VII: TALINS
“Revenge is a dish best served cold”
Pierre Choderlos de Laclos
Rogont of Ospria was late to the field at Sweet Pines, but Salier of Visserine still enjoyed the weight of numbers and was too proud to retreat. Especially when the enemy was commanded by a woman. He fought, he lost, he ended up retreating anyway, and left the city of Caprile defenceless. Rather than face a certain sack, the citizens opened their gates to the Serpent of Talins in the hope of mercy.
Monza rode in, but most of her men she left outside. Orso had made allies of the Baolish, convinced them to fight with the Thousand Swords under their ragged standards. Fierce fighters, but with a bloody reputation. Monza had a bloody reputation of her own, and that only made her trust them less.
“I love you.”
“Of course you do.”
“I love you, but keep the Baolish out of town, Benna.”
“You can trust me.”
“I do trust you. Keep the Baolish out of town.”
She rode three hours as the sun went down, back to the rotting battlefield at Sweet Pines, to dine with Duke Orso and learn his plans for the close of the season.
“Mercy for the citizens of Caprile, if they yield to me entirely, pay indemnities and acknowledge me their rightful ruler.”
“Mercy, your Excellency?”
“You know what it is, yes?” She knew what it was. She had not thought he did. “I want their land, not their lives. Dead men cannot obey. You have won a famous victory here. You shall have a great triumph, a procession through the streets of Talins.”
That would please Benna, at least. “Your Excellency is too kind.”
“Hah. Few would agree with that.”
She laughed as she rode back in the cool dawn, and Faithful laughed beside her. They talked of how rich the soil was, on the banks of the Capra, watching the good wheat shift in the wind.
Then she saw the smoke above the city, and she knew.
The streets were full of dead. Men, women, children, young and old. Birds gathered on them. Flies swarmed. A confused dog limped along beside their horses. Nothing else living showed itself. Empty windows gaped, empty doorways yawned. Fires still burned, whole rows of houses nothing but ash and tottering chimney stacks.
Last night, a thriving city. This morning, Caprile was hell made real.
It seemed Benna had not been listening. The Baolish had begun it, but the rest of the Thousand Swords—drunk, angry, fearing they would miss out on the easy pickings—had eagerly joined in. Darkness and dark company make it easy for even half-decent men to behave like animals, and there were few half-decent men among the scum Monza commanded. The boundaries of civilisation are not the impregnable walls civilised men take them for. As easily as smoke on the wind, they can dissolve.
Monza flopped down from her horse and puked Duke Orso's fine breakfast over the rubbish-strewn cobbles.
“Not your fault,” said Faithful, one big hand on her shoulder.
She shook him off. “I know that.” But her rebellious guts thought otherwise.
“It's the Years of Blood, Monza. This is what we are.”
Up the steps to the house they'd taken, tongue rough with sick. Benna lay on the bed, fast asleep, husk pipe near one hand. She dragged him up, made him squawk, cuffed him one way and the other.
“Keep them out of town, I told you!” And she forced him to the window, forced him to look down into the bloodstained street.
“I didn't know! I told Victus … I think …” He slid to the floor, and wept, and her anger leaked away and left her empty. Her fault, for leaving him in charge. She could not let him shoulder the blame. He was a good man, and sensitive, and would not have borne it well. There was nothing she could do but kneel beside him, and hold him, and whisper soothing words while the flies buzzed outside the window.
“Orso wants to give us a triumph …”
Soon afterwards the rumours spread. The Serpent of Talins had ordered the massacre that day. Had urged the Baolish on and screamed for more. The Butcher of Caprile, they called her, and she did not deny it. People would far rather believe a lurid lie than a sorry string of accidents. Would far rather believe the world is full of evil than full of bad luck, selfishness and stupidity. Besides, the rumours served a purpose. She was more feared than ever, and fear was useful.
In Ospria they denounced her. In Visserine they burned her image. In Affoia and Nicante they offered a fortune to any man who could kill her. All around the Azure Sea they rang out the bells to her shame. But in Etrisani they celebrated. In Talins they lined the streets to chant her name, to shower her with flower petals. In Cesale they raised a statue in her honour. A gaudy thing, smothered with gold leaf that soon peeled. She and Benna, as they never looked, seated on great horses, frowning boldly towards a noble future.
That was the difference between a hero and a villain, a soldier and a murderer, a victory and a crime. Which side of a river you called home.