In the name of common-sense, I ask you not to appeal to the just gods in such a sacrilegious manner. You and your faction, in the midst of peace and prosperity, have plunged a kingdom into war-dark and cruel war-you who dared and badgered us to battle, insulted our flag, and seized our arsenals and forts. You made “prisoners of war” of the very garrisons sent to protect your people against wild blond tribes, long before any overt act was committed by the (to you) hated government of King Avram. If we must be enemies, let us be men, and fight it out as we propose to do, and not deal in such hypocritical appeals to gods and humanity. The gods will judge in due time. I am, very respectfully, your obedient servant, Hesmucet, General commanding.

“Well,” he muttered as he sealed the letter, “if that doesn’t make the son of a bitch have a spasm, gods damn me to the hells if I know what would.” He called for a runner and said, “Fetch back those two fellows from Marthasville. I’ve got their answer ready for ’em.”

“Yes, sir.” The young soldier in gray hurried off.

When the two northern merchants returned, Jim the Ball was still gnawing on a fried chicken drumstick. Speaking with his mouth full, he said, “Thank you-for the hospitality-you’ve shown-to a couple of men-from the-other side.”

“You’re welcome.” Hesmucet handed him the letter. “Take this back to Lieutenant General Bell, if you’d be so kind. You’ll have an escort to the front, and your flag of truce should get you through to your own side.”

“Can you give us the gist of it, in case it gets wet or meets some other accident?” Jim of the Crew asked.

“Certainly,” Hesmucet said. “The gist of it is `no.’ But I do write it down much fancier than that.”

Jim the Ball tossed aside the bare chicken bone. Jim of the Crew nodded. He seemed to have a good deal more wit than his comrade and namesake. Maybe that was just because he displayed less appetite. A man who gave in to his belly, as Jim the Ball did, often gave the impression, true or false, of lacking any other interests.

When the two merchants had left, Hesmucet read over Bell’s letter again. He shook his head in amusement. The man had to be an optimist, to think he would get Hesmucet to change his course. The only way northern commanders had got him to change his course was to beat him on the battlefield, and that hadn’t happened very often.

That evening, he showed Doubting George the letter. His second-in-command went through it, then remarked, “He’s trying to make you look bad in the eyes of the world, I think.”

“I don’t care how I look in the eyes of the world.” Hesmucet checked himself. “I don’t care how I look in the eyes of the world, so long as I look like the man who just took Marthasville.”

“I understand, sir. I agree with you,” George replied. “A soldier won’t usually worry about the war of words till he sees it’s the only war he has the faintest hope of winning.”

“That’s well put. That’s very well put, in fact,” Hesmucet said.

“Thank you kindly,” Doubting George said. “Bell’s thrown away so many soldiers, words are about what he has left. I expect you answered him the way he deserves, sir?”

“I hope so.” Hesmucet summarized his own letter.

George nodded. “That’s good. That’s very good indeed. With any luck at all, he’ll have an apoplexy, and then they’ll need a new commander.” He thought about that, then shook his head. “No, I hope he doesn’t have that apoplexy. Let him stay in command. He’s done us a lot of good.”

“I think so, too,” Hesmucet said. “He had to be a fool to try to slug it out with us. He did it anyhow-and proved how foolish it was.”

“Only a matter of time now,” George said.

Hesmucet nodded, but discontentedly. “We’ve taken too long already, gods damn it. Down in the south, they want a victory. We need to give them one.”

“We’re doing all right,” George insisted. “Marshal Bart has Duke Edward of Arlington penned up in Pierreville, north of Nonesuch, and we’ve got Bell pretty well trapped here. They aren’t going to get loose and cause trouble, the way they did last year and the year before.”

“You know that, and I know that, but do the fat burghers sitting on their backsides down in the south know that?” Hesmucet said. “Nonesuch hasn’t fallen, and Marthasville hasn’t fallen, either. If those fat burghers get sick of the war, false King Geoffrey may end up a real king after all. We need to take that town in front of us. That will give the whole south a sign we really are winning the war.”

“It won’t be long,” Doubting George said again. “Would Bell have written a letter like that if he didn’t feel the pinch?”

“Well, maybe not,” Hesmucet said. “I hope he wouldn’t, anyway. But I still want Marthasville.”

He got his answer from Lieutenant General Bell two days later, again delivered by Jim the Ball and Jim of the Crew. He sent them off to eat, which would, at least, keep Jim the Ball happy. Unsealing the letter, he read, General: I have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of yours of the day previous. Had you not sought to justify yourself therein, I would have been willing to believe that, while the interests of the King of Detina, in your opinion, compelled you to an act of barbarous cruelty, you regretted the necessity, and we would have dropped the subject; but you have indulged in statements which I feel compelled to notice.

You are unfortunate in your attempt to find a justification for this act of cruelty, either in the defense of Jonestown, by Roast-Beef William, or of Marthasville, by myself. If there was any fault in either case, it was your own, in not giving notice, especially in the case of Marthasville, of your purpose to bombard the town, which is usual in war among civilized kingdoms. I have too good an opinion, founded both upon observation and experience, of the skill of your catapult men, to credit the insinuation that they for several weeks unintentionally shot too high for my modest field works, and slaughtered women and children by accident and want of skill.

Finally, you came into our country with your army, avowedly for the purpose of subjugating free Detinan men, women, and children, and not only intend to rule over them, but you make blonds your allies, and desire to place over us an inferior race, which we have raised from barbarism to its present position, which is the highest ever attained by that race, in all time. You say, “Let us fight it out like men.” To this my reply is-for myself, and I believe for all the true men, aye, and women and children, in my kingdom-we will fight you to the death! Better to die a thousand deaths than submit to live under you or your king or his blond allies! Respectfully, your obedient servant, Bell, Lieutenant General.

Hesmucet read through that again, and then chuckled grimly. “Well, I struck a nerve there, all right, gods damn me if I didn’t,” he said, and set Bell’s letter aside. The northern commander could complain all he chose, but he couldn’t stop the southrons from doing what needed doing, and that was what counted.

The commanding general called for a runner. “What do you need sir?” the messenger asked.

“I want you to send an alert to the scryers for the soldiers in the forwardmost entrenchments,” Hesmucet answered. “Warn them that the traitors are liable to try to sally against them today. Bell may have lost his temper.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll pass it along directly,” the runner said. “Uh, sir… How do you know that, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Why, Lieutenant General Bell told me so, of course,” Hesmucet answered, deadpan.

The runner started to accept that, then turned and stared. Hesmucet waved him on. He went away shaking his head. Hesmucet laughed softly. The things I do to keep my air of mystery, he thought.

What he did next was summon Major Alva. “What can I do for you?” the young mage asked. Hesmucet folded his arms across his chest and waited. Belatedly, Alva turned red. “Uh, sir,” he added.