VI

FOR the first time in some months, the whole council at Threerivers met in the Judgment Room, where Bival had last talked with her husband, Warret. The issue at hand was Brudoer, whose whipping lay two days ahead, at the end of his second cycle of punishment in the cells.

Udge opened the session by stating her position unequivocally. That is, Brudoer’s public whipping was to be continued or the decision of the Protector would be compromised by opposition and the unknown terrorist, who had never been caught. However, she proposed that this time only guardsmen and family heads be present, and all access to the terraces be blocked. At the conclusion of punishment, if Brudoer expressed full contrition, he would rejoin the community.

Udge maintained a clear majority in each quadrant of this most traditional of Pelbar cities. The tight faces of the old family heads almost universally expressed support. Rigidly maintained law was a tradition at Threerivers.

Almost cursorily, the Protector asked for expressions of contrary opinions, expecting none. Unset the Ardena rose and awaited recognition. Udge stared, then sighed, and said, “The Ardena wishes to speak. I thought, after your apology, that you would no longer oppose the clear will of the council, Ardena. I suppose, though, you have the right to speak.”

“I suppose so, Protector, since you did call the council, and that is the established rule of procedure. However, if you wish to contravene the rule, I shall not appeal to the laws of Craydor.”

“Well, proceed.”

“There are several points, Protector. First, it seems to me that the original offense has been more than punished already. The boy defended his brother, who had been cruelly hurt. Surely it was a grave thing he did, but when he saw the blood of his twin gushing he probably didn’t think. He reacted. He is, only a child. I believe that standard Pelbar forbearance should lead us to forgive him—on the condition that he expresses public contrition for his act and begs forgiveness of Bival.

“Second, we have seen how the males regard him as a martyr. If we hurt him further, it will only exacerbate that feeling. I sense rumblings that I have never noticed before—rumblings that sound almost like the beginnings of revolt. I’d hope that control could be maintained by some means other than force. After all, many of us are married and wish to live in peace and harmony with our families, including the males. We don’t want to taunt the males with the fact of their inferiority. We depend on them, and those of us who are happily married wish to enjoy their company. Though it may seem surprising, some of us actually love them.

“Third, the terrorist who killed the guardcaptain has not been apprehended. Keeping the populace away from the act of punishment will not prevent his acting again at some other time, since revenge must be a part of his motivation.

“Fourth—well, I wish I could be more definite about it. I feel a nameless foreboding, jutting up into this council like the tip of Craydor’s tomb. We are becoming a divided people, we who so depend on unity. I fear for us. The true cement of this society has always been justice, mutual regard, and love. It’s now becoming force and intimidation. That will split us. No outside hostility keeps us together anymore. We’ve already lost the young guardsmen who took Gamwyn to Pelbarigan. Surely their dissatisfactions aren’t isolated. This foreboding I have, it hangs like a fall mist over the river. Surely some of you have felt it.”

“A foreboding, Ardena? I feel no such, thing. I see only the clear flame of pure justice at work, burning away the impurities,” said the Protector. “I might add, Ardena, that we must be safe in Craydor’s eyes, since an inscription on her tomb entrance reads, ‘This city will never fall until I rise out of it.’ The entrance is permanently sealed, and she seems safely in place as usual.” The Protector smiled wanly, scanning the room. “Are there any other comments?”

Bival rose. The Protector looked a little startled. “Protector, with your permission, I only wish to say that I deeply regret being close to the cause of all this trouble. Any anger I had toward the boy is gone, but I do wish to obey the law the Protector has invoked in my behalf. As she has pointed out to me, I erred in taking the boy for special training in mathematics and geometry when I saw what I felt was promise in him. Undoubtedly that made him familiar enough to take such shocking liberties.”

As Bival talked, she stared at the triangle in the floor which had been the tip of Craydor’s tomb. Was there more to that design than she had realized? She determined to think about it further.

The Protector coughed, and Bival realized that she had remained standing after she stopped talking. “You may resume your seat, Bival,” said the Protector. “Now, if there are no more regrets or poetic contemplations, may we adjourn.” She clapped her hands. As she rose to leave, the Ardena appeared at her side.

“I beg a favor, Protector.”

“You seem to have spoken your mind, Ardena. You wish more favors?”

“Only to visit the boy in prison and inform him of your decision—in order to convince him to be contrite.”

The Protector hesitated. She could see no harm in the request. “All right, Ardena. You may do that.” She turned away smiling, sensing the obligation under which she placed the Ardena.

 

A full quarter of the day later, Brudoer, who was staring at the curious geometric patterns on the wall, sure that Craydor meant something by them, heard the grating of the door. He stood and turned, and saw, to his amazement, the Ardena entering. He did not bow as courtesy said he should have. She stiffened her back.

“Boy,” she began. “Am I safe with you if the guardsman leaves?”

“You, Ardena? Of course. You did not beat me. You didn’t carve my brother’s face.”

The Ardena gestured to the guardsman, who left, shutting the door. Both Brudoer and the Ardena glanced at the door, seeing the shadow of the guardsman by it, close enough to hear.

“You are a stiff-necked child, boy. You know your courtesy. You’d do well in your position to practice it.”

“Did you come here to teach me courtesy, Ardena?”

“I don’t need your irony. I came to advise you and help you, and you are making it very difficult.”

“I am?” Brudoer laughed.

“You seem devoted to your dingy cell, then. Perhaps you’d not like to hear me.”

“That’s up to you, Ardena.”

The old woman was stunned. The boy showed no anxiety or gratitude. “I’m not saying this for you, then, but for the good of the city. Further punishment is coming in two days. If you express full contrition, that will end your incarceration here.”

“What good will that do the city, Ardena? Will it help the city to have sliced up a boy? What can help the city with Udge the sludge running it?”

“I see you’re in no mood to listen. Then you will have to suffer your own consequences.” She turned to leave, but Brudoer advanced and put his hand on her arm.

“My family. Are they all right?”

“They aren’t doing marvelously, child. Your father has lost his position, and is now cutting rock. Your mother lives in seclusion. You are the one who can help them.”

Brudoer leaned close to the Ardena and whispered, “I’d just as soon be put in the third cell.” She drew back, startled, then glanced at the door.

“Come over to the light,” she said, “and let me see your back. You will have another whipping, you know.” They walked across the room to where the high window cast down a wintry gray light. “What are you talking about?” she whispered, as he removed his tunic and undergarment. She winced as she ran her hands across the scars.

“It just ought to be that way,” he whispered back.

“You must tell me why.”

“I ask a favor, Ardena. Please get me a copy of the inscription from the first cell—the letters that run around the room in rings and make no sense but are only letters.”

“Why?”

“I need them.”

“I’ll get them for you if you tell me why you have to be put in the third cell.”

“I just did tell you.”

The Ardena pushed the boy away. “You are a rude child,” she said aloud. “You refuse to communicate. Well, then, I shall leave you to your fate, and Threerivers will have to get along as well as it can.”

“Please? The letters? And some paper for me? Please, Ardena?”

She looked at him and saw he was in earnest. He took her hand, his eyes brimming. She squeezed his hand and smiled, slightly. Then she called the guard, and remarked to him, “It has done no good. He will not bend, even to someone who means him only well.”

“Yes, Ardena,” the guard remarked. “You could only try, however.”

They left Brudoer alone, and he sat down again, facing the inscriptions on the wall. Craydor does nothing for no reason, he had come to feel. No decoration is a mere decoration. Everything has some meaning.

But the remaining two days passed before Brudoer had determined anything from his study of the diagrams. He steeled himself when he heard the guardsmen coming to take him to his punishment.

The scene he saw on the lowest terrace differed startlingly from the previous one. The curving walls were ringed with guardsmen, as was every high corner. All held strung bows, with arrows nocked. The Protector stood in a covered pavilion on the second terrace, in her winter cloak, surrounded by the four quadrant counsels. As Brudoer cast his eyes across the landscape below he saw that the trees stood stark and bare. A light snow lay across the landscape.

Brudoer was brought to face the Protector from below. “I believe that the Ardena, in misplaced kindness, has informed you of the conditions of your punishment. You may now humble yourself to Bival and express your contrition. Then the lashing will end your punishment. Is that understood.”

“Understood? Ridiculous things are not understandable, Craydor says, you pitiful old crow,” Brudoer returned. “I’m sure there is a dead fish or two down by the water. Why don’t you croak down there and eat them? And you, Bival, you snarling, wretched salamander, why—” The Protector had raised her arm, and the guardsmen gagged Brudoer.

The Protector gestured upward with her hands. “It is clear that we can never let such hostility loose in our city again. Prepare the miscreant for punishment. Then he will be remanded to the third cell.”

She sighed and rose to leave. One of the guardsmen by the wall shouted and pointed, and she turned back to see a number of boats, heavily laden, being launched into the wintry river. Men were hastily boarding and shoving off, paddling out into midstream.

“Guardchief, stop them!” the Protector shouted. The guardchief yelled and gestured, and the guardsmen on the walls poured down the stairs toward the river bank. “Shoot them. Shoot them from the walls,” the Protector shouted, but the guardchief only turned, amazed.

“It’s against the code, Protector. We cannot do that.” Then she turned and ran through a door toward the stairs, as the Protector opened her mouth to reply.

In a matter of a sunwidth, the terraces were deserted except for the two guardsmen holding Brudoer, the Protector, her own guardsmen, and her council. One of the guardsmen remarked, “It’s hard to believe that two boys could cause so much trouble.” The Protector glowered at him, and he dropped his eyes.

Bival descended the stairs to the first terrace and walked to Brudoer. She looked at him sadly. He looked at the sky above her head. Reaching out, she removed his gag. “He’s shivering,” she said to the guardsmen. “You’d better put his tunic back on.” Then she turned away, looking from the wall to see if Warret rode any of the boats now reaching midstream.

The guardsmen found the remaining boats holed, so a detachment quickly gathered winter gear and prepared to follow the boats, running on the bank. The guardchief was worried. How many guardsmen might have planned the pursuit itself as their own way to Pelbarigan? Finally she chose twelve men she thought loyal and ordered them off. Soon they jogged north along the bank, frowning and squinting into the winter glare.