Fic: Iteration (6/8) (Berserk)
Title: Iteration
Author: Akshi
Fandom: Berserk
Warnings: Alternate universe, violence (kind of a given with this series, eh?), het sex, character death
Archive: Please ask me first
Disclaimers: Berserk belongs to Kentarou Miura and Hakusensha. Warm thanks go to my patient and long-suffering beta readers, Jeanne and Priya, for beating this story into the shape it is now. I would also like to thank Tsubaki and Sahari for their feedback. Any mistakes are, of course, entirely mine. Feedback appreciated at pharcical@yahoo.com
Part Six
Muttsu, Mukuro to kawarya senu
(Six, just like a dead body)
The morning after Yurius’s assassination marks a turning point for Gatts. For the first time, his faith in Griffith has been shaken. He feels numb.
By contrast, the whole of the city is aflame with rumour and counter-rumour, trying to understand who could have killed such a powerful figure. Griffith, naturally, comes under suspicion, but Iruva provides an alibi for the night of the murder that the court is forced to accept. Almost immediately, they come to realise that Yurius’s death has made Griffith even more influential at court than before. More and more nobles flock to seek the White Hawk’s favour.
Gatts knows that the others are worried about him. Casca is particularly solicitous, albeit in her usual abrupt manner, but Gatts avoids her most of all. He knows that she suspects the truth and he doesn’t want to see the questions in her eyes. Eventually, Griffith chooses to notice his distraction and asks him if he would like to lead a recruiting mission to Siova. Gatts is only too happy to accept.
Riding down into the fertile plains of his home province, Gatts and his band of men stop at every large village on the way. At each stop, they stay for a day or two, drilling on the meeting ground of the village and signing up some of the young men who acquit themselves creditably against a Hawk in a practice bout. Their fame has spread to such an extent that they have to turn away many of the men who want to join them.
Gatts does not make a conscious note of it, but he is aware of the exact date on which they are to reach his own village. He knows that many of the men look forward to seeing the ocean for the first time in their lives: the part of Midland that borders the ocean has always been peaceful and prosperous, so the Hawks have never had occasion to come here. As they near the ocean, a knot of mixed feelings grows in his stomach: distaste and eagerness. There is no one in the village that he looks forward to seeing, but he is human enough to want to rub his success in each and every one of their faces.
Their entrance, when it finally comes, is curiously anticlimactic. They ride in one evening and make straight for the village’s only inn, a decrepit old building near the main road. That night, after the Hawks have made themselves comfortable in their quarters, Gatts ventures out on once-familiar streets, now strangely changed to him. The white dust coating the road rises in small puffs with his steps, as he walks past the village temple and the weaver’s shop. Soon enough he sees the forge. It is lit by the red glow of the furnace, just as he remembers. He walks past; it is not what he is interested in. Further on, past the neatly thatched houses of the village people, is an old shack.
He ducks inside to find the village midwife squatting on her haunches, devouring her evening meal of rice and fish. ‘Good even, grandmother,’ he says, while the crone squints up at his face. ‘Do you remember me?’
‘Sit down, so I can see your face in the light,’ she says, gesturing at a spot in front of the sputtering fire. He squats beside her and she studies his features intently, a look of triumph coming over her face.
‘Ha! I knew it! You’re back, like a bad penny,’ she says. ‘Did you come back to finish the job, then?’
‘What?’
‘Well, your stepfather’s dead, which only leaves three of them to go,’ she says, smiling nastily.
He hadn’t known he had become a killer so early. He ignores the question with some effort, knowing from painful experience that she enjoys provoking everyone she meets. ‘I came to ask about my mother. You delivered me, didn’t you? No one ever told me anything about her.’
‘That’s because there’s precious little to tell, boy. Your mother only stayed in the village five days, when she was on the run with her group of deserters. Soon enough, the King’s men caught up with them and hung her, pregnant as she was. I was walking by the tree with your foster mother when we saw you slip from her and onto the ground. I didn’t have to do a thing. She was already dead when you were born.’
He nods. It only confirms what he was able to piece together from the jeers of the villagers.
‘I told your foster mother to leave you be. I told her a dead whore’s child had no business living, but she was too soft hearted to leave you crying there. Well, she soon regretted it, didn’t she?’
This brings his head up and he glares at her. ‘You wanted to leave a child to die? What kind of healer are you?’
‘I make no apologies, boy,’ the old hag tells him. ‘There’s things as should and shouldn’t be saved. You were meant to die on the day you were born. Your life will only bring suffering to us all.’
He stands up, too angry to listen anymore. ‘Shut up, you old bitch! What do you know about it?’ He pushes his face close to hers. ‘Look at me now, you senile fool! I’m fine, I’m better than anyone in this damned village will ever be!’
He leaves the hut, his whole body shaking with anger. Fool, he tells himself, fool! Why did you ever come back? He spends the next day barking orders at his men, his displeasure so plain on his face that no one ventures a joke or a familiar remark. Days later, as they are riding on to the next town, stupidly, irrationally, the midwife’s words ring in his mind again and again. Your life will only bring suffering to us all.
Even the countryside seems to reflect his mood: the summer has been unusually dry and the fields are sere and parched. People begin looking wary instead of impressed when they ride in, unwilling to part with any portion of their stores when this year’s harvest looks to be so scanty. The farmers are increasingly worried about the tardy monsoon.
It is in character for Garima, Gatts thinks sourly, that the capital seems so completely removed from the atmosphere of worry prevalent in the rest of Midland. His month-long absence has only reinforced his dislike of the place. The stone arches of the south gate are decorated with garlands of flowers and his horse tramples more flowers as he makes his way back to the barracks. The three-day celebration of some wealthy guildsman’s daughter’s wedding has just ended and Garima is still recovering from its excesses. As are the Hawks, Gatts discovers to his disgust, when he walks through the barracks. The quarters of most of the men are a far cry from the Spartan cleanliness he expects from them. Griffith will have to be told about it: his increasing lack of involvement with the men is having an impact on morale.
He dumps his saddlebags in his rooms and pauses only to wash his face and hands before he walks to Griffith’s quarters. When his knock goes unanswered, he pushes the door slightly ajar and a waft of scented smoke washes over his face: Dreamseeker. Gatts’ face tightens and he moves into the room, following the smell of the drug. He finds Griffith lying on his bed, toying with the carved pipe he is smoking. Griffith’s eyes are half-closed and his fingers move in a languid wave when he sees Gatts.
‘What are you doing, Griffith?’ Gatts snatches the pipe away from his friend, who protests, but is too far-gone to exert himself in recovering it. He gives up, smiling lazily at Gatts.
‘Aaah, so you’re back. I missed you, you know. I met the King and Iruva and Dhoval and a dozen other nobles and priests, and then I met them all again, but I still missed you.’
He continues in a dreamy tone, ‘I never worked half so hard with Gennon, you know. I go to the temples every day - they’re so powerful, Gatts, you can’t imagine, I never even guessed - and the things they make me do!’ A quiver goes through his body. ‘But it’s all worth it, isn’t it, if it’s for my dream? It’s okay if that’s why I’m doing it, isn’t it, Gatts?’
Under the drug-induced lethargy, there is a note of what seems to be anxiety in his voice, to which Gatts can’t help but respond. ‘Yes, Griffith.’
A beatific smile greets his response, then Griffith’s lids slide fully shut and he falls asleep. Gatts opens the windows to air out the room. Then he goes through Griffith’s possessions. At the end of the search, there is a neat pile of vials and powders in front of him. Gatts hadn’t thought it was possible to feel worse than he had when he left his village for the second time. Everything the Band of the Hawk stands for seems to be falling apart.
>
His confrontation with the other officers is even more depressing. Corkus and Rickert are at the Temple of Desire, but the remaining three are frustrated and edgy. Not bothering with pleasantries, Gatts asks them about the state of the barracks. They tell him that the men are getting increasingly out of control, that more and more of them are following Corkus and Rickert’s example, and that there are too many of them to reprimand. Griffith could help, if he exerted himself, but the men are only too aware that their leader is indulging in vices of his own.
‘And what are the rest of you doing, to stop Griffith from smoking himself stupid? Why is he in this state? What would happen if the King saw him like this?’ he demands angrily.
‘The King is an addict himself, Gatts,’ Casca replies tightly. ‘We’ve all tried to talk to Griffith, but he’s spending more and more time in the temples and at the palace and none of us can get through to him!’ Her dark eyes are desperate when she looks at him. ‘We were hoping that when you came back - ’ she breaks off.
Gatts closes his eyes.
‘Something’s wrong with him. I mean, besides the drugs,’ Judeau says, ‘I’d never even seen Griffith drunk before this and now you can barely find him without a pipe in his hand.’
‘It’s those damned priests! They have the whole city wrapped around their fingers! My men have started visiting those damned temples and I can’t stop them. Even Rickert won’t listen to me.’ Pippin’s voice breaks and they fall silent. All of them know how close the giant is to their youngest member. If they are now so far apart, then things have gone very badly wrong.
>
The following days are little better. Gatts berates his men, individually and in groups, making it very clear that none of them are indispensable. It snaps most of them out of their insubordination, but some remain recalcitrant, forcing him to discharge them. Even those who submit have a disturbingly resentful light in their eyes, but Gatts tells himself that it is a start. Rickert and Corkus tell him flatly that their religious practices are none of his business, but at least his tongue-lashing shames them into paying closer attention to their men.
Attempts to reason with Griffith get him nowhere. Gatts knows that his friend does not possess the weakness of the true addict; he’s convinced Griffith is using Dreamseeker to hide from something, but he can’t get anything out of him. The closer they come to the new moon, the more nervous Griffith seems to become, avoiding Gatts and his questions in increasingly ingenious ways.
Rickert finally unbends enough to tell Gatts that the new moon of the ninth month marks one of the most auspicious days for followers of the God Hand and that some sort of temple ceremony will be taking place on that day. Only true devotees are allowed to witness it, he says. In a sudden rush of sincerity, he puts his hand on Gatts’ arm, telling him that it is not too late for him to see the error of his ways, that he really wants Gatts to experience what he’s learnt. Shortly, however, this glimpse of the old caring Rickert is subsumed under the persona of the rigid fanatic.
Casca, Judeau and Pippin are also grimly combating the insubordination in their ranks. Increasingly, the four of them feel as though they are under siege from an intangible enemy, sensing a disturbing miasma of religious fanaticism throughout the barracks. It has gone far beyond the professional soldier’s normal superstition. Most of the men have taken to wearing armbands that denote their religious affiliation, some of them going so far as to conduct private services within their quarters.
Gatts feels at sea among his men. He had always taken it for granted that they shared his indifference towards the God Hand and all other forms of organised religion, assuming naively that a shared language of army slang and smutty jokes was evidence of their common thinking, of a certain irreverence towards any and all institutions. And now so many of his Hawks, friends and comrades all, have swallowed this putrid religious doctrine whole, ignoring or unaware of its overtones of corruption and excess. It is as if he is suddenly living amongst strangers.
Judeau seems to be suffering most from the strain. One night, Gatts passes his room and hears him cry out. Inside, Judeau is sweating and shaking in his bed. He tells Gatts that he has been having terrible nightmares. ‘Since when?’ Gatts asks him, and Judeau tells him that he doesn’t know; he’s had them as long as he can remember, but they’ve been so much worse lately.
With a start, Gatts notices the circles under Judeau’s eyes: insomnia has been taking its toll on Judeau and his usually calm demeanour is fraying at the edges. Gatts has been having bad dreams himself - involving some kind of flying monster? - that he never quite remembers when he wakes, but he remembers his fear clearly and understands something of what Judeau is going through.
Judeau is clearly in no state to be left alone, so Gatts sits on the edge of the bed and talks about nothing for a while. It seems to help and after that night they often meet on the roof when unable to sleep, taking grim comfort in each other’s company.
Gatts begins keeping tabs on Griffith’s movements, as far as he is able, which is not saying much since Griffith spends an increasing amount of time sequestered with the King or the priests. He disappears on the night of the new moon without telling Gatts, who settles down to wait for him in his room. Several hours later, he is awoken by the sound of footsteps. The lamps have burned out and the room is dark when Griffith walks through the door, more alert than Gatts has seen him for some time, and strangely excited. ‘Where were you, Griffith?’ he asks, prepared to weather a storm of insults. He has heard them all before: he is not Griffith’s keeper, Griffith can do what he likes, and to hell with Gatts!
To his surprise, Griffith answers him calmly. ‘The Temple of Desire.’
‘What, smoking up again?’ Gatts asks, irritated, in a deliberate attempt to provoke him.
Griffith smiles. ‘No, I don’t need that rubbish anymore.’ He walks to the window, fingering the red pendant around his neck as he looks out at the palace. Then he swings around to face Gatts, standing silhouetted against the black sky.
‘I’m sorry. I’ve been worrying you, haven’t I? It’s stupid when I think about it now. I don’t know why I’ve been acting this way.’
Gatts is silent, confused by Griffith’s sudden remorse.
‘There’s no point in having a goal if you’re not prepared to sacrifice everything to it, is there, Gatts?’
‘No,’ Gatts says slowly.
‘Poor Gatts,’ Griffith continues, almost affectionately, ‘always so worried. There’s really no need to be, you know. Things are going to go exactly as planned.’
‘Oh, good,’ Gatts says dryly. ‘Do your plans involve you taking any kind of interest in the Hawks in the near future?’
Griffith laughs. ‘Go to sleep, Gatts. Tomorrow is going to be very busy.’ Gatts leaves, puzzled, but hopeful for the first time in weeks.
>
Gatts wakes to a hand urgently shaking his shoulder in the early morning. ‘Sir Griffith is asking for you,’ a page tells him, eyes wide. Dressing quickly, he bumps into Casca and Pippin in the corridor leading to Griffith’s quarters. ‘What’s going on?’ he asks them, but they don’t know either. They reach the scene of madness that Griffith’s rooms have become, pages hurrying in and out as fast as they can walk. Inside, Griffith is tying his cravat, looking into the mirror held by one of the boys. ‘We’re going to the palace,’ he says, ‘the King will be making a special announcement to the city today.’
‘About what?’ Casca says.
‘You’ll see. Get ready, quickly.’
An hour later, the Hawk officers are assembled behind Griffith as he greets the King. Griffith bows low and the King nods, smiling, and passes on to the balcony used for royal announcements to the city. The square overlooked by the palace is packed with a solid mass of bodies, their upturned faces expectant. Cheering breaks out when the King lifts his arms outwards and up, greeting his subjects.
‘Today is a day of rejoicing for Midland, my people. I have given Princess Charlotte’s hand in marriage to a man who has proved his valour time and time again on the battlefield. I have no doubt that their union will ensure many years of prosperity and happiness for the people of Midland.’
He turns to the side, stretching his hand out to Griffith, who walks out into view of the crowd.
‘I give you - Sir Griffith!’
This time the cheers are frenzied, shaking the foundations of the palace in an outpouring of exultation that reaches to the skies. Griffith stands by the King’s side, a proud straight figure, raising elegant hands to acknowledge the approval of the people.
Part Five is here.
Author: Akshi
Fandom: Berserk
Warnings: Alternate universe, violence (kind of a given with this series, eh?), het sex, character death
Archive: Please ask me first
Disclaimers: Berserk belongs to Kentarou Miura and Hakusensha. Warm thanks go to my patient and long-suffering beta readers, Jeanne and Priya, for beating this story into the shape it is now. I would also like to thank Tsubaki and Sahari for their feedback. Any mistakes are, of course, entirely mine. Feedback appreciated at pharcical@yahoo.com
Part Six
Muttsu, Mukuro to kawarya senu
(Six, just like a dead body)
The morning after Yurius’s assassination marks a turning point for Gatts. For the first time, his faith in Griffith has been shaken. He feels numb.
By contrast, the whole of the city is aflame with rumour and counter-rumour, trying to understand who could have killed such a powerful figure. Griffith, naturally, comes under suspicion, but Iruva provides an alibi for the night of the murder that the court is forced to accept. Almost immediately, they come to realise that Yurius’s death has made Griffith even more influential at court than before. More and more nobles flock to seek the White Hawk’s favour.
Gatts knows that the others are worried about him. Casca is particularly solicitous, albeit in her usual abrupt manner, but Gatts avoids her most of all. He knows that she suspects the truth and he doesn’t want to see the questions in her eyes. Eventually, Griffith chooses to notice his distraction and asks him if he would like to lead a recruiting mission to Siova. Gatts is only too happy to accept.
Riding down into the fertile plains of his home province, Gatts and his band of men stop at every large village on the way. At each stop, they stay for a day or two, drilling on the meeting ground of the village and signing up some of the young men who acquit themselves creditably against a Hawk in a practice bout. Their fame has spread to such an extent that they have to turn away many of the men who want to join them.
Gatts does not make a conscious note of it, but he is aware of the exact date on which they are to reach his own village. He knows that many of the men look forward to seeing the ocean for the first time in their lives: the part of Midland that borders the ocean has always been peaceful and prosperous, so the Hawks have never had occasion to come here. As they near the ocean, a knot of mixed feelings grows in his stomach: distaste and eagerness. There is no one in the village that he looks forward to seeing, but he is human enough to want to rub his success in each and every one of their faces.
Their entrance, when it finally comes, is curiously anticlimactic. They ride in one evening and make straight for the village’s only inn, a decrepit old building near the main road. That night, after the Hawks have made themselves comfortable in their quarters, Gatts ventures out on once-familiar streets, now strangely changed to him. The white dust coating the road rises in small puffs with his steps, as he walks past the village temple and the weaver’s shop. Soon enough he sees the forge. It is lit by the red glow of the furnace, just as he remembers. He walks past; it is not what he is interested in. Further on, past the neatly thatched houses of the village people, is an old shack.
He ducks inside to find the village midwife squatting on her haunches, devouring her evening meal of rice and fish. ‘Good even, grandmother,’ he says, while the crone squints up at his face. ‘Do you remember me?’
‘Sit down, so I can see your face in the light,’ she says, gesturing at a spot in front of the sputtering fire. He squats beside her and she studies his features intently, a look of triumph coming over her face.
‘Ha! I knew it! You’re back, like a bad penny,’ she says. ‘Did you come back to finish the job, then?’
‘What?’
‘Well, your stepfather’s dead, which only leaves three of them to go,’ she says, smiling nastily.
He hadn’t known he had become a killer so early. He ignores the question with some effort, knowing from painful experience that she enjoys provoking everyone she meets. ‘I came to ask about my mother. You delivered me, didn’t you? No one ever told me anything about her.’
‘That’s because there’s precious little to tell, boy. Your mother only stayed in the village five days, when she was on the run with her group of deserters. Soon enough, the King’s men caught up with them and hung her, pregnant as she was. I was walking by the tree with your foster mother when we saw you slip from her and onto the ground. I didn’t have to do a thing. She was already dead when you were born.’
He nods. It only confirms what he was able to piece together from the jeers of the villagers.
‘I told your foster mother to leave you be. I told her a dead whore’s child had no business living, but she was too soft hearted to leave you crying there. Well, she soon regretted it, didn’t she?’
This brings his head up and he glares at her. ‘You wanted to leave a child to die? What kind of healer are you?’
‘I make no apologies, boy,’ the old hag tells him. ‘There’s things as should and shouldn’t be saved. You were meant to die on the day you were born. Your life will only bring suffering to us all.’
He stands up, too angry to listen anymore. ‘Shut up, you old bitch! What do you know about it?’ He pushes his face close to hers. ‘Look at me now, you senile fool! I’m fine, I’m better than anyone in this damned village will ever be!’
He leaves the hut, his whole body shaking with anger. Fool, he tells himself, fool! Why did you ever come back? He spends the next day barking orders at his men, his displeasure so plain on his face that no one ventures a joke or a familiar remark. Days later, as they are riding on to the next town, stupidly, irrationally, the midwife’s words ring in his mind again and again. Your life will only bring suffering to us all.
Even the countryside seems to reflect his mood: the summer has been unusually dry and the fields are sere and parched. People begin looking wary instead of impressed when they ride in, unwilling to part with any portion of their stores when this year’s harvest looks to be so scanty. The farmers are increasingly worried about the tardy monsoon.
It is in character for Garima, Gatts thinks sourly, that the capital seems so completely removed from the atmosphere of worry prevalent in the rest of Midland. His month-long absence has only reinforced his dislike of the place. The stone arches of the south gate are decorated with garlands of flowers and his horse tramples more flowers as he makes his way back to the barracks. The three-day celebration of some wealthy guildsman’s daughter’s wedding has just ended and Garima is still recovering from its excesses. As are the Hawks, Gatts discovers to his disgust, when he walks through the barracks. The quarters of most of the men are a far cry from the Spartan cleanliness he expects from them. Griffith will have to be told about it: his increasing lack of involvement with the men is having an impact on morale.
He dumps his saddlebags in his rooms and pauses only to wash his face and hands before he walks to Griffith’s quarters. When his knock goes unanswered, he pushes the door slightly ajar and a waft of scented smoke washes over his face: Dreamseeker. Gatts’ face tightens and he moves into the room, following the smell of the drug. He finds Griffith lying on his bed, toying with the carved pipe he is smoking. Griffith’s eyes are half-closed and his fingers move in a languid wave when he sees Gatts.
‘What are you doing, Griffith?’ Gatts snatches the pipe away from his friend, who protests, but is too far-gone to exert himself in recovering it. He gives up, smiling lazily at Gatts.
‘Aaah, so you’re back. I missed you, you know. I met the King and Iruva and Dhoval and a dozen other nobles and priests, and then I met them all again, but I still missed you.’
He continues in a dreamy tone, ‘I never worked half so hard with Gennon, you know. I go to the temples every day - they’re so powerful, Gatts, you can’t imagine, I never even guessed - and the things they make me do!’ A quiver goes through his body. ‘But it’s all worth it, isn’t it, if it’s for my dream? It’s okay if that’s why I’m doing it, isn’t it, Gatts?’
Under the drug-induced lethargy, there is a note of what seems to be anxiety in his voice, to which Gatts can’t help but respond. ‘Yes, Griffith.’
A beatific smile greets his response, then Griffith’s lids slide fully shut and he falls asleep. Gatts opens the windows to air out the room. Then he goes through Griffith’s possessions. At the end of the search, there is a neat pile of vials and powders in front of him. Gatts hadn’t thought it was possible to feel worse than he had when he left his village for the second time. Everything the Band of the Hawk stands for seems to be falling apart.
>
His confrontation with the other officers is even more depressing. Corkus and Rickert are at the Temple of Desire, but the remaining three are frustrated and edgy. Not bothering with pleasantries, Gatts asks them about the state of the barracks. They tell him that the men are getting increasingly out of control, that more and more of them are following Corkus and Rickert’s example, and that there are too many of them to reprimand. Griffith could help, if he exerted himself, but the men are only too aware that their leader is indulging in vices of his own.
‘And what are the rest of you doing, to stop Griffith from smoking himself stupid? Why is he in this state? What would happen if the King saw him like this?’ he demands angrily.
‘The King is an addict himself, Gatts,’ Casca replies tightly. ‘We’ve all tried to talk to Griffith, but he’s spending more and more time in the temples and at the palace and none of us can get through to him!’ Her dark eyes are desperate when she looks at him. ‘We were hoping that when you came back - ’ she breaks off.
Gatts closes his eyes.
‘Something’s wrong with him. I mean, besides the drugs,’ Judeau says, ‘I’d never even seen Griffith drunk before this and now you can barely find him without a pipe in his hand.’
‘It’s those damned priests! They have the whole city wrapped around their fingers! My men have started visiting those damned temples and I can’t stop them. Even Rickert won’t listen to me.’ Pippin’s voice breaks and they fall silent. All of them know how close the giant is to their youngest member. If they are now so far apart, then things have gone very badly wrong.
>
The following days are little better. Gatts berates his men, individually and in groups, making it very clear that none of them are indispensable. It snaps most of them out of their insubordination, but some remain recalcitrant, forcing him to discharge them. Even those who submit have a disturbingly resentful light in their eyes, but Gatts tells himself that it is a start. Rickert and Corkus tell him flatly that their religious practices are none of his business, but at least his tongue-lashing shames them into paying closer attention to their men.
Attempts to reason with Griffith get him nowhere. Gatts knows that his friend does not possess the weakness of the true addict; he’s convinced Griffith is using Dreamseeker to hide from something, but he can’t get anything out of him. The closer they come to the new moon, the more nervous Griffith seems to become, avoiding Gatts and his questions in increasingly ingenious ways.
Rickert finally unbends enough to tell Gatts that the new moon of the ninth month marks one of the most auspicious days for followers of the God Hand and that some sort of temple ceremony will be taking place on that day. Only true devotees are allowed to witness it, he says. In a sudden rush of sincerity, he puts his hand on Gatts’ arm, telling him that it is not too late for him to see the error of his ways, that he really wants Gatts to experience what he’s learnt. Shortly, however, this glimpse of the old caring Rickert is subsumed under the persona of the rigid fanatic.
Casca, Judeau and Pippin are also grimly combating the insubordination in their ranks. Increasingly, the four of them feel as though they are under siege from an intangible enemy, sensing a disturbing miasma of religious fanaticism throughout the barracks. It has gone far beyond the professional soldier’s normal superstition. Most of the men have taken to wearing armbands that denote their religious affiliation, some of them going so far as to conduct private services within their quarters.
Gatts feels at sea among his men. He had always taken it for granted that they shared his indifference towards the God Hand and all other forms of organised religion, assuming naively that a shared language of army slang and smutty jokes was evidence of their common thinking, of a certain irreverence towards any and all institutions. And now so many of his Hawks, friends and comrades all, have swallowed this putrid religious doctrine whole, ignoring or unaware of its overtones of corruption and excess. It is as if he is suddenly living amongst strangers.
Judeau seems to be suffering most from the strain. One night, Gatts passes his room and hears him cry out. Inside, Judeau is sweating and shaking in his bed. He tells Gatts that he has been having terrible nightmares. ‘Since when?’ Gatts asks him, and Judeau tells him that he doesn’t know; he’s had them as long as he can remember, but they’ve been so much worse lately.
With a start, Gatts notices the circles under Judeau’s eyes: insomnia has been taking its toll on Judeau and his usually calm demeanour is fraying at the edges. Gatts has been having bad dreams himself - involving some kind of flying monster? - that he never quite remembers when he wakes, but he remembers his fear clearly and understands something of what Judeau is going through.
Judeau is clearly in no state to be left alone, so Gatts sits on the edge of the bed and talks about nothing for a while. It seems to help and after that night they often meet on the roof when unable to sleep, taking grim comfort in each other’s company.
Gatts begins keeping tabs on Griffith’s movements, as far as he is able, which is not saying much since Griffith spends an increasing amount of time sequestered with the King or the priests. He disappears on the night of the new moon without telling Gatts, who settles down to wait for him in his room. Several hours later, he is awoken by the sound of footsteps. The lamps have burned out and the room is dark when Griffith walks through the door, more alert than Gatts has seen him for some time, and strangely excited. ‘Where were you, Griffith?’ he asks, prepared to weather a storm of insults. He has heard them all before: he is not Griffith’s keeper, Griffith can do what he likes, and to hell with Gatts!
To his surprise, Griffith answers him calmly. ‘The Temple of Desire.’
‘What, smoking up again?’ Gatts asks, irritated, in a deliberate attempt to provoke him.
Griffith smiles. ‘No, I don’t need that rubbish anymore.’ He walks to the window, fingering the red pendant around his neck as he looks out at the palace. Then he swings around to face Gatts, standing silhouetted against the black sky.
‘I’m sorry. I’ve been worrying you, haven’t I? It’s stupid when I think about it now. I don’t know why I’ve been acting this way.’
Gatts is silent, confused by Griffith’s sudden remorse.
‘There’s no point in having a goal if you’re not prepared to sacrifice everything to it, is there, Gatts?’
‘No,’ Gatts says slowly.
‘Poor Gatts,’ Griffith continues, almost affectionately, ‘always so worried. There’s really no need to be, you know. Things are going to go exactly as planned.’
‘Oh, good,’ Gatts says dryly. ‘Do your plans involve you taking any kind of interest in the Hawks in the near future?’
Griffith laughs. ‘Go to sleep, Gatts. Tomorrow is going to be very busy.’ Gatts leaves, puzzled, but hopeful for the first time in weeks.
>
Gatts wakes to a hand urgently shaking his shoulder in the early morning. ‘Sir Griffith is asking for you,’ a page tells him, eyes wide. Dressing quickly, he bumps into Casca and Pippin in the corridor leading to Griffith’s quarters. ‘What’s going on?’ he asks them, but they don’t know either. They reach the scene of madness that Griffith’s rooms have become, pages hurrying in and out as fast as they can walk. Inside, Griffith is tying his cravat, looking into the mirror held by one of the boys. ‘We’re going to the palace,’ he says, ‘the King will be making a special announcement to the city today.’
‘About what?’ Casca says.
‘You’ll see. Get ready, quickly.’
An hour later, the Hawk officers are assembled behind Griffith as he greets the King. Griffith bows low and the King nods, smiling, and passes on to the balcony used for royal announcements to the city. The square overlooked by the palace is packed with a solid mass of bodies, their upturned faces expectant. Cheering breaks out when the King lifts his arms outwards and up, greeting his subjects.
‘Today is a day of rejoicing for Midland, my people. I have given Princess Charlotte’s hand in marriage to a man who has proved his valour time and time again on the battlefield. I have no doubt that their union will ensure many years of prosperity and happiness for the people of Midland.’
He turns to the side, stretching his hand out to Griffith, who walks out into view of the crowd.
‘I give you - Sir Griffith!’
This time the cheers are frenzied, shaking the foundations of the palace in an outpouring of exultation that reaches to the skies. Griffith stands by the King’s side, a proud straight figure, raising elegant hands to acknowledge the approval of the people.
Part Five is here.