Prax's Tale

Part One

We came from the same province, from neighbouring villages, but I was some years older. To all intents and purposes, we met for the first time at the training camp. I had been promoted a few weeks earlier. It was my job to lick the new recruits into shape. And some of them needed it. Not him though.

From that first day, when he strolled into my office as though he owned it, all expensive cologne and la-di-da, I could tell it wouldn't take him long to get on.

"Prax, my dear chap. What a delightful surprise. Such a pleasure to see a fellow-countryman."

I shouldn't have let him get away with talking to a superior like that. But I did.

Despite the words I could tell that he wasn't at all happy about finding me there. Didn't like to be reminded of his origins. His grandfather may have been Lord Muck, (see note) but his grandmother was the village trull, and his father raked muck and harvested corn with the rest of us.

As I said, he was on the way up. He had entered the service on the accelerated promotion scheme, and when he left, some weeks later, I thought that was the last I'd see of him. It was a relief in more ways than one. It had got so that seeing him every day was becoming more than I could stand.

So it was a shock when, a couple of years later, I was transferred to the Inspectorate as his Second-in-Command.

"I wanted someone reliable, Prax. Someone I could trust," he said, as I reported for duty.

He was half sitting on the edge of his desk, one leg braced against the floor. He held a leather glove in his hand which he slapped idly against his thigh. I could see the play of muscles under the black material of his uniform. I was to become familiar with that stance in the years that followed.

"You wanted someone you could lord it over, you mean," I said to myself. Out loud I said "Thank you, Sir."

Seeing him again, it was as if everything I had felt before had just been holding its breath all this time. I didn't know if I could bear this, but if I could, it might be a bit of luck for me.

In the time since I had seen him, he had matured into a striking-looking man: lean, hawklike features and a finely-muscled body. He moved with the power and grace of a wild animal. If one thing made him less attractive, it was that he knew how attractive he was.

He got into the habit of sending for me at odd hours of the day to 'talk things over'.What he meant was that he talked, I listened, and nodded approvingly. Sometimes he would be naked on the bed, fresh from his bath, one hand under his head, the other resting casually on his thigh. He would smile slightly as I eased the pressure on thecollar of my uniform, and moved uncomfortably in my chair.

"You look rather hot, Prax. Shall I adjust the environmental controls? You really should relax more. Look at me."

But look at him was what I couldn't do.

Invariably the conversation would turn to my love life.

"Who is she, Prax? Or are you playing the field like me? A fine strong lad like you must have women fighting over him. Well, I won't press you further. I prefer to be a little discreet in these matters myself."

Oh, he was discreet all right. No public carousing with his ladies for him. Women were brought to his quarters after dark and left before daybreak. Tavern wenches, shopkeepers wives, rosy-cheeked lasses fresh from the country. I know because it was my job, one of my 'special duties', to find them for him, and pay them off afterwards, or sort out any unpleasant consequences.

He liked the country girls especially. He liked them for the same reason he liked ordering me around: it made him feel important. And the nobs would have seen through him in a minute.

That's what I thought, anyway, so it was a shock when he announced his engagement to the daughter of a provincial governor. She had a pedigree longer than her hair ... and that fell almost to her ankles when it was loose. Not that I saw it, but he told me. "You would hardly know she was naked, Prax."

It wasn't all it seemed, though. The family had fallen on hard times, which in their circles meant selling the ancestral home, and pigging it in their mansion in the city. Or the hunting lodge in the mountains. Or the summer place by the lake. He had money, lots of it. I never knew where it came from, and he wasn't telling -- it would spoil the image. But, if it wasn't for that, he wouldn't have stood a chance with a girl like her.

He called all the senior officers together to tell them his news, but he was watching me as he spoke.

I'd got into the way of hiding my true feelings, so I don't think my face gave anything away. I went about my duties in the usual way, but that night I got smashed out of my mind on new ale.

It was summer, a hot scented night that was made for love. My windows were open and so were his. I could hear him singing, a folk song from home called the Milkmaid's Lament. When he got to the line, O, cruel is my lover, my lover to me, I knew I couldn't keep quiet any longer. Put it down to the drink. I had never been so drunk, but in a funny sort of way, I was quite clearheaded. And to this day I remember everything that happened.

I walked very deliberately out of my room and the few steps down the corridor to his quarters. I punched in the entry code to his door and strode in. Then I stopped. He was standing before the mirror in full dress uniform.

"Prax?" There was a slight lift of the right eyebrow. "I did not send for you."

"No, Sir," I said, hardly able to get the words out. My heart was pounding painfully, and I could feel the muscles of my face working. He must surely have seen, but he made no comment.

"No matter. I would value your opinion. I've been trying on my dress uniform. For the wedding. It seems a little tight. What do you think?"

"What do I think, Sir? What do I think?" He was about to make some cleverclogs reply, but I went on. "What I think, Sir, is that I can't go on like this anymore."

He said nothing, but watched me intently. If he had spoken, I believe I might have made an excuse and left, but his silence urged me on.

"You see, Sir, it's been hard for me, seeing you like this, day after day. And now with you getting married ..."

The room went very far away and then zoomed in close again.

Still he said nothing. I thought of the times I had seen him on the bed, so comfortable with his nakedness, and with me. I must have been very drunk to think it meant anything.

"I love you."

I could have borne shock, anger, outrage, anything. But he threw back his head and laughed.

"Oh, my dear Prax. Ofcourse you do. I've known for ages. But you really should have more self-control. It would hardly do, would it? I don't know what my bride would say."

I didn't know what she would say to the nightly procession of trollops either. He hadn't denied himself at all as the wedding day drew closer. As if he knew what I was thinking, he asked how I could possibly have imagined that a man who enjoyed women so much could entertain the idea of taking another man as a lover. I had known men who liked both, but I wasn't about to say that to him now. For now, all I wanted was to get away from that mocking laughter, and the arrogant sneer.

"You bastard," I said, and turned on my heel.

"Prax!" I thought it was all up with me then. He would be calling the guards next.

"My father was the bastard. My parents were married." The mildness of his voice was a worse insult than his laughter." Dismissed."

Back in my quarters, it began to hit me. I know he thinks me stupid. Well, I'm not, but I don't always work things out as quickly the next man. It was only when I calmed down a bit that I realized something he'd said. Or not what he'd said, but what it meant. "I've known for ages."

So he had known when he paraded his nakedness in front of me. He had known when he questioned me about the women in my life. He had known when he asked me to find women and bring them to his quarters. He had known when he had gone over every detail of the sex they'd had in our 'man to man' chats. He had known when he summoned me early in the morning, while he was still in bed with the doxy of the moment.

"Bastard! Bastard! Bastard!" I saw my face in the mirror -- my stupid, fat, ugly, peasant face. I smashed my hand against the glass and it cracked but the pieces did not fall. Blood from my hand smeared the glass and its surround. I saw my crazed reflection staring back at me: mocking me.

I didn't know how I would sleep that night, how I could remain still long enough to fall asleep, but I must have passed out, because the next thing I knew it was morning. I was lying on my side, freezing cold and cramped, with a little trickle of vomit leaking from the side of my mouth. My head was pounding and my injured hand was stiff and sore.

I remembered immediately. And was ashamed.

Not shame for loving. No, never that. Nor shame for telling of my love. But shame that I should have loved such a worthless piece of shit.

Well, I was on duty in half an hour, so I had to see about tidying myself up. I didn't intend to be late, even if my only duty today was to march to the guardhouse. I'd go to the infirmary first, though. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing what I'd done to myself.

"I'd hate to see the other man," the doctor said as he placed my hand in the regeneration chamber.

"Other man?"

"A joke, Sub-Inspector, a joke."

Ten minutes later I was standing at attention before his desk. He was going through some reports and did not look up for a few minutes.

"Well, Prax?"

I hated him and wanted him at the same time.

"Sir, about last night ..."

"You had had a good deal to drink, Prax had you not?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Understand that I cannot condone drunkenness, or insubordination in my men, but in view of your exemplary record, and the ... ah, extenuating circumstances, I shall take this no further. I need hardly point out, however, that should there be any repetition of last night's conduct, you will find yourself in front of a court martial. Do I make myself clear?"

At these words his eyes became cold. I had not thought brown eyes could be cold, but his were like a bottomless lake.

"Yes, Sir."

"Well? Do you not have duties to attend to? I take it you do wish to remain in my service."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

There wasn't anything else I could say.

After that I wasn't asked to procure his women, and he was fully-dressed whenever I was summoned to his quarters. There were a few pointed remarks, but I learned to ignore them.

I wasn't invited to the wedding. Well, practically the only person there who didn't have a title was the groom. There was a dinner a week beforehand at the barracks to which all us 'lower orders' were invited. This was the first time I had seen the bride close to. She was a pale, thin girl with red hair. I wondered how she felt about all this,and whether she loved him. In the manner of upper-class girls she didn't show her feelings, but nodded and smiled politely, and dabbed at her lips a good deal while picking at her food. I felt sorry for her anyway.

I got married myself a few weeks later. A girl from my village had got herself into trouble. Her father and mine were old friends and he asked me, well, told me really, that I'd have to do this. I had a talk with the girl,and told her what marriage to me would mean. It wouldn't have been fair otherwise. She was sensible about it, and glad that she would be 'respectable'. Four months after the wedding I was a father.

Sixteen months later I was a father again, so she was getting her pleasure elsewhere after all. I told her that if she couldn't be careful, she should at least pick someone who looked a bit like me.

She took me at my word. My brother's wife threw him out, and he came to stay with us for a week or so until she cooled off. That summer my wife presented me with a child who looked exactly like me. A girl, poor little mite.

My changed state amused his lordship hugely. "We old married men" was how he referred to us. We were away on missions quite a bit by then, and he was making sure I knew "how to conduct myself".

"Not anyone from the ship's complement, Prax. Do I make myself clear? What you get up to in port is your own affair, but I will not allow anything to jeopardize the success of these missions. Lovers' tiffs are not good for discipline. I'm not asking you to do anything I would not do myself. We old married men have to forego such pleasures."

Then, as I was leaving, he added, "Take what you want from among the prisoners, of course. Telepaths make such ... intriguing partners."

He liked it from them because they knew what he wanted (he'd let them read his mind to that extent) and were only too anxious to please, if it meant a reprieve."