Private Tales The Price of Foolishness

[Azmelqar]

THE ASHERAH OCEAN
SANTA ROSARIA

It had been several days of sailing now. Several days since they had finished reloading supplies, several days since they had left Alliria. Several days since Hernan had spent his weight in silver bribing the city watch to stay off his case and chalk up the deaths of those Anirian scum to gang violence. What were national armies but large, wonderfully organized gangs, anyway?

A different sort of superior would have dealt with them immediately, but Hernan liked to let men stew. Think about what they did. And then a few extra days, just to let them slip into thinking that - maybe, just maybe - they had gotten away with it. That it was all forgotten now, and there wouldn't be a problem again. Diego Alcantara might know better by now, but his friends wouldn't.

They were all summoned to the captain's quarters - essentially Hernan's office. Diego, Pedro, Vasco, Simocatta, Eusebius, and that foreigner - Kishou. Simocatta and Eusebius were technically foreigners as well, but Kishou was extra foreign.

They crowded the cabin, and were separated from Hernan by a long desk. Behind the Captain-General stood Brother Francisco, a cleric of the Radiant Church. One of the harsher disciplinarians of the clergy that had accompanied the expedition. There was no mistaking his countenance: his pinched face, the emblem of the sun emblazoned on his surcoat, the flanged mace that hung at his side.

This was a very roundabout way of implying that they were all in for it now.

"Gentlemen," said Hernan. He was fiddling with a scale on his desk, though there was nothing being weighed. "By show of hands, who killed an Anirian last week?"

 

[Amalric Urahil]

Diego cleared his throat. “I killed them all. Only me. Whatever you have in store, it’s on me.”

 

[Azmelqar]

Hernan shifted in his chair, stretched his neck. "I'm not going to keelhaul them, Diego. And I'm also not going to ask again."

He eyed Kishou, the man who had very clearly been standing above two dead men. Two dead men who were cut in such a way that Diego's tiny little rapier would never accomplish. His gaze shifted over the rest of the conspirators.

"Anyone else?"

 

[childish brandino]

Kishou flinched somewhat. He raised a hand. Although he greatly appreciated Diego’s lie, Kishou could not stand for it. He also knew that the lie was blatantly seen-through. He spoke in an extra foreign accent.

“I cut down two men, sir,” It was the first words he had spoken to Hernan.

 

[Azmelqar]

Hernan sighed in relief, glad he did not have to drag a confession out. "I see."

Honesty. Pure and simple. Hernan understood that Brother Francisco rather preferred a challenge, but confining the visceral acts to the punishment itself was much more preferable.

He was impressed, of course, with such a body-count. But there was a time and a place to praise such a thing. Anticipating he would continue to find more luck with the foreigners, Hernan's dark eyes swept over to Eusebius and Simocatta.

"Well?"

Eusebius averted his eyes. "I - we both killed one, if it pleases you, captain."

"Eusebius held him just so, and I mashed his head in."

That solicited a scoff of almost disbelief. Taking two men to kill just one? Even an Anirian deserved a better death. Hernan shook his head. "Fine then. That leaves three more dead unaccounted for."

Finally, back to Diego. And Vasco. And Pedro.

"Brother Francisco cannot absolve you of your sins if you remain quiet. Let's hear it. Now."

 

[Amalric Urahil]

The three of them exchanged a look, then there came, with a sigh “We each killed one.”

“Pedro!”

“What, Diego? There is nothing left but to admit. I won’t see you punished for us.”

“Or stealing our kills,” added Vasco with a wan smile.

No one laughed.

 

[Azmelqar]

These men. They were more like children. Hernan supposed spending one's formative years on campaign could stunt their emotions in all sorts of ways. Well, stunted or not, all men had to be governed. Brother Francisco leaned in and whispered something to Hernan in the furtive language of the Church. The Captain-General's brows knit and he waved the man away.

"Now that we've settled that, we can discuss the flogging," Hernan said, blandly, as if anyone could hardly be surprised that this would be the outcome. "You will each get ten lashes per man you killed."

Ten lashes. They were only Anirians, after all.

"Ah, but you Allirians. You killed only one man between the two of you. You can split the lashes as well."

They disgusted him, really. Smashing a man's head in while another held him down? Like common thugs. Were these the caliber of sailor this treasure fleet was reduced to? Bah. Whatever. Fair was fair. Hernan once again came to regard @Kishou - the foreigner of foreigners, the most honest one of the bunch. He rested a finger on one of the plate of his scale, fiddling with it idly.

"And you. You fought alongside these men as though they were your brothers. I cannot fathom why. Still, such kindness - and bravery - should be recognized."

The scale gave a soft creak as Hernan put pressure on it, lowering the plate ever so slightly.

"Thirteen lashes."

 

[childish brandino]

Kishou bowed quite formally to Hernan. His torso was parallel to the floor. He rose, and met Hernan’s eyes with his own. Kishou had never been lashed, yet he could make some assumptions on how it would feel.

Still, despite his worst expectations, it did not compare to the ritual disemboweling and beheading he witnessed warriors from his homeland commit to themselves to preserve their honor. Even minor punishments would have one cut off a digit with a sharp knife. To Kishou, twenty lashes was getting off easy. Then, Hernan graciously cut seven lashes off. Any right-minded individual would gladly take the thirteen lashes.

“Your leniency humbles me,” He finally said after a brief moment of eye contact, "But, I must respectfully decline. My actions do not separate me from the men that stand by my shoulders at this moment. You have declared that for each man we killed, we get ten lashes. I do not believe that I deserve to be an exception to this rule. If you would, please allow me to be punished according to the same standards of the men beside me."

Kishou bowed again, and did not raise his head until Hernan responded.

He thought to himself that this was the worst thing a silver coin has ever bought him.

 

[Azmelqar]

Punishing chivalrous men was always such a fiasco. Between Diego mewling how he had done it all himself and now Kishou begging for the full measure, this was becoming quite the chore. Hernan exchanged a questioning look with Brother Francisco, whose mouth was taut with a grimace.

Back home, Brother Francisco had been tasked with rooting out heretics. There were always the would-be martyrs that had to be neutralized in more unique ways, less they gathered followings and compounded problems. Hernan wondered if he was seeing that sort of behavior in Diego and Kishou.

"I don't know what about these proceedings has implied you are in a position to decline a sentence and request a different one," Hernan said, quite dryly. "If you find you are not satisfied with thirteen, Brother Francisco will lend you his lash when he is finished with the others, and you may carry out the remainder yourself."

There were flagellants back home. Scores of them, as a matter of fact. Sailors did not like them much. Anyone who inflicted that kind of punishment on themselves willingly was not right in the head, and not altogether kind to be at sea with.

 

[childish brandino]

Kishou’s posture straightened. He looked at Hernan for a moment, and subtly shook his head. While initially he thought that him asking for the same punishment would go over well, Kishou was bluntly reminded that this is not his homeland. He felt foolish, but remained expressionless. “I apologize for the disruption. Thank you for shortening my punishment. It will also not be necessary for Brother Francisco-” He somewhat butchered the pronunciation- “to lend his lash to me.”

He had embarrassed himself once, and had no desire to do so again. He felt Brother Francisco’s gaze settle on him, which frustrated him for some unaccountable reason. He did not care much for men like Brother Francisco. Rarely had he encountered any of those religious types that he actually got on with. And, this man would be lashing his back? Kishou loathed the thought. Kishou remained silent for the rest of the proceeding, only intending to speak again if spoken to.

 

[Azmelqar]

Hernan smiled joylessly at Kishou. "I thought not."

The Captain-General reclined in his chair, the wood creaking under the stress. There were other meetings to sit through today, and the less time spent haggling over floggings, the better. He gestured, shooing them all towards the door they had shuffled through.

"Off with you all now. Brother Francisco will summon you when it is time."

Brother Francisco liked to draw these sorts of things out. They would not go all at once, but in small groups, spread out over several days. The longer the lesson, he often said, the better the retention.

 

[Ferran el Machir]

The Santa Rosaria was a fine build.

None of the ships in the expedition were of poor quality. Ferran had spent time at each port ensuring rigorous inspections were conducted to ensure nothing was out of the ordinary. There was no fear of any failing to make the passage save that the gods' wrath struck them.

He'd done his best to keep in their favour too. Something that he'd kept furtive from the Radiant Church. The sons of Tormes might find one god was enough but for sailors, there was often need of many. The presence of the priests had many of the crew uneasy but there was little to be done.

They always put Ferran's nerves on edge. He'd been there the last time the northerners had crossed the Baal-Asha in strength, seen the tail end of the Quatreville Wars too. The aftermath was always the worst. Lingering long enough to see what was happening, leaving with a disgust a moment or two later.

Hard to avoid them afloat. But at least out here, he was lord and master. The thought made him grin. His city had no king, he'd never be a lord, but you could feel like one out here. Beyond the sight of land, blue on every horizon. Skills of navigation, knowledge of the sea, it made one feel worth something. Sailors were a superstitious lot but they walked with more confidence here, goading the soldiery at every turn.

That lot had been surprisingly quiet, discipline seemed tighter since Alliria. They'd been put to use as deckhands, they might even be half serviceable by the time they reached Nagai. If..

He quashed the thought. He sent a hand forward to measure the ship's speed while he squinted at the sun, orientating himself in his head. "You have the wheel" he told the helmsman, stepping away from it and grabbing his canteen. He moved to the maindeck, grateful for a break. A sailor dutifully changed the sand timers and rang the bell.

 

[Amalric Urahil]

Diego gave a bark of laughter, like a startled dog. Then shrugged, “Well let’s get on with it.”

He reached up and started undoing the laces on his shirt.