Barmzahva Plaza is right inside of East Gate, and is the main portal through which the thieves and farmers and woodcutters and cutthroats and charcoal burners and bandits who comprise the fair citizenry of our kingdom enter the capital. They were all entering on that day, since it was the first day of the corvee. Corvee is usually a happy time, coming as it does after the crops have been brought in and the fields laid for their winter rest, after the merchants have carried the abundance of the harvest south along the river and the bandits have grown plump from hijacking them, after the first of the ale has fermented in giant casks, so that there is plenty of beer and bread to go around. Soon the Season of Weavers will arrive, and the snows will force everyone indoors to the sleepy domestic tasks that fill the long days. But at corvee time the days are still reasonably warm and everyone is ready for a great orgy of activity before their near-hibernation. Besides, the king forgives half of your tax debt if you participate in the corvee. So every strong and able citizen comes flocking to Rahasabahst, where they will see friends whom they haven’t seen all year, and work all day on whatever that year’s monumental project is, and drink long into the evening in the beer halls beside the barracks where they’ll sleep.
The corvee that year was called to continue work on the monumental project of taming the Soemohngea River, mostly by building tow paths along its eastern bank, all the way north to Taokeihla. In some places the river needed to be dredged. In others the bank needed to be leveled, and whole pieces of cliff needed to be sheered away. The Lady of Hasra had already tamed the river in her own lands, and there were rumors that the King of Baesakae was undertaking a similar project, and that one day the three might intersect, making merchant travel in a northerly direction quite pleasant and comfortable, at least on our bank of the river.
The final piece of this grand river design was already half constructed. This was the great wall that King Poritifahr had ordered to be built across the estuary. Once it was finished Rahasabahst would control all the traffic that came down the river and into Lake Sarahban. Now, it was an accident of history that led us to control both the east bank and the west bank when the river widened to empty into the estuary. The Kingdom of Pahyangoeda is older, and like all old kingdoms it had lost its vim and vigor by the time that the Sarangbau’s emerged from the Singing Woods. They were able to launch a series of raids across the Soemohngea and seize the marshy, meandering lowlands that the King of Pahyangoeda had little use for. We built our towers on the hills and stubbornly held this fetid territory for generations before a tinker came from Hasra and made vague suggestions about a wall. It will extend from the West Bank across the mouth of the river, leaving a gap at the foot of Jehaijae Hill which the riverboats can pass through on their way into the lake. They will float directly under the bastion, and will have to stop at the tax tower or risk being sunk by fire arrows.
All of this would, of course, pull river traffic closer to the bank and make it much harder for pirates to attack the flat boats as they floated by the islands. These pirates were among those who flooded into the city to work on the corvee. They didn’t seem to realize that they were helping to build the defenses that would be used against them. I passed a familiar gang of cutthroats as I came through the plaza, and they were cueing up to be registered without a care in the world. I must admit that I have a great prejudice against bandits. I think that most of them are quite stupid. Most of them are also farmers in their spare time, and I suppose they were interested in having some of their taxes forgiven, just like everyone else.
It was still early, and the plaza was just beginning to fill. But even then, it felt dangerous, and I was glad to see the Ilahntae Guard out in force. Crowds are always dangerous to guardsmen. An angry crowd is dangerous for obvious reasons. It doesn’t take much for furious people to turn their ire on those who symbolize the crown’s authority. But we hadn’t seen an angry crowd in more than fifteen years, as Poritifahr the Fourth, for all his faults, liked order and made sure that his people were decently housed and fed. He couldn’t do much about their penchant for indecent clothing of course. I do not refer to the indecency that is in the eye of the beholder, as I am never much troubled by a bit of cleavage or leg. I am bothered, however, by the great population of nits and fleas and other bugs that live in your average citizen’s robes. It is indecent for people to be so gross and unwashed. But I won’t name the vermin they carry as part of the danger of a crowd, particularly a happy crowd. No, the danger of a happy crowd comes from the fact that you are ignored. No one is doing anything wrong, and therefore no one is afraid of you, and as people pack themselves in you are forced to push your way through just like anyone else. You get stepped on and elbowed and shoved. Your robes are smeared with make-up as faces brush against your shoulder and your sleeves. Your shield is jostled out of its correct seating upon your back, and your spear is always in danger of being knocked out of your hand. No, I do not enjoy a happy crowd, and I arrived at Thaeto’s registration table in both a lather and a rage.
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He politely ignored me as I pulled my robes straight and wiped some smut from my left elbow. Someone seemed to have sneezed on me during my passage through the mass of bumping bodies. Thaeto reached into his robes with his left hand and passed a clean handkerchief up to me. His eyes stayed focused on the man in front of him, a big wattle-faced fellow who looked vaguely familiar to me. He was giving Thaeto a name that didn’t seem right, and my son was dutifully recording it. If only I had followed that sense of unease and started asking some questions, things would have been different. If only I had lifted my gaze to look out over the rest of the crowd, and seen that there were a great many people who seemed to be in the wrong context, and for the wrong reason.
But I had set myself to confer with young Jahldorani, the captain of Ilahntae District, and I was in a hurry. My stopping beside Thaeto’s table was only a respite, a moment for me to catch my breath before completing my passage across the plaza. I had hoped, in fact, to spot Jahldorani among his men, but he wasn’t there. Rumor was that he had begun sporting with a dusky-eyed maiden of uncertain lineage, and that he was neglecting his duties. This was, in part, why I had trundled across the city, tracing out the route that the princess would take as we left for the shrine. A common curtesy, I think, as it is a hassle for any royal personage to pass through a neighborhood. The local captain has to pull guards off of their regular rounds and make them stand stoically at cross streets, threatening the people and letting them know that someone significant is about to pass by. So I like to walk the route, and stop to alert each captain in turn. If I can’t find the captain, I’ll snag some lieutenant to take a message. Just as long as everyone knows that they’re about to be subjected to a parade.
I could have sent a lieutenant to Jahldorani, but the East Gate was the terminus of our route, and therefore required special attention. And I didn’t trust that dusky-eyed maiden. I am often mocked for my indifference to the pleasures of physical love. But, also, I have never been corrupted by a come-hither look. The problem with holding a position of power, any position of power, is that you can never tell whether the new friend or aspiring lover has any real interest in you, or if they have been sent by some conniving merchant or wily bandit to charm you into not looking too closely at a well-designed crime. Jahldorani was too young and lustful to understand this. His infatuation had grown so strong that one of his lieutenants had warned me that the East Gate might require my particular attentions.
I wasn’t looking forward to the coming confrontation, particularly if I had to drag Jahldorani from between the sheets. So I rested beside my son, and when he was done registering the wattle-faced fellow and his companions he turned to me and smiled. “You’re far from your post, Father.”
“Princess Iyedraeka wishes to visit the shrine. And the king has decided to go with her, just to make my day complete.”
Thaeto whistled softly. “I’ll tell Grandahlae not to expect you for dinner.”
“That would be best. It doesn’t look like you’ll be eating anytime soon, either. What a crowd!”
Thaeto shrugged. “It is ever thus, at corvee time.”
“‘Ever thus?’,” I muttered. “Is that poetry? Your brother is rubbing off on you.”
And, as if I had summoned her with the mention of my younger son, the beautiful Maetahtild appeared.
