Oramen smiled. “My father would have loved to have been at the head of our forces.”
“He would indeed, sir.”
“We will not suffer by his lack? I mean, sufficiently for there to be any doubting the outcome.”
“He is a great loss, sir,” Werreber said. “However, he left the army in its best deportment. And there is, of course, an urge amongst the men to avenge his death.”
“Hmm,” Oramen said, frowning. “I heard that the Deldeyn prisoners were slaughtered after his death.”
“There was killing, sir. It was a battle.”
“After the battle, though. When by every other standard and practice of my father, prisoners are meant to be treated as we would want any of our own taken.”
“There was killing then too, sir. It is to be regretted. Doubtless the men were blinded by grief.”
“I have heard it said that my father ordered the slaughter.”
“I am sorry you have heard that, sir.”
“You were there with him when he died, dear Werreber. Do you remember such an order?”
The field marshal drew back and up a little, and appeared positively discomfited. “Prince,” he said, looking down his great long nose at him, “it is sad, but there are times when the less that is said about certain matters the better it is for all. A clean wound’s best left. Only pain comes from poking and prodding at it.”
“Oh, Werreber, I could not be there at my father’s death. I have a need – natural to any son – to know quite how it was. Can you not help fix it in my mind so that, secured, it’s easier to leave it finally alone? Otherwise I must imagine the scene, the words, the actions, and all these things shift because they are not established for me. So it becomes a wound I cannot help but return to.”
The field marshal looked as uncomfortable as Oramen had ever seen him. “I was not present throughout the incident of your father’s dying,” he said. “I was with the Exaltine, on our way having been summoned, or for some long time outside the building, not wishing to make a crowd while efforts to save the King’s life continued. I heard no such order given by your father regarding the prisoners, but that does not mean it was not given. It hardly matters, sir. Done to order or in an excess of grief, the enemy concerned remain dead.”
“So I’d not dispute,” Oramen said. “It was more the reputation of my father I was thinking of.”
“He must have been in great pain and distress, sir. A fever can afflict men in such circumstances. They become other than themselves and say things they would never say otherwise. Even the bravest. It is often not an edifying spectacle. I repeat, sir; it is all best left alone.”
“Are you saying that at the very end he did not die as he had lived? He would think that a severe charge.”
“No, sir, I am not. In any event, I did not see the very end.” Werreber paused, as if unsure quite how to express himself. “Your father was the bravest man I ever knew. I cannot imagine he met death with anything other than the fierce composure with which he faced its threat so many times during life. Also, though, he was never one to dwell excessively on the past. Even having made a mistake, he took what he might learn from it and then dismissed it. We must do as he would have done, and turn our attention to the future. Now, sir, might I be excused? I believe I am needed at Headquarters. There is much still to be planned.”
“Of course, Werreber,” Oramen said, sipping his drink. “I did not mean to detain you, or unduly press on any wound.”
“Sir.” The field marshal bowed and departed.
Oramen counted himself privileged to have got so much from Werreber, who was known as a man of few words. This was a description unsuited to the Exaltine Chasque, the next figure he approached seeking detail of his father’s death. The Exaltine was rotund in body and face and his dark red robes bulked him out still further. He blustered over his own part in the deathbed scene, claiming his eyes had been too full of tears and his ears brimming with the lamentations of all around to recall much clearly.
“And so, do your studies progress, young prince?” the Exaltine asked, as though returning to the more important subject. “Eh? Do you