REDEMPTION
by
Philip E. Batt
Copyright 2014 Philip E. Batt
Other books by Philip E. Batt
The Highport Sagas
Angels
For my family.
Keep following the daydream.
"These beasts, these wolves at the door, would see you slain then sate their hunger at the throats of your babes! Take heed and gird your loins for battle, for as long as the blood pumps in these hearts of ours they shall not walk on our lands!"
Attributed to General Andhun Todbhert, before the Battle of Newland, Imperial Year 2228
(Excerpt from ''A History of the Empire'', by Jeffry de Colenge, IY 2302)
1
The Sixteenth Day of Midspring,
Imperial Year 2332
The thick oak door of Frederick's office closed with a click but he didn't look up, preferring to concentrate on the books and letters that he had spread out across the tabletop. Heavy boots clumped across the wooden boards of his office and stopped in front of his desk.
Let him wait, Frederick told himself.
He finished reading the final paragraph of the text in the latest of his decrees then lifted his iron-nibbed pen to flourish his signature across the bottom of the page before reaching back across the desk to set the implement in its holder. He reached out for his favourite blotting roller, the ivory handle set into a wooden frame, picking it up and pressing it across the wet ink to remove the excess before replacing it back on its silver tray.
Frederick pushed himself back into his chair, leaning his elbows on the padded arms and lifting his eyes, looking up at Martell as he stood before him, his uniform immaculate, his buckles and buttons polished to a ridiculous shine. The soldier stared ahead waiting patiently for him to acknowledge his presence.
'You have a report for me, Commander?' Frederick asked.
'Yes, Your Highness.'
Martell stood at attention, rod-like, and with his hands at his sides. In his right hand he held his black leather gloves and Frederick had no doubt that the man would stay like that all day if it was required of him, or at least until commanded otherwise.
'You may stand easy,' Frederick said, putting the man out of his misery.
Martell stepped his right foot a little to his side and clasped his hands behind his back.
'So, Commander,' he continued, 'tell me of the course of last night's events, from your perspective. I would be grateful if you would begin from the point at which Winterburne left the Palace to pursue Courtenay.'
Martell continued to stare directly ahead, fixing on some imaginary distant point beyond the wall of the office.
'Reports tell me, Sire,' he said, 'that Winterburne, and several of my men, pursued Courtenay through the alleyways and backstreets leading down to the docks. It seems that in the darkness and confusion after his escape from the Palace, Courtenay outmanoeuvred them—'
'I understand that several men were lost.'
Frederick stared at the Commander as he held his position in front of the desk. It seemed that his words had thrown Martell somewhat, interrupting him in midflow as he had, and it took a few moments for him to respond.
'That is correct, Sire.' Martell's eyes moved to look at the Emperor. 'Two of the men were killed and one was seriously injured. One of the dead men was a guard at the Palace, the other was under Winterburne's direct command.'
'Damn!' Frederick replied. 'I had already heard as much, but I had hoped that it was just rumour.' His eyes flicked around his desk, not focussing on any object in particular and then they came back to Martell. 'A thought has struck me though. I wonder if you can explain to me why there were so few men on the streets last night, Commander?'
Martell's eyes shifted, fixing again on the wall behind Frederick. He fidgeted before replying.
'Lord Courtenay issued instructions that I should pull a large number of the men back to the walls, Your Highness.'
'I see,' Frederick said. 'And how many did he suggest were pulled back?'
'Most of them,' Martell mumbled.
'I didn't catch that. Louder, if you please.'
'Most of them, Sire.'
'Really.' Frederick searched Martell's face, looking for any telling reactions. 'And you did not think that that was perhaps a peculiar order?'
'As a matter of fact, Your Highness, I did.' Martell's eyes remained fixed on the wall behind Frederick. 'I registered my disapproval in a formal note of objection. Lord Courtenay was, as might have been expected, unhappy at my remarks, but I felt that it was something that I should do.'
'And, did Courtenay tell you on what grounds you should issue this order?'
'Yes, Your Highness, he did. He suggested that the city might be in danger from the great number of Governors' troops that are stationed outside the walls.'
'That is a quite ridiculous notion.' Frederick frowned. 'What were they going to do, attack their own capital city?'
Martell drew in a deep breath but remained silent.
'And yet, despite your objections and reservations,' Frederick continued, 'you proceeded to perform the order.'
'Of course, Your Highness.' Martell frowned. 'What else was there to do? The rule of the chain of command—'
'Don't stand there and presume to lecture me about the chain of command,' Frederick said, butting in. 'Many men, throughout history, have died because they were prepared to blindly follow orders without questioning their wisdom, or indeed, the intention behind those orders.'
Martell frowned again, his brow creasing into a deep furrow. 'I apologise in advance for the question, Sire, but are you implying that I am at fault for the death of the men, and also somehow for Courtenay's escape?'
'Were are all culpable, Commander.' Frederick leaned back in his chair again. 'I, for accepting Courtenay at face value for all these years and for giving him authority to do as he saw fit. You, for blindly following an unreasonable order without questioning its motivation, or for that matter, speaking to me about it if you felt it was an error of judgement. It strikes me that the only person that might be without guilt in this whole affair is Winterburne, himself.'
'But, Sire,' Martell said, with an edge to his voice that Frederick read to mean that his anger was rising, 'it is his fault that the man escaped.'
'You think so, Commander?'
'Indeed I do, Sire.'
Martell looked uncomfortable, but Frederick seemed to have struck a nerve. The man had lost his disciplined pose and was now speaking freely.
He continued, 'I find it hard to believe that a better man would not have been able to stop him, and bring him down in any number of ways. I have no doubt that there would have been many opportunities for him to act throughout the course of proceedings.'
'A better man?' Frederick was curious now. 'Such as?'
'Any of the men under my control display qualities far superior to anything the Watch can boast.' Martell puffed out his chest. 'I would have ten of my men over three dozen of Winterburne's.'
'In some ways, you may be right,' Frederick said, 'but at least the men of the Watch do not blindly follow orders, even when they are obviously suspect, without first questioning them.'
Martell's jaw-line hardened.
Frederick continued, 'Iron discipline is admirable on the battlefield, Commander, but there is something to be said about allowing a man to think on his feet and to use his own judgement to do the best he can in any given circumstance.' He watched Martell as he stood rigid. 'Would you not agree?'
Martell's eyes looked up at the sky through the windows high up in the walls of the room. 'Yes, Your Highness,' he said.
'Whether you concur with the actions taken last night or not, those actions, for all intents and purposes, saved my life.' Frederick looked
at Martell, noticing him flinch at his words as they hit home. 'So, technically, Commander,' he added, 'one could even go so far as to say that he is in fact a hero of the Empire.'
Martell still remained motionless. 'Yes, Your Highness,' he replied, in a cold tone.
'So do you still think he should have acted any differently?'
'Perhaps not, Sire.'
'Perhaps not, indeed,' Frederick said, continuing to look the man up and down.
There were times, this one included, when he understood exactly why Winterburne found the man so irritating and difficult to deal with, but, he was a good soldier and without doubt a man who had earned the right to his respect over his many years of exemplary service.
Frederick drummed his fingers on the leather padding of the arm of his chair as he thought about his next course of action. 'And I don't suppose you would have any idea where the Captain is now?'
'I understand that he is at the Watch Headquarters, Sire.'
Frederick nodded. 'I'll need to speak to him, of course, to draw out his perspective on events.' He looked over at Martell. 'Please, on your way out, can