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Our new buna lay in a deep valley in a bend on the dawnward bank of the winding Gerrhos River. The Wild Fields lay beyond its boundary, and fording the river again felt like coming home. We would follow it south for several miles, then make our way across the tablelands southeast and seek camp in one of the many small, mostly unoccupied valleys along tributaries of the Portitas, just a few leagues above Lake Maotis. Most of the kara rode ahead to begin unpacking our gear. Aric said it would only be temporary until the pasture was gone, which shouldn't be long with winter approaching, even with our numbers and stock so reduced. The south would be warmer this late in the year and easier to restock our supplies, though, eventually, we'd head back north. But this valley seemed perfect, with its soft pastures nestled between low, fading hills and a bright, shallow river quietly rambling by. We hadn't seen another soul for days, and I'd happily stay here forever.
"You warned there will be a reckoning," I said to Aric as we waded into the river to wash our laundry before the water froze. "What did that mean?"
"I can't allow Rathagos to challenge me so openly," he said, dumping an armful of underclothes into the water. "But I don't wish to punish the men. There's been too much dissent among them already."
"Because of me…."
"Because of many things."
He went to work on his clothes with a lump of soap while I draped my own items over the smooth boulders. Aric didn't want to blame me for the discord, but I wasn't blind. He rode more watches with me now than the other men, and that alone was beginning to cause a stir. He told them it was to further my training and honor his oath to protect me, but they must have noticed how he often pulled me aside to speak his thoughts aloud and seek my mind, something he rarely did with them. I saw the way they looked. Now for some mad reason, he'd set me among the vazarka, which was never going to sit well with many of them. And I was the one who'd pushed him to ravage the Greek settlement—a rash affair, the bastard spawn of which was only just being born. A fellowship like this could not hold without trust, but Aric could not command without respect. Now, he tested both needlessly.
"I told you from the beginning that I didn't want to cause you any harm."
He handed me the wedge of soap. "And I told you I'd never let that happen."
"I'm not sure it's within your control," I said, scrubbing a stubborn spot on my trousers, my hands full of suds. I couldn't tell if it was a grass stain or horse slobber, though I suppose they were basically the same. "Some of the men are jealous of your attention. They seek fault in me to oust me from your good favor." I tossed the soap onto the flat boulder near the bank and rinsed my spare trousers in the current, waiting until his back was turned so I could scrub my undergarments. "They don't have to look hard."
"There is no fault to find."
I raised my brows at him. "Isn't there? What of the raid on those Hellenes? You thanked me for encouraging this course. But, listening to that friend of Skyles, Demetrios, I'm no longer certain. Sure, he's an overbearing ass, but he didn't know he was breaking your covenant. Maybe those farmers weren't arrogant; they were just being duped. What if those colonists never knew they broke the law? Skyles offered them that land to settle, and they defended what they believed was rightfully theirs."
"And what would you have done differently with this knowledge?"
"Perhaps we could have spoken to them, reasoned with them, before resorting to war."
"Maybe, but do you think those people would have abandoned all they'd built because we asked them nicely? With the assurances of Skyles and their governor against our declaration? They had an investment in the soil, and that's not so easily relinquished."
"Skyles sacrificed them." I did not yet understand the meaning of this revelation but knew it to be true. "Why? His allies, his own? What could be his purpose?"
Aric only shook his head in bewilderment, unwilling as I was to proffer answers to the inconceivable.
"So many deceptions, so many schemes. I failed to see any of it. I failed you... and the Warband."
"You see more than I. It took seeing through your eyes for my vision to clear. I viewed those closest to me through a veil, and it has finally been lifted. It is time I take this troop—this country—in hand before I lose my grip entirely. Beginning with Rathagos."
"Rathagos is just the head of the snake. Mourdag joins him. Siran. Galati. Azarion. Bradak, I think."
"No, not Bradak," he mused, "he's solid. Just a bit odd and hard to read. Don't assume he and Azarion are joined in this. He and his brother are rivals more than partners in most things." He pulled his tunic from the cold water and twisted it into a rope, wringing it so tightly it looked like it would burst. "They are all my brothers. I need them, but I'll not let them dictate to me either. They have a duty as well as I." I averted my gaze as he casually shook out a breechcloth before me. "I know what kind of men Rathagos and Azarion are." He hung his underwear on a nearby branch to wave like a banner in the breeze.
"Then, I don't understand why you trust them." With my back to him, I wrung out my linen vest and breechcloth.
He cleared his throat. "I've seen them before, you know."
"Men like Rathagos?"
"Your underwear."
Turning to face him, I attempted to scold him but choked, my face burning with embarrassment. When words didn't come, exasperation did, and I flung the sopping garments at his face. He caught them handily and snorted to himself in his amusement. Then methodically shook them out, one by one, and hung them on the branch beside his flapping underpants. There, they waved in the breeze like a captured standard, mocking me.
"You are angry," Aric said, "but you view mankind from the wrong place. And so you will always be disappointed. You want to believe people are honorable and good, so you give them the benefit of the doubt. This makes you feel good. Then, when they prove dishonorable and bad, you're discouraged." He grinned, and I ignored him, continuing to give my trousers another good scrub against the boulder. "I see people for what they are: They're animals. I expect them to behave like animals, and when I encounter one who behaves like a human—who reasons, or speaks truth, or acts justly—I'm pleasantly surprised. But I'm never caught off my guard by the misdeeds of animals masquerading as men. I am never disheartened by their wickedness and debauchery. I allow them to earn my respect: I don't first give it in hope and rescind it in regret. Most of the time, anyway."
I wrung out my trousers and spread them over a patch of dry grass. "Oh? Why then does Rathagos hold the title of vazarka? I can't think of a man less human or less worthy of respect."
"I don't respect him. But Rathagos is one of the men I rely on most."
"Rely on? He's clearly envious of you and does nothing but try to undermine you."
"I rely on him because he despises me. He despises you. I can rely on that like the sun rising each morning."
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"The other men are loyal. I consider them brothers. They want my favor. I want theirs. A man like Rathagos doesn't care about any of that."
It took a moment to swallow that. "That doesn't mean he's not dangerous."
"No, quite the opposite. But he also does the work I can't do."
"Such as?"
"Every camp needs an attack dog. He makes accusations I could never make; tests the loyalties of friends and guests I can't afford to challenge beside my fire. I tolerate his bark because it serves me; he tolerates mine because it serves him."
I stared at him in disgust, trying to grasp how he could willingly allow a creature like Rathagos to ply his craft so openly. But when the fog began to lift, I saw he might be right. And I wondered why Aric believed he needed my counsel at all. When I looked at a man like Rathagos, I saw only liability; Aric saw opportunity. To Aric, he was the fire that warms, cooks meals, torches villages, or roasts enemies alive—forever dangerous, but undeniably useful. To me, Rathagos was like the fungi on the fallen tree, only able to feed on what was rotten. Men like him stalked the courts across the country. I'd seen glimpses of them all my life at my father's court, visiting with kings and chiefs of tribes great and small, pouring poison into the ears of all they encountered, using their office and skill at arms to unseat weaker men for profit. I feared Rathagos's ultimate goal was to unseat Aric. An inept, craven man, he couldn't usurp his karadar in open combat, so he would have to defeat him with cunning. I didn't know if it was better to keep a man like that close or as far away as possible. Better yet, he would disappear from the world entirely.
"It worries me," I said. "But you know him best. Keep him if you think you need him," I said, unconvinced of the wisdom in my own words.
"I can't keep him now," he shook his head absently. "I've never had any of the vazarka openly rebel against me. Argue with and challenge, of course. But openly defy me?"
"If he won't beg your pardon publicly, then I think you must send him away, not just from the vazarka, but from the kara. What happens when your attack dog finally turns and bites you?"
His brow furrowed deeply. "You believe he will?"
I nodded. "But I also worry what will happen if he believes we have conspired against him. Take care with this. Because Rathagos speaks his mind so freely, many will assume he is honest, guileless, and brave. Have no doubt he will exploit this belief against the prejudices already harbored by our enemies. No matter what lies or slanders they contain, his words will carry weight."
"Then, I can neither keep him nor send him away." He shrugged hopelessly and shook his head.
His words thrilled me more than I dared admit, and I tempered my reaction so he would not guess how much I longed for him to act swiftly and finally. "I fear we've waited too long,” I said solemnly. “Your moment to deal painlessly with him may have passed." I drew a slow breath before turning to see his reaction.
He glanced sidelong at me, refusing to meet my eye. "I take your meaning, but I will not resort to duplicity and backstabbing either. His penalty must be forthright and fair, regardless of the consequences. Any injustice by us will only vindicate his desire for a feud—and gain him allies."
"I agree," I said grudgingly, knowing as a practical matter that he was right, but longing deep in my marrow to scourge Rathagos—if not in body then in spirit—though I knew not how. "But you're wrong about one thing."
"What's that?" he said, climbing ashore and unrolling his trousers.
"Men are far worse than animals," I said. "Beasts simply obey their nature. We must choose to lie, cheat, and betray. I wish the king had cut off Rathagos's troth-hand. Then he'd leave this place and never trouble us—or anyone else—again. Maybe then the men he incites would forget their animosities as well. Without its head, a snake eventually loosens its grip."
"After Tiranes, I hoped it would not come to such things again," he said as he sat on the bank and pulled on his boots.
"I'm not saying it's come to that… yet." I dropped down beside him on the bank, unrolling my own trousers. I saw the cause for his reluctance, and I didn't blame him. "I'm only saying if you can't keep your hounds well fed, watch your back. They will turn and feed on you when they're hungry."
Resting his lean forearms on his knees, he looked at me with skepticism. "It's good for a man to be a little hungry, no?"
Avoiding his look, I pulled on my wool stockings one by one. "Real hunger has never inspired anyone to noble deeds. You once told me all war was about hunger. About the survival of one's own tribe." I turned to fix him with a pointed look. "Rathagos may live in our camp, but he is of a very different tribe."
Chapter Thirty-Three: Reavers
I love your descriptions of chores and day-to-day labor, not only in the sections discussing the care of the horses, but also (like in this chapter), the washing of the clothes on the river. Well done. And I thought your description of winding the cloth into a rope until it almost seemed to burst was really smooth, vivid, and moved the narrative along. This is something I’ve noticed about your style. Your good at embedding descriptive prose in between the smartly-executed dialogue.
I had never really thought about bar soap in antiquity, so to satisfy my own curiosity, I skimmed a fascinating article about it--mostly the ancient history section--on Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soap#Ancient_Middle_East
P.S. - I liked “dawnward bank” of the river, but it made me come to a full stop because for a very brief moment I thought it might have been a typo for “downward”. That’s probably just a “me” thing and doesn’t warrant tweaking, but I thought that I would share it as a data point. Maybe something like “dawn side of the bank” could work?