The Belly of the Bow Read online

  He crossed the Square quickly and quietly, keeping in the shadows more from force of habit than for any conscious reason; but the old man saw him and recognised him before he spoke.

  ‘Gorgas Loredan,’ he said.

  ‘Patriarch,’ Gorgas replied, with a polite nod. ‘You’re looking well.’

  Alexius smiled. ‘I can say the same of you,’ he said, ‘and with the added advantage of telling the truth.’ He hesitated, having nothing else to say; he remembered their last conversation, in his lodgings at the Academy.

  ‘Would you like to join us for dinner?’ Gorgas said. ‘We’re having lentil soup and a leg of lamb, and my wife’s just bought some rather fine-looking sausages. It’s not far, just around the corner.’

  Alexius looked at him, and Gorgas was reminded of the expression in the stationer’s eyes as they argued over the price of the penknife. A bargain was being struck here, compromise traded for compromise. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ Alexius said, and he glanced down at the lump of hard barley bread he was holding in his hands. ‘But your wife won’t thank me for rolling up for dinner at a moment’s notice, I’m sure.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Gorgas replied. ‘We enjoy having people for dinner, and there’s plenty to go round. Our cook always makes at least one helping more than we need, and then eats it himself. He could do with losing weight, before he ends up getting hopelessly wedged in the scullery doorway.’

  ‘In that case,’ Alexius replied, ‘I’d be delighted.’

  In the short time he’d been on Scona, Alexius had seen rather more than he’d wanted to of a couple of large, apparently official buildings and slightly less of the very cheap inn where he’d deposited his second-best coat and shoes. So far, he hadn’t seen inside a real house, and he had to admit to himself that he was curious. Why this should be, he didn’t know. Since he left home and joined the Foundation, he’d spent most of his life in dormitories, cells and lodgings, and the only ordinary dwellings he’d ever got to know properly were his family home and the house of Venart and his sister Vetriz, the merchants from the Island who’d rescued him from the sack of Perimadeia. The two establishments had been so unlike each other that any scientific attempt to extrapolate a model of an Ordinary House was clearly futile. Nevertheless, he wanted to see inside Gorgas Loredan’s house, and that was all there was to it.

  If he’d been hoping to find anything in common between the Loredan house and either of his two previous samples, he was disappointed. It was as if his old home had been cut open and turned inside out, like a rabbit’s skin; instead of the house being surrounded by the garden, what passed for a garden was in the middle of the house. A more inconvenient arrangement, he couldn’t help thinking, would be hard to devise. If you wanted to go from one room to another that happened to be on the opposite side of the square, you’d either have to traipse all through the intervening rooms or else walk across the grass - aggravating if it was dark or raining. Also, because the little patch of open space was surrounded by high walls, it was overshadowed at all times of day, which meant there was no chance of growing vegetables or fruit, and surely that defeated the whole object. He could only guess that this style of building was forced on these people by the needs of defence and security, so that each house was enclosed by high walls like a little city. A strange way to live, he reflected, and not to his taste.

  On the other hand, it was better than the inn, although since the same could be said of virtually any building with a roof, that wasn’t a supreme compliment. Loredan’s wife, a pleasant-faced woman in her late thirties, seemed genuinely pleased to have company, and the little girl immediately understood, with that special sense that small children have, that here was an old man not particularly used to children who could be charmed to death. All in all, it seemed like a fine specimen of a family, the sort of household you might show students round as a field exercise for the part of the course dealing with human relationships. It was almost as if it had been designed that way, and the accessory family members carefully selected for the purpose; or was that just his knowledge of Gorgas’ past life colouring his judgement? Quite possibly. After all, he had about as much hard data on families as he had on dwelling-houses, and for all he really knew, the Loredan household might easily be as typical as it seemed.

  There was one thing about normal family life that he was fairly sure of, however: in unhappy homes the cooking is usually lousy, and vice versa. On that basis, Gorgas Loredan and his family were as happy and contented as they looked. And, since he had no idea where his next good meal was coming from, he made the most of this one with all the professional thoroughness of the lifelong student. If his hosts were offended or amused, they showed no sign of it. If Loredan was deliberately trying to create images of normality about him, then as far as keeping a good table as befitted a man of his position went, he’d done a good job.

  When the last plate had been cleaned off and taken away, the wife and children discreetly withdrew in the approved manner and left the two men alone. There was a well-laid fire in the hearth, with a kettle simmering over it to provide hot water for the spiced wine, the chairs were deep and comfortable and a fine chessboard stood conveniently at hand on a rosewood pedestal, though Alexius somehow had the feeling that it had never been used. Normally a heavy meal and a warm fire would have sent him straight to sleep, but he wasn’t even feeling drowsy. He nodded his thanks as Gorgas handed him a cup, and took a careful sip. The stuff was quite hot, almost black, highly aromatic and extremely sweet.

  ‘Welcome to Scona,’ Gorgas said with a grin.

  ‘Thank you.’ Alexius took another sip. The aftertaste was ever so slightly stale. ‘You’re the second person to say that to me. Maybe you know why I’m here.’

  ‘Me? Sorry.’

  ‘Oh, well. I thought, since your sister had me brought here—’

  Gorgas’ mouth set in a dry imitation of a smile. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know the half of what my sister does. All I can say is, if she fetched you here, it’ll be for a good reason. Good for her, of course, and for the Bank. But I’ll do my best to see to it that your stay here’s as pleasant as possible. Which reminds me, where are you staying? Has Niessa had you installed in one of the lodges at the Bank, or have you been slung out to make your own arrangements? Actually,’ he added, ‘if it’s the latter it’s a good sign, if you see what I mean. From your point of view, that is.’

  Alexius’ mouth twitched. ‘I asked one of the clerks at the place I was taken to if he could recommend a good, cheap inn. To be fair to him, it’s cheap.’

  Gorgas laughed. ‘If it’s the Wildcat in Cat Street, it’d be cheap at half the price. It is the Cat, isn’t it? Well, in that case, I’d like it if you’d stay with us here. No, really,’ he added, as Alexius made polite noises. ‘The Cat’s one of the Bank’s inns and really, you don’t want to stay there. I’ll send my boy round there in the morning for your luggage.’

  Alexius decided not to protest. True, there was something he could not quite fathom about this house that made him feel uncomfortable. On the other hand, he had no difficulty whatsoever in isolating any number of things about the inn that made him feel very uncomfortable indeed, ranging from the fleas to the certain knowledge that he wouldn’t have enough money to pay the bill after the first week. Mental discomfort, he decided, may be a cruel thing, but sharing one’s bed with half the bugs on Scona was just as bad and rather more immediate. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘You’re being extremely kind.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ Gorgas replied, meticulously sprinkling cinnamon powder into his cup from a small pointed spoon. ‘Sadly I’m in no position to say that any friend of my brother’s is a friend of mine, though not from any lack of goodwill on my part. How’s the fire doing? Are you warm enough?’

  ‘I’m fine, honestly,’ Alexius answered. Just fine, he added to himself. And thank you for not pointing out that I keep shivering, because it’d be embarrassing to have to explain that these shivers have nothin
g at all to do with how cold it is. ‘Please excuse me if this is a rude question,’ he went on, ‘but haven’t you put on a little weight since I saw you last?’

  Gorgas pulled a mock scowl. ‘You’re a horribly perceptive man, Patriarch,’ he sighed. ‘The truth is, I’m getting to the age when men start to slow down and thicken out. I’m told the condition is incurable. You, on the other hand, are obviously pickled in wisdom and likely to keep good almost indefinitely. They do say scholars only come in two sizes, short and round or long and thin, and the latter category’s like the strips of dried beef you take on long journeys.’

  Alexius smiled from the neck up. ‘Your sister’s just taken me on a long journey,’ he said pleasantly. ‘I do hope she doesn’t mean to eat me.’

  ‘Not in the sense you mean,’ Gorgas replied, straight-faced. Then he leant forward, resting the points of his elbows on his knees, his hands cupped under his chin. This man has the biggest hands I’ve ever seen, Alexius noticed. ‘If you want to know why you’re here, my guess is that those two merchant friends of yours - Venart and something or other, I forget the girl’s name - have been dining out on stories of their friend the great wizard, and my sister’s heard about it. She’s very fond of collecting things she believes may come in useful at an unspecified future date, and I imagine you fall into that category.’

  Alexius’ expression stayed fixed. ‘But I’m not a wizard,’ he said. ‘There’s no such thing as wizards. I’m sure a - a businesswoman like your sister must know—’

  Gorgas shrugged. ‘Niessa knows all sorts of obscure things,’ he said. ‘Quite possibly - and no offence intended - she knows rather more about what you are and what you aren’t than you do. Or maybe she just wants someone who’s widely believed to be a wizard, which is probably every bit as useful as the real thing, looked at from the practical point of view. In any event,’ he added, rubbing his broad cheeks with his fingertips, ‘if I know Niessa the worst she’ll do to you is keep you hanging around and maybe be a few weeks late paying your expenses. After all, she’s a banker, not a wicked queen.’

  Alexius nodded. ‘Thank you for the reassurance,’ he said. ‘I’ll admit I was worried. But tell me, I’m never ashamed to admit my ignorance: I really know next to nothing about Scona and this Bank of yours. Your sister said something about being at war. I didn’t realise that banks fought wars.’

  Gorgas leant back and folded his hands behind his head. ‘That,’ he said, ‘is by way of being a very long story. I’ll be happy to tell it to you now, but it’ll keep till morning if you’d rather.’

  ‘Now will do fine,’ Alexius replied. ‘If it’s no trouble.’

  ‘A pleasure.’ Gorgas smiled. ‘But first, my guess is that you’d be very interested indeed to know if I’ve got any news of my brother, but you didn’t like to ask, in case - well. Am I right?’

  Alexius dipped his head. ‘Understandably enough, I think. But yes, I’d dearly love to know what’s become of him. I only knew him for a short time, but—’ Alexius hesitated, then closed his mouth. Gorgas nodded.

  ‘Quite so,’ he said. ‘Well, you’ll be pleased to hear that my brother’s very much alive, disgustingly healthy and, as far as I can tell, as happy as a lamb in his new profession, which is making bows, of all things.’

  ‘Making bows?’ Alexius repeated.

  ‘Making bows. You know, as in bows and arrows. Apparently he’s very good at it and earning a comfortable living, up to his ankles in shavings and his wrists in glue, in the mountains here on Scona and ostentatiously having nothing to do with his sister or myself. I expect he’d like to see you, though, so I’ll see about having a message sent to him. Or better still, perhaps you’d best write him a letter. Otherwise he might assume a message from me is some kind of game and refuse to hear it.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Alexius said. ‘If you don’t mind doing that, I’d be very grateful.’

  ‘My pleasure. Now, I was about to start the history lesson. A drop more wine before class? Good idea, I think I’ll join you. Now then. I think the best place to start would be the beginning.’

  In the beginning (according to Gorgas Loredan) there was a large triangular spit of land jutting into the sea. The distance across the base of the triangle, which was reasonably flat, is ten days’ ride; but that’s virtually the only flat land on the peninsular; the rest of it’s taken up with mountains of varying degrees of bleakness, and nobody in their right mind would want to live there if they didn’t have to. Unfortunately, however, the ancestors of the people who now occupy the Shastel peninsular didn’t have the choice. They were thrown out of their own country by some wild and woolly tribe or other - second cousins of your own plainsmen, so I believe - and settled in the mountains because horsemen couldn’t go there. By the time the horsemen had gone away, they’d been there over a century, and so they stayed.

  Now, it’s in the way of things that some people do better in life than others, and after a few generations there were a few families who’d done well, and a great many more who hadn’t, and there’s nothing unusual in that. What made the settlers in Shastel different was the fact that over the years they’d become - what’s the word I’m looking for? Not superstitious. Religious, perhaps? No, that’s got the wrong associations. Pious, maybe, or at least they were all very moral people, terribly concerned about right and wrong and thinking deep thoughts about spiritual matters when they weren’t killing themselves trying to scratch a living. In any event, those families who’d become better off than their fellows came together and decided that it wasn’t right that they should have more than they needed while others didn’t have enough; not only was it rather terrible and wicked, it also offended against what their philosophy saw as the fundamental principle of balance and equilibrium - I don’t know why I’m telling you this, because of course you know all about it. Isn’t that where your own system of philosophy originated, and the study of the Principle? Anyway, that’s all rather above my head. The upshot as far as this story’s concerned was that they decided to pool all their surplus resources and endow a great and good Foundation, which was to last for all time and devote itself to the two things they held to be most worthwhile: helping the poor and working out a coherent code of morality and ethics.

  This Foundation was given the name of the Grand Foundation of Charity and Contemplation, and its development and management were entrusted in perpetuity to the twenty leading families of Shastel. They built a magnificent place called the Hospital in the valley at the foot of Mount Shastel itself; it was big enough to house up to five thousand needy people and five thousand scholars, and it was open to everybody. People who couldn’t make a living, or who wanted to devote their lives to philosophy and learning, could just turn up at the gates and have board and lodgings for as long as they wanted, with nothing to pay and no obligations.

  (‘It sounds like a good idea,’ Alexius murmured.

  ‘It was a splendid idea,’ Gorgas replied. ‘They always are.’)

  Anyway (Gorgas continued) the Foundation’s endowments flourished, and the noble houses carried on adding to them, and soon there were no more poor and destitute families to be taken in and looked after; but the ones who were already there were starting to get restive, cooped up in the Hospital with nobody but the scholars to talk to. They said they were very grateful for everything the Foundation had done for them, but they didn’t want charity, they wanted the chance to work and make something of themselves, and everyone agreed that that sounded like a very good idea, too.

  So the Foundation decided that the best thing would be to lend the poor people enough supplies and equipment to allow them to go back outside the walls and support themselves. It was generally agreed that if a family was given enough food to last them five years, and the basic tools and equipment, it was perfectly possible for them to turn the wilderness into good, productive farmland, by building terraces, clearing forests, draining marshes and diverting rivers. That was how the peninsula had been settled in the
first place, with hope and goodwill and a great deal of hard work. That sounded like a perfectly splendid idea, and so that’s what they did. The Foundation became a bank and lent the pioneers everything they needed - it couldn’t be an outright gift, everybody agreed, because if they gave away their endowment to this generation of the poor, who would provide for the next generation, and the one after that? - and the loans were secured on the allotments of land that the pioneers were given.

  Of course, it was understood from the outset that it would be a very long time before they’d be able to pay back the capital of the loans, but that was fine, nobody was in a hurry provided that the Foundation still got enough resources to continue its work in both its fields of endeavour, charity and contemplation. So it was decided that repayment of the capital would be postponed indefinitely, and all the pioneers would be expected to pay would be interest; and to make it fairer still, the interest wouldn’t be calculated in the normal way, as a percentage of the capital, because that might prove more than the pioneers could afford. Instead it was agreed that after the first five years, by which time the land ought to be ready and in production, they should pay back a set proportion of everything they produced - so much grain, so much wine and wool and what have you. In the end they settled on a seventh part, because it seemed reasonable to expect surpluses of that order from half-decently run holdings. And everybody concerned felt that that was an extremely good idea; quite possibly the best yet.

  (Gorgas Loredan paused and took a long drink; then he wiped his mouth and continued.)

  A hundred years later, of course, the full extent of the disaster was obvious to everyone. Three generations had gone by and none of the pioneer families had even made a start on paying back the capital; the one-seventh share they had to pay the Foundation Bank exactly cancelled out their surpluses, and no matter how hard they worked they were still stuck at subsistence level with no prospect of ever being able to improve their position. Meanwhile, there was a constant stream of produce flowing in through the gates of the Hospital which couldn’t just be left to moulder away in the jar; it had to be lent out to the poor, or else the whole charter of the Foundation would become meaningless. So lend it out they did; and anyone who didn’t want a loan was reasoned with until he did, because the books had to balance and the good works had to be done. And what with the new loans and the general effect all this was having on the people who weren’t debtors to the Foundation, who had to buy their seed corn in bad years out of their own pockets and pay for their own ploughs and do their ditching and terracing at their own expense, it wasn’t long before the Foundation Bank had mortgage stones in nearly every boundary wall in the peninsular, and more and more funds coming in each year to be invested in charity, or else.