Unhappy Lords, Who Dare Not
Carry Their Swords
They have given us into the hand of new
unhappy lords,
Lords without anger and honour, who dare not
carry their swords.
They fight by shuffling papers; they have bright
dead alien eyes;
They look at our labour and laughter as a tired man
looks at flies.
And the load of their loveless pity is worse than
the ancient wrongs,
Their doors are shut in the evenings;
and they know no songs."The Secret People"
G.K. Chesterton
"Osgil," sighed little Aquinar, who was currently serving as the signal midshipman. "At last we are among friends. Finally we are safe."
"Aye," said Lieutenant Archer, who was the officer of the watch. Then he continued, not unkindly, "Now get on with your duties, Mr. Aquinar."
" 'Governor welcomes Fang. Should be happy to see captain, wardroom, and midshipman's berth at sixteen o'clock,' " said the little signal midshipman to the officer of the watch, who relayed the message to the captain, five feet from its source.
"Very kind of him, I'm sure," replied Melville with a voice and continence that communicated dismay. "We cannot refuse. Please reply, 'Many thanks, accept with pleasure: Fang.' " They were at the main Pier of Osgil, which rose out from Flatland on the upper side. He turned to his first officer who was standing beside him. "Mr. Fielder, you know the moorings here as well as anyone, so carry on."
The officers looked at each other in consternation. They were in no condition to meet with the governor, no matter how well meaning the invitation. The only uniforms they owned were the ones they were wearing when they'd come over from Kestrel, and these had seen multiple battles since. Their tattered uniforms weren't a source of shame in the heat of battle on Ambergris. But the humiliation that awaited them here filled them with dread.
There was one possible solution. Melville moved quickly to the upper fo'c'sle where his two rangers, his purser and his surgeon stood looking at the vast Pier. Elphinstone immediately perceived that something was amiss. "Why hast thou such a long face, Captain?" she asked.
"My lady, we've been invited to dinner. The governor has kindly invited the wardroom and the midshipmen to dinner, but while our ship is fit for an admiral's inspection, our uniforms are in tatters and we aren't fit to see any decent folk. I turn to you for succor. I couldn't refuse the invitation without giving offense, but if you went immediately to the governor and explained our situation, perhaps he'd understand?"
"My captain," she replied with a sad, kind smile and just the hint of a tear, "thou are the mightiest hero to come to Osgil in many an age. The city is thine. Thou hast but to ask, and it shall be done. By dinner tonight we shall have ye all in new dress uniforms of the finest quality."
The Westerness Navy's tradition of feeding its midshipmen on ship's stores (to the extent that it fed them at all, apart from their impoverished private stocks) led to a group of young men who were eternally hungry and obsessed with food. The local time and the ship's time were out of synch, and the meal was several hours later than they were accustomed to. So it was that the captain and his officers were very hungry, and their poor midshipmen were truly famished.
Thus the Fangs approached Government House slavering with greed, groomed, shaved and shined to the highest degree, after a kaleidoscopic day of fitting and primping. True to her promise, Lady Elphinstone had turned out a small army of tailors. These professionals quickly decided that the basic Westerness naval uniform was so similar to that of His Majesty's Twenty-First Sappers as to make no difference, that the hats of the Northern Militia would do quite nicely with just a little reshaping and by changing the hat bands, and that the shoes of The King's Own Outer Guard were absolutely identical to the Westerness standard. The advantage was that all of these local uniforms were ready made, and on the shelf, as were suitable shirts and stockings. By simply transferring the buttons and insignia from the old, tattered uniforms, they got the job done in a single afternoon, and had time to measure the rest of the crew for new uniforms as well, save for the twelve tailors and two cobblers who worked overtime to have Lieutenant Broadax's uniform done in time.
The end result was the very essence of perfection and of far better quality than most of Melville's men were accustomed to. Only the individuals going to the Governor's dinner had been taken care of today, but within a few days the entire ship would turn out in uniforms of the same quality.
Throughout that first triumphant meal, Melville tried to control his midshipmen's rapacious assault upon their food. His task was aggravated by the fact that Sylvan food wasn't completely satisfying to races whose metabolisms were designed to function in higher gravity. The midshipmen consumed great quantities of vegetables and mushrooms and whole flocks of small birds, and yet they still weren't satisfied. Melville was fearful lest their culinary covetousness should get them off on the wrong foot with their hosts, but it soon became clear that his concerns were groundless. In the eyes of the Sylvans, they could do no wrong.
The next few days were dedicated to bringing in fresh water and nonperishable stores, so that they could leave at short notice, as was expected of Her Majesty's Ships. When that was completed, Melville prepared to release his crew for shore duty. Only the barest skeleton crew would be left with the Ship. The crew lined up for a partial pay on their way down the gangplank, "So's the lads'll 'ave a li'l walkin'-around money," as Hans put it.
The crew was lining up for their pay when Melville became aware that his monkey was gone. On the few occasions that it left him it never went far, so he looked around for it. Then he realized that everyone around him was also looking for their missing monkeys. He experienced a moment of surprisingly intense fear and loss. Most of the little creatures had appeared from nowhere, and there was suddenly the fear that they could disappear just as easily. He had a sickening sense of just how much the little creatures would be missed if they were truly gone.
"There they is!" shouted a voice. There was a period of bewilderment, followed by laughter when it became apparent that the monkeys, every single one of them, were queuing up at the end of the line, waiting patiently for their pay.
Okay, thought Melville, I can handle this. The important thing is not to lose them, to make them full-fledged members of the crew and give them an obligation to stay with us.
Melville jogged up the steps to the quarterdeck, turned and addressed his crew. "Shipmates," he began, "We've been through some hard times, and some remarkable adventures. You are all professionals. You have proven it over and over again. You have made us proud. Now isn't the time to let that professionalism lapse. Now is not the time to bring shame upon your Ship. Take your pay, go out, and have a good time. You'll find that the people of Osgil are grateful and generous. Your pay will go far. All of you," and here he made a point of pointing to the entire mass, and especially the monkeys, trying to make eye contact with them, "will be required to report for formation, here at dockside, every morning at eleven o'clock. Most of you should be able to stagger out to the ship by then." This drew appreciative laughs. "If you do not report for formation, you'll be reported AWOL. Again, you have all served us honorably and well. Do not let your Ship down now. As you take the King's coin, you accept your responsibility as servants of the crown."
Then he turned specifically to the monkeys, pointing at them as he continued, "The monkeys will be paid as ship's boys, third class. You'll be on shore leave like everyone else, and you'll be required to report for formation like everyone else. Do you understand?"
There was a brief, pregnant pause, then all the monkeys hopped up and down, screeching joyfully. This was immediately echoed by the crew's cheers. Melville stood with his hands on the quarterdeck rail and watched as his men were paid, then the boys. Finally the monkeys, with comic dignity, each took their pay as they strode down the gangplank and were unleashed upon the good citizens of Osgil.
From this point on, their experiences were a whirlwind of grand balls and parties in flets perched high up in the vast trees of Osgil. Even the three-quarters Earth gravity of the planet added to their sense of lighthearted joy.
Osgil was faced with a vast war, unlike any they'd experienced before. It was being called the Two-Space War, and it had begun with a series of unparalleled disasters and defeats for the Sylvan and Stolsh. The Sylvans had every cause to fear the future. But while they dreaded the path before them, they also found joy in the one great victory that they'd enjoyed, and the heroes who bought that victory for them.
The Sylvans knew how to greet returning heroes. It was in their heritage. It was their tradition to reward deeds of great valor. It was even in their new philosophy inspired by classic Earth science fiction. "TANSTAAFL," the Fangs were told repeatedly. " 'There ain't no such thing as a free lunch.' Aye? Well this be no free lunch, young sailor. Thou hast earned it."
A Fang's money wasn't accepted here. Night after night, every member of the crew was wined and dined somewhere. Down to the lowliest seaman, they told the tale of their battles over and over again, with bread crusts and wine stains on tabletops. They never grew weary of the tale, or the open hearts and open arms that awaited them afterwards.
Even the monkeys were accepted with open arms. Osgil was a sophisticated galactic port. Over the centuries a wide assortment of alien creatures had arrived at her docks, and Osgil took "Fang's Monkeys," as they quickly became known, in stride.
m m, m
During the whirl of balls and parties that he was invited to, Melville found himself being repeatedly paired with Princess Glaive Newra. Slender and barely five foot tall, she was strawberry blond, with the most remarkable peaches and cream complexion, and an impish sense of humor that charmed and delighted him. She was actually the granddaughter of the King of Osgil. One of many, many granddaughters, barely fitting under an extended definition of the title of princess. But she was the very personification of a princess to him. He tried hard to keep his defenses up, yet whenever he was with her he truly felt like a knight, as though he were her paladin, dedicated to protecting and serving her kingdom and her civilization.
The Westerness embassy, on the other hand, had no experience with knights or paladins, no tradition of rewarding heroes. For a week, every message to the Westerness ambassador went unanswered. The ambassador would be obligated to be present when Melville went before the king. But that was one audience that hadn't occurred yet, even though it seemed like he'd met every other member of the royalty.
His lack of contact with the embassy troubled him. There was a sense of unseen wheels spinning. Decisions were being made in hidden chambers. Battles were being fought all around him, but for once Melville had no idea what to do, how to fight, how to make a difference in this struggle. So he was resolved to make as many friends as he could, to be as polite as he could to as many people as he could, and to live for the moment. And the moment was good.
Then a marine courier arrived at his inn with a message directing him to report to the Westerness ambassador at thirteen o'clock the next day.
It was 12:30 in the afternoon when he turned off of a wide boulevard and entered into the gateway to the embassy grounds. Large portions of the planet didn't support the vast root structure for the towering forests that the Sylvan race preferred to live in. In Osgil the embassies, the Pier, the inns for visitors, many shops, taverns and the extensive "disreputable" district, were all mixed together in such an area. Off in the distance Melville could see the giant trees, rising like a wall of green skyscrapers marking the downtown district of some high-tech world. Last night he'd been dancing at a ball held high in a flet in one of those trees.
Melville missed the comforting, companionable weight of his monkey on his shoulder, but found some solace in his impeccable uniform. A marine guard stood at the open iron gate, his red uniform contrasting splendidly with the white wall and the green grass. Melville noted that he was apparently unarmed. The guard saluted him with obvious recognition and pleasure, and directed him to the main entrance of the large stone building that housed the embassy. It was most gratifying to be known, to have a good reputation among the troops.
He was striding along in the three-quarters gravity, crossing the grassy, tree covered grounds in the uniform of a lieutenant in the Westerness Navy. Black shoes with silver buckles, white pants, sword and belt chased in gold, and a blue jacket with gold plated buttons and a gold washed, brass epaulet on his left shoulder. After all the time spent barefoot aboard ship, on Broadax's World, on Pearl, and on Ambergris, his shoes still felt strange.
At the building's entrance there were two more unarmed marine guards. The sight of unarmed individuals on guard duty made him sad and uneasy. Whoever was in authority here was the kind of wretched, pathetic individual who didn't trust, respect, or appreciate the young warriors who were trained and willing to fight and die for them. Again he was saluted with apparent pleasure, then the embarrassed guards asked him to leave his sword with them. This was unusual. Armed individuals were commonplace on Westerness, at all military bases, and everywhere he'd traveled on Osgil. Yet here, in the one piece of Osgil that was actually a part of Westerness, he was immediately disarmed. The guards assured him that it was nothing personal, no one was permitted into the embassy with weapons.
He was escorted through wood-paneled hallways that were weakly illuminated by gas lights. Then he was led into a waiting room where he . . . waited. It seemed to him that he'd waited for over an hour. There was no clock or window in the waiting room and he didn't have a watch. No sailor would ever spend money on an object that would instantly become a piece of junk upon entering two-space.
Finally, a nondescript, wizened old clerk took him into the ambassador's office. No coffee, no seat offered. Just a darkened room, a wide desk, and the glowering, scowling presence of the ambassador, who possessed the unlikely appellation of Sir Percival Incessant.
If I had a name like that, thought Melville, I might be pissed off at the world, too.
Melville stood quietly before the desk and the ambassador shuffled papers. Everything about the diplomat communicated the fact that he was obviously a very busy man, far too busy to be troubled by this trivial occurrence. Then he looked up, and cut directly to the point.
"Lieutenant, you have caused us an enormous amount of trouble. Do you see this stack of paper? It represents the mass of complaints and charges brought against you. First we have a complaint from the Guldur embassy. They were, er, sent packing by the King of Osgil several weeks ago, but not before they had the chance to communicate to us their dismay at your unprovoked attack and seizure of one of their ships. They demand the return of the ship and all their captured sailors."
He was an odd little man. Almost as though he were trying to play some archetypal role. He was wearing a dark suit, with a pair of reading glasses perched halfway down a large nose that might have been inherited from an unhappy eagle, or perhaps a vulture, somewhere in his family lineage.
"Then we have a complaint, also from the Guldur embassy, delivered shortly before their, er, departure, demanding that you be delivered to them for the unprovoked sinking of several of their ships off of Ambergris."
He looked at each piece of paper as though it were a worm in his salad.
"Then, through diplomatic channels, we have a complaint from the King of Guldur himself, stating that you participated in hostilities on Ambergris. Apparently they hold you, and members of your crew, accountable for the deaths of what is, I must admit, an improbable number of their military leaders."
His eyes grew slightly wide and he held the next piece of paper at arm's length, as though it were going to bite him.
"And then, most remarkable of all, through diplomatic channels, we have a complaint from the Eman of Orak. It seems that they hold you and your crew accountable for the deaths of many of their soldiers during the, er, recent, unpleasant occurrences on Ambergris. We do not even have diplomatic relations with them. Their vast empire is an immeasurable distance away, and yet somehow you seem to have contrived to have personally killed one of their senior officers, a distant member of their royal family. The details are remarkably precise. Apparently you dispatched him with . . . er, two bullets in the forehead and a bullet in the mouth. They state that the precise placement of the bullets could have happened only as a result of what was clearly an execution-style slaying. Ahm."
He looked up at Melville with horror and amazement, holding another piece of paper as he continued.
"And during your return trip you seem to have threatened and gravely offended the senior surviving member of the Westerness consulate on Ambergris, who just happens to be a citizen of Earth!" The exertion of this last statement apparently left him winded, and he drew several deep breaths before he could continue.
"Lieutenant, we have spent hundreds of years building a star kingdom based on trade, and studiously avoiding any involvement in the affairs of the Elder Races. Where disharmony rules, commerce flags! Now you have created more disharmony, you have done more harm to our relations, you have caused more diplomatic emergencies in one voyage, than the rest of the history of Westerness put together! The vast empires of Guldur and Orak, and the diplomatic representatives of Earth are all very, very angry. In one . . . brief . . . period of time, you have managed to get a sizable portion of the galaxy very, very pissed off at you!"
Again he had to draw several deep breaths before he could continue, using a handkerchief to mop his brow and to wipe the fine spray of spittle from his lips and chin.
"Here is what you are going to do, Lieutenant. You will recant. You will write a personal apology in response to every single one of these letters. You will state that these were unprovoked attacks, conducted by you, without authority. You will beg for their mercy. If you do that, then we will not turn you over to them, and we will not punish your crew. Instead we will ship you to Westerness, where you will face trial and punishment by your own people. Do you understand?"
There was a roaring in Melville's ears. The dark little room seemed to close in upon him. His crew. They would punish his crew. He could save his crew, all the brave men and women who suffered and served so nobly. He could save them if he cooperated. All he had to do was to tell this little man's lies. Sacrifice himself, and his crew was safe.
It was his duty. It would be so easy to accept failure, to simply die and let it end. Here was his lawful authority telling him to surrender, and he was a good sailor, an obedient officer, a disciplined warrior. It would be so easy, but something in him couldn't give up. Something made him struggle against the fate that this little man had decreed for him. His duty was all he had. Obedience was his duty. What could be more important than duty.
But wait. The enemy was obedient. The Guldur commander who murdered his captain, he was just doing his duty. The enemy was just obeying orders. And still the enemy was evil. So what was the difference? The difference was Honor. A code of honor. Decency, nobility, gentleness . . . all of that was in the warrior's code of honor.
There was something more important than duty. It was honor. How did Shakespeare put it? "Mine honor is my life; both grow in one; Take honor from me, and my life is done."
Once to ev'ry man and nation
Comes the moment to decide,
In the strife of truth with falsehood,
For the good or evil side;
"No sir. I won't do that. You've read my report. I see them there before you. They're confirmed by all my officers, and by the two Sylvan members of my ship. Lady Elphinstone isn't a liar. Neither am I, or any of the others who signed that report."
This was easy. It was like combat. You knew you were probably going to die, but you did it anyway without a second thought. Because it needed to be done.
"A vast war is brewing. The enemy is evil. They murdered my captain, murdered our Ship, all under a flag of truce. They attacked the Stolsh without provocation, dropping onto their worlds without warning, inflicting unimaginable horrors upon innocent civilians. No one is asking you to make the decision. Just tell the truth to Westerness. Let them decide, based on the facts as sworn to by my officers, not your lies."
Some great cause, some great decision,
Off'ring each the bloom or blight,
And the choice goes by forever,
'Twixt that darkness and that light.
He looked into the eyes of the ambassador, and knew what he was seeing. He knew of senior officers who were capable of great bravery in combat, but when it came to their precious careers, they compromised and prostituted themselves and their sacred honor. They sold their souls a nickel at a time, and in the end they had nothing left. They became very small men. In the end they'd become that most wretched of creatures, politicians.
Then to side with truth is noble,
When we share her wretched crust,
Ere her cause bring fame and profit,
And 'tis prosp'rous to be just;
His voice dropped to a whisper. "Darkness falls. The shadows call. Shadow and flame. But our fight is true. Our enemy is moving. They're coming for us, Guldur and Orak. In the years to come we will have no choice but to fight them. Right now we have a chance to join in the fight for the very right to exist, for they bring genocide with them. We are on the brink of destruction. We must unite, or we will fall. While we dither, their power grows. We can fight them now, while we have allies, or we can fight them later and die alone."
Then Melville's voice grew strong and he stood tall, with a faint smile. "You can turn me over to them. And in so doing you will have handed me undying fame, glory and honor. While you will have brought eternal shame upon yourself . . . and Westerness. Our allies know the truth. It will come out. On every Sylvan and Stolsh world across the galaxy, they will know what you have done. You fear losing trade? You fear bad diplomatic relations? Doing this to me will destroy your relations with every Sylvan and Stolsh world in the galaxy. You would sacrifice me to prevent war, yet war is inevitable. It will happen, and throughout history you'll be remembered as the man, the appeaser, the Quisling, who turned me over to our enemies."
Then it is the brave man chooses
While the coward stands aside,
Till the multitude make virtue
Of the faith they had denied.
Sir Percival Incessant sat breathing deeply through his nose. Then he picked up a small bell and rang it ("tinkle-tinkle-tink") and two marines came in. Melville noted that they, too, were unarmed. Here, indeed, was an unhappy lord who dared not carry his sword, nor trust anyone else to do so.
Incessant sat back and steepled his fingers. Always a bad sign in politicians, lawyers, diplomats and their ilk. "This man is under arrest. Place him in your jail or brig or whatever. Get him away from me." He turned to Melville and made one last parting shot, "Lieutenant, you will hang for this."
Tho' the cause of evil prosper,
Yet 'tis truth alone is strong:
Tho' her portion be the scaffold,
And upon the throne be wrong;
The young marine corporal looked at Melville with tears welling up in his eyes. "I'm sorry, sir . . ."
"Don't apologize, son. You're just doing your job." Then, looking at the ambassador he added, "Hell, someone has to."
Yet that scaffold sways the future,
And, behind the dim unknown,
Standeth God within the shadow
Keeping watch above his own.
Melville had only been in his cell for a few hours. But they'd been some of the worst hours of his life. Doubts about what he had done ate at him. He worried about his family and the shame that he was bringing upon them. Perhaps it meant more than shame for his family, perhaps they too would be punished to appease his enemies. He couldn't help but think that the ambassador, far older and wiser in the ways of the world, might be right. He was gambling it all: his life, his fortune, and his sacred honor.
He kept telling himself that it was no different from the risk of combat. That in the end, they could not take his honor away. They could take his life. They could take his fortune. (Such as it was! Small loss there.) But they couldn't take his sacred honor. Only he could do that, and if he agreed to tell their lies then that was what he would have done. But how could he be sure?
He lay back on his cot, his mind spinning like a wheel trying to gain traction, when there was a knocking at his door. In spite of everything he smiled to himself. You don't knock at a prisoner's door. "Come in!" he said, sitting up in the light gravity. Gunny Von Rito walked in.
"Well, sir," said the gunny, a grin splitting his scarred face, "you've got yourself in a hell of a fix. But not to worry, we've come to spring you."
Melville shook his head with a sad smile as he looked up at the big NCO in his red jacket. The full magnitude of what had happened was just beginning to set in. "Don't get yourself in trouble, Gunny."
"Sir," the gunny answered, his friendly grin suddenly becoming feral, "It's not me that has trouble. Or you. The marine guards let us know what happened. Just scuttlebutt among jarheads, you know? We just happened to let Lady Elphinstone and Valandil know what was up. The King of Osgil, and the King-in-Exile of Stolsh, along with the Dwarrowdelf League ambassador, have summoned you to an audience. Tonight. The Westerness ambassador has informed them that you won't be available. Now it is the Westerness ambassador who has trouble. And now you, sir, are about to disappear, escaping from durance vile, adding yet another chapter to your legend."
"Things do move fast around here," said Melville, standing up. "But I get a sense that it has been building up to this for quite a while."
The situation was clear. His allies had made a massive flanking maneuver upon the enemy, and now he had to make his move. Melville wasn't very good at the whole angst business. He didn't need hope when despair could be delayed. He lived for the moment. And once again, the moment was good.
On his way out the gunny reverently handed him a .45 auto in a hand-tooled leather paddle holster, designed to fit snugly into his waistband in the small of his back, where it would be concealed by his uniform jacket. Another small paddle holster held two magazines on his left hip.
"The embassy's emergency supplies," said the gunny smugly. "They seem to have suddenly become available to most of our officers. Oh, and Lieutenant Broadax asked me to tell you that as the senior marine she would have come . . . but we decided I might be slightly less conspicuous."
As they left the cell the young marine guard had Melville's sword in his hand. He handed the sword to Melville, came to a rigid position of attention, saluted smartly, and conducted an "about face" that would have made his drill sergeant proud.
"You ready, son?" asked Von Rito.
"Aye, Gunny."
"Sorry, 'bout this, but you know you'll be in big trouble without this souvenir. And we can't be having that!"
Then, "Thunk!" and Von Rito gave him a precisely measured punch to the back of the head, guaranteed to leave a good lump. The guard crumpled quietly to the floor.
"Aye, you're a wily devil, sir," said the gunny as he led them out. "No cell can hold you by God!"
High upon the loftiest flet in the tallest tree in Osgil, the King of Osgil sat upon his throne in a flowing robe of green. Emeralds, rubies, and vivid, glowing, sunshine-yellow gems flashed from his crown and gown. Upon the dais, standing on each side of the king, were the King-in-Exile of Stolsh, garbed in elaborate robes made of all the swirling colors of a living world as seen from space, and the bearded ambassador of the Dwarrowdelf League, in glistening scale mail, steel helmet and battle-ax.
There was nothing above them but the two radiant moons of Osgil and a vast sea of stars. The two moons made the immense platform as bright as lamplight. The scene was surrounded, virtually framed, by elegant Sylvan landscape, architecture, and design, consisting of sweeping, flowing, naturalistic linesand naturist lines, which is quite different, incorporating the elegant beauty of the nude form. It was art nouveau long, long before nouveau was new on Old Earth.
Behind the dais, an orchestra played a noble tune that sounded faintly regal to the visitors.
Arrayed to the left and right of the dais were the ambassadors of all the worlds with embassies on Osgil. Notably absent was the Guldur ambassador, who had been sent home several weeks prior. Notably present was Sir Percival Incessant, his face red with anger, the nostrils of his oversized nose flaring. Standing sullenly beside him, as the senior representative of Earth, was the Honorable Cuthbert Asquith XVI.
In formation before the king was the crew of H.M.S. Fang. Each crew member had their monkey perched proudly upon their shoulder. Melville stood in front, with Lady Elphinstone and Valandil, the two Sylvan members of his crew, immediately to his left.
The Sylvan and Stolsh nobility were gathered around the Fangs' square formation, chatting among themselves with drinks in their hands.
To the rear of the formation, servers stood beside tables groaning under the load of a Sylvan banquet. Not a fully satisfying meal to human appetites, but definitely a bounty of tasty snacks. All around them were the lovingly tended trees and flower beds of the Royal Gardens, perched high above the earth.
The orchestra played a final, stately chord and fell silent, which was the signal for all conversation to cease as the king began to address the crowd.
"Be it known to one and all, that we here gathered: the King of Osgil, representing the Sylvan peoples across the galaxy . . ." The Sylvan were one of the most diverse and widespread races in the galaxy. Osgil was their Prime World, and he was only the king of this one world. But if anyone could speak for all the myriad Sylvan worlds, he was the one to do it.
" . . . the King-in-Exile of Stolsh," here the tall Stolsh king bowed to the crowd in a swirl of colors, "representing the Kingdom of Stolsh which is currently besieged and occupied by vile attackers . . .
" . . . and the ambassador to the Dwarrowdelf League . . ." and here the ambassador raised his battle ax and slammed the hilt into the ground three times. He was of royal lineage, and was the rightful king of the large Dwarrowdelf population on Osgil. The word "king" more rightfully translated as "mine boss."
" . . . do hereby decree and declare the following . . ."
It was interesting to watch the Westerness ambassador's eyes begin to shift back and forth, like rodents trying to escape, as the magnitude of the political forces aligned against him became clear.
"We decree that the joint expedition aboard the ship Kestrel, representing the Kingdom of Westerness and the King of Osgil, and containing a citizen of the Dwarrowdelf League, was unjustly and murderously attacked, under the flag of truce, by the forces of Guldur. This was a premeditated act of war against the Kingdoms which dispatched this expedition, and the rulers here assembled do decree that all actions taken by the acting captain and by the crew were under the full authority of ourselves, and the joint agreement under which the expedition was dispatched. We do advise our Sister, Victoria the Fifth, the queen of Westerness, to accept this as a premeditated assault upon the nation of Westerness, and to join us in the mutual defense of our realms."
That, thought Melville, is stretching the terms of the joint agreement for our expedition significantly, but who is going to disagree with the King of Osgil's interpretation of his own agreement?
"We do further decree, to those assembled here, and to the galaxy at large, that the Ship Fang belongs to the Queen of Westerness, rightfully captured in an act of lawful self defense. We grant prize rights for the Ship to Captain Thomas Melville, which Ship is now bonded and bound to him and him alone, by right of blood and battle. And we grant prize money, as determined by the Osgil Prize Court, to Captain Melville and the current crew of H.M.S. Fang."
This drew a great cheer from the Fangs. Patriotism, promotion and prize-money had been described as the three masts of the old British Royal Navy. Now this crew, which so prized tradition and the rich heritage of Aubrey and Hornblower, was delighted to be the first Westerness crew to ever receive prize money from a Sylvan Prize Court.
As a part of their recent treaty, Westerness and Osgil had agreed to respect each other's Prize Courts. This treaty was signed by Westerness as a measure to foster trade by supporting mutual counterpiracy operations. It's doubtful that any Westerness diplomat had ever foreseen the current situation, but Melville was beginning to wonder if the long-lived and far-sighted Sylvans hadn't anticipated this possibility.
This had all been briefly presented to Melville ahead of time. He didn't understand exactly why, but the only thing the Sylvans asked of him was two of Fang's 24-pounder cannons. They'd promised two 12-pounders in return, and they'd promised to reimburse them handsomely in prize money for these two guns. It hurt to let go of any of his guns, but this was a small price to pay in return for such generosity.
"We do further decree," continued the king, his deep, powerful voice rolling across the assemblage, "that Captain Thomas Melville, commanding the Westerness ship Kestrel, and later the Westerness ship Fang, acted in keeping with all civilized traditions and behavior in all aspects of his conduct."
Well, thought Melville, nothing like getting a total pardon for all actions from three of the greatest empires in the Galaxy. Piss off powerful enemies, and I suppose it's only fair that you get powerful friends. Looking at Sir Percival Incessant, now white with rage, Melville began to wonder just where he stood with one other major star kingdom: his own.
"We do further decree, that Captain Melville's actions in capturing H.M.S. Fang, breaking through the blockade of Ambergris, resisting the unprovoked invasion of Ambergris, and assisting in the evacuation of Ambergris, were acts of valor and military prowess unprecedented in the long histories of our peoples. Actions deserving of the highest honors our kingdoms are empowered to bestow."
There was an appreciative rumbling from the formation of Fangs, and applause from the audience standing beside them, applause which built to a thundering crescendo, echoed by one and all. Except for the Fangs who were standing at rigid attention, the three leaders upon the dais who were nodding regally, and the Westerness ambassador. Even Asquith, standing beside Incessant, gave a few puzzled, limp claps.
Then the awards were given. First Melville was called forward and made a Member of the Order of Knights Companion of the King of Osgil, and a member of the Royal Host of Glory by the King of Stolsh. The Dwarrowdelf ambassador declared him a Friend of the Dwarrowdelf League, apologizing in a deep gravelly voice that while he deserved more, that was the best that a lowly ambassador was authorized to do. The two kings each hung a very impressive medal around his neck, while the Dwarrowdelf ambassador settled for reaching up and giving a hearty handshake. In his enthusiasm the ambassador's huge, calloused hands nearly crushed Melville's hand.
Melville's monkey sat proudly and serenely through it all, its eyes sparkling as it took everything in. Then the King of Osgil declared that the tiny monkey was now a Squire to the King. The little creature seemed to be deeply affected, cooing slightly and stretching its head out timidly to let a ribbon be placed around it. With one hand it grasped the medal that hung from the ribbon, peering at it studiously while stroking the ribbon with several other hands.
Then each of his officers were called up to become Knights of the Realm of Osgil and Members of the Royal Order of Honor in Stolsh. And to receive a bone crushing handshake and the Friendship of the Dwarrowdelf League from their ambassador. Their monkeys also calmly accepted their masters' honors, but they too appeared deeply touched when they were declared Royal Squires and given beribboned medals.
A particularly poignant moment occurred when Broadax stood before her people's ambassador. The burly, bearded old Dwarrowdelf paused and looked her over carefully. It was known that she'd left her own people in some sort of rebellion, if not outright disgrace. The Fangs held their breath and waited to see if their beloved lieutenant would be snubbed.
Tears began to flood from the Dwarrowdelf ambassador's eyes, flowing freely down into his beard. He reached out his hand and Broadax took it slowly. The old Dwarrowdelf pulled her to him and wrapped his other arm around her. His voice was loud and sounded like grinding gravel as he said, for all to hear, "You have made us proud, good sister warrior. A Dwarrowdelf ax has struck a mighty blow in this first great battle against an evil foe. This is good. This is very good!"
At this the Fangs all cheered spontaneously, and a red flush rose upwards from Broadax's neck like a barbarian horde, burning everything in its way.
Then the three rulers walked the ranks of the Fangs, with Melville leading them and introducing each man, woman, and boy. These were truly noble representatives of their three races, noble in speech and noble in deed, each of them shaking every hand and personally thanking each crew member as they bestowed a medal upon him. And in every case his monkey was duly declared and bedecked as a Royal Orderly. A group of aides followed them as they made their rounds, carrying a seemingly inexhaustible supply of medals to go with the handshakes.
Even the Guldur members of the crew, standing timidly, feeling unworthy of recognition, were encouraged, thanked, and rewarded. They may have fought with the Guldur initially, but they fought for the right side in the battles that mattered, and they were living proof that the Guldur were an oppressed people. All three rulers made it clear to Fang's Guldur crew members that they blamed their rulers, and not them; and would welcome any of their race who rallied to their cause in the years to come.
After the last crew member was duly bemedaled and beshook, the King of Osgil turned to Melville. "But, some of thy crew who came with thee to our fair planet are not here!"
"Sire," said Melville, "Your navy was kind enough to provide caretakers for our ship during our absence. All of my crew members are here."
The old king's eyes sparkled and he grinned a grin that looked a lot like his granddaughter's mischievous smile. "Nay, good captain, what of the dogs and cats who have served ye so well? Would ye forget them? I have not. We are not, as a rule, partakers of red meat, but an imported beefsteak has been purchased and sent to your ship. Even as we speak, the four-legged members of your crew are being rewarded in the manner that they prefer best."
Finally, after every individual was recognized, the King of Osgil returned to his throne and concluded with these Words. "A valiant paladin of thy home world once said, 'Where do we get such warriors? What loving God hath provided, that each generation, afresh, there should arise new giants in the land to answer the summons of the trumpet. Were we to go but a single generation without such heroes, then within the span of that generation we should surely be both damned and doomed.' So now let us partake of the meal that awaits us, and let us give thanks in every way for these worthy warriors who have answered the summons of the trumpet in our hour of need."
Melville saluted the dais. This was not a prescribed military action but it felt appropriate to do so, as a pure and simple act of recognition and greeting between warriors. Then he executed an about-face, looked out on his crew, and with a smile of sheer joy he commanded, "Fall out!"
"Do you understand the full magnitude of what you have done? You are leading our nation down the path of war. Nothing is worse than war! . . ."
It didn't take long for Sir Percival Incessant to corner Melville. They hadn't even sat down yet. Out of respect, the others backed away and discreetly watched as the Westerness Ambassador to Osgil publicly self-destructed.
"Nothing is worse than war . . ." Aye, thought Melville. Aye, he knew the horrors of war far, far better than the man standing in front of him. Visions raced through his mind. AiEe burning. Her brave people, ravaged, raped, tormented, and dying. A little body crumpled on his quarterdeck. Had he really brought that upon Westerness? For a brief moment his moral compass spun and the world reeled. Dear God, I'd do anything to avoid this. But it cannot be avoided. It has been brought to us, inflicted upon us, and our only choice is to fight or die.
Aye, there is something worse than war, Melville thought to himself. How did John Stuart Mill put it? "War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things; the decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks nothing worth a war is worse . . . A man who has nothing he cares more about than he does his personal safety is a miserable creature who has no chance of being free, unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself."
Melville tuned out the ambassador's words as he studied the individual standing before him.
No matter how this turned out, Incessant's career as a diplomat was finished. Here was a man who could rise to positions of rank and recognition that most people would never dream of, and then spend his every effort scheming to gain even more. Melville looked into the heart of the man standing in front of him and felt only contempt and pity. In the end, however high he rose, whatever he achieved, he would never be happy. A lifelong diet of festering resentment and spite would leave him old and bitter, with a belly full of bile.
Here was a man with great reservoirs of vindictiveness and spite, dammed up behind fragile walls of paranoia and ineptitude. Now his actions, his policies, and he himself had been publicly repudiated by three major galactic powers. Now the dam had burst, and the flood of hate was so great that the ambassador lost all sense of propriety. He was going mad before Melville's eyes.
Melville tuned back into Incessant's rant for a moment. " . . . Do you really think you have the right to command a frigate?" he demanded, spraying spittle and shaking a finger in Melville's face.
Did he have a right to command a frigate? Not much. Hundreds of men were senior to him. No, he didn't have a right to command Fang, no more than he had a right to capture her, or to break through the blockade of Ambergris, or to blow countless Guldur frigates out of the water, or to woo a Sylvan princess.
Yet he had done so.
All of a sudden it dawned on Melville that the little man in front of him had no power over him. Whatever harm the man could do, he would. There was nothing Melville could do that would change this man. No words, no concession, no act could ever satisfy him.
And there was freedom in that.
So Melville simply turned and walked away as Incessant shouted, "You might have your ship, but you will be sent to the other side of the galaxy, and you will never do anything but deliver mail and worthless cargoes to frontier outposts for the rest of your miserable, insolent life. I can see what has happened here. I know that I am finished, but I still have authority. I have given that order, written and sealed, and it will not be rescinded!"
As Melville strode toward the tables he was joined by Princess Glaive in a gown that was like a swirl of translucent, gauzy green grass, with patches of dandelions artfully sited in strategic locations. She studiously ignored the whole incident with Incessant and immediately, impishly brought him back into the joy of the moment. "Shouldst I be whispering in thine ear, 'Remember, O Caesar, all glory is fleeting,' hmmm?"
Melville smiled and wrapped his arm around her, causing her gown to ripple delightfully, as though a mischievous breeze was blowing across her meadow. "I think it was a slave who was assigned to that duty, not a princess."
"Mmmm," she purred, standing up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, "wouldst thou have me for thy slave girl?"
The rest of the dinner was a perfect, flawless gem of purest joy. Melville had a habit of taking the good times and identifying them to himself. This, this is something special, something wonderful, he said to himself. I will take this day, this joy, and I will save it away. I will invest it in a mental, emotional "bank account." Some day when the years turn bad, when pain and sorrow fill my life, I will make a withdrawal from that account, and it will sustain me in my dark hours. I've known joy such as many people will never know. If the world should turn on me, as it did earlier today, may I have the decency not to moan and wail, and bear my fate with dignity and grace.
A swirling rainbow of well-wishers came past his table. Most of them were only a colorful blur in his memory, but one in particular stuck with him. A Westerness Marine officer came up to him, escorted by Lieutenant Broadax. Broadax had lit a cigar, and was beaming in a cloud of smoke as she introduced him.
"Sir, this here's Lieutenant Colonel Hayl. Ye needs ta know 'at he was o' some service to us today. The colonel's the head o' the embassy's marine detail, an' aye, he was o' service, if'n ye takes my meanin'." This last was said with a broad wink that was about as subtle as a musket volley.
Melville stood and held out his hand to the tall marine, noting from his ribbons that he'd done service as a ranger, which was impressive.
"May I introduce you to Princess Glaive Newra, and may I say that I'm obliged for any assistance that you have given to me and my ship in this hour."
Hayl bowed and kissed the princess' hand, murmuring, "Charmed, Your Highness, I'm truly charmed." Then he looked at Melville, smiled and replied, "Truly it was nothing. I did absolutely nothing."
"Well, sir," said Melville, taking his meaning and returning the smile, "then I'm sincerely obliged to you for nothing, and if there is any way I can ever repay you, please don't hesitate to let me know."
"Aye, well, there is a boon that I would beg of you."
"If it's within my power, it shall be done."
"Well, Captain, my son is twelve years old. I've taught him everything that I can across the years. He has been well schooled, and I'd be honored if you would consider interviewing him for service with you as a midshipman. I've already provided him with a sea chest, all regulation requirements, and a yearly stipend. He's followed your exploits and is an enormous fan of yours, as am I, and if you'd accept him it would be the highest honor."
"Indeed, Colonel, I do have some openings in my midshipman's berth, and I'd be honored to meet the boy. But you do understand how these openings occurred?" A flicker of anguish flashed across Melville's face, a glint of black pain amidst the rainbow joy of this evening. Beside him, Princess Glaive squeezed his hand.
"Aye. I understand, Captain, and these are the risks we take and accept as warriors. Actually, I've taken the liberty of bringing the boy with me," at which he gestured and Melville became aware of a young boy standing a few feet away.
"Come here, son," said Melville kindly.
The boy strode forward, his chin held high but quivering ever so slightly.
"Do you want to serve on my ship?"
"Aye, sir."
"You know that it's dangerous, and it may be years before you'll be back with your family?"
"Aye, sir."
"You're certain?"
"Aye, sir."
"Very well, then. You aren't committed yet, I want you to be able to spend a few days on board ship before you make a final decision. But if, after seeing the ship and spending a few days with us, you still think you want the position, then you may have it."
Melville turned to the senior Hayl and continued, "Colonel, you can have his gear sent to the ship as soon as is convenient. I understand that we are under orders to sail soon. I don't know how soon it will be, but I'd like for young Mister Hayl to get a chance to look over the ship and make a final decision."
"Aye, Captain. If we can send him off tonight I think that may be best. Heads are rolling at the embassy, and my options may be somewhat more limited in the very near future. My son is prepared to depart; he has said his goodbyes."
"Indeed. As you can see, I do have some allies. And I, too, can ask boons. If you need my help please let me know. Mister Hayl, you can wait for me outside the cloakroom. You will accompany me back to my inn tonight. I can't guarantee that any of my men will be functional tonight, but you can come over to the ship with me, first thing in the morning."
"Aye, sir," said young Hayl.
"I thank you sir," added his father.
"It's nothing, sir, truly nothing," said Melville with a smile.