or even at the prices of a month ago? Will the city feed the families of men thrown out of work because the gates are closed and the Gubernio Civil's fleet blockades the harbor? There are men here whose women and children go hungry tonight because trade is disturbed. Poor men have no savings, no warehouses of food and cloth and fuel. Winter is coming, and it's hard enough for us in peacetime. Well?'

Haffiz made a magnificent gesture. 'Of course we-'

Before he could speak further, a rush of other men in turbans and robes surrounded him, arguing furiously and windmilling their arms. From the snatches of hissed Arabic Raj could tell that whatever politic generosity he'd had in mind was not unanimously favored by his compatriots.

The sailmaker's syndic smiled and turned, gesturing to the crowd. A chant came up:

'Open the gates! Open the gates!' Anarenz grinned broadly; that turned into a frown and frantic waving as other calls came in on the heels of the first.