SaD: Not The Eight-Man

"Now I marvel, Mr Dashet," said his wife, "that you can sit there reading, when you know very well that we have no less than five daughters, all of marriageable age, and not on the whole ill-favoured."

"The fact, madam," said Mr Dashet peaceably, "while affording me no small measure of gratification, does not impinge unduly upon my inner tranquility."

"But do you not feel that it is time for them to chuse the men they shall marry?"

"Indeed, they are very much underfoot, in the library and the garden and any where a man may seek an hour or two of repose; but for my part, I rejoice in their presence. Only consider, my dear Mrs Dashet, how different our lives might have been. If, for instance, the government had chosen to finance the late war by borrowing, at ruinous interest, some thirty or forty millions from private banks; and if it had then foolishly sought to repay that debt by increasing taxes, removing vast amounts of money from circulation, compelling millions of people and hundreds of businesses to contract private debt in their turn, and reducing all but the very wealthiest to virtual penury. Why, we might have been forced to counsel our dear girls to seek for husbands, not on the basis of the heart's affections, but purely--if I may so misuse the word--for financial security and to lessen the drain on our own resources; a course which would have gone to my heart most sorely. How fortunate we are that, instead, the leaders of our nation elected to reflect the growing material prosperity of these islands by placing our economy on a firm footing of solid credit, thus ensuring its stability for the foreseeable future and enabling us all to continue to enjoy the fruits of our labours and to plan with assurance for whatever may come, and incidentally freeing our daughters to pursue whatever course of life seems most good to them, whether it include marriage or no."

"I confess, my dear," rejoined his wife, "I have not the least idea what you are talking about; for certainly nothing could stand in the way of Mary's ambition to be a great scientist, nor Lizzy's destined fame as a novelist, Jane's desire to travel and explore all sorts of benighted foreign countries, Lydia's yearning to go on the stage, nor yet Kitty's determination to become an astronaut, whatever that may be; nothing, I say, unless their husbands' wishes be set in opposition: which is why I repeat, Mr Dashet, that we must bestir ourselves and find them husbands, and that as soon as may be. For it is a truth universally acknowledged that a young woman of wayward inclinations and in possession of sufficient fortune to indulge them must be in want of a husband to keep her in check."

To this Mr Dashet contented himself with a faint, responsive murmur, and retired behind his book once again; and Mrs Dashet set about her plans with a will.

[Strictly speaking a snippet, not a story, but it was what came; will it do?]

SaD: Apparently Not

The sun was setting over the marshes as the lead rider reined in her steed. A little way off, a raven called hoarsely from a single alder tree.

A low murmur from behind her. The men were discontented, the horses probably even more so. They had been riding for several hours, and the grazing in this rank, boggy land was poor. It had been time to turn back long ago.

"A problem, captain?" Gove's manner was all obsequiousness, but his voice held an edge she knew only too well. Her appointment, so recent, so unprecedented, had disappointed him. Surely he must know, she thought, that he was not officer material; too stolid, too slow and above all too cruel. But then, was she?

"I--" The raven croaked again, cutting off her thought. She started again. "It seems the trail is cold. We will return to the city and mount a better-equipped pursuit in the morning."

More murmuring. She caught the words "...over the border by then..." and turned sharply in the saddle to fix the man who had spoken with a cold stare.

"In that case," she said, "I am sure the Proarch will be communicating with his royal brother in the West, who will doubtless be inclined to assist us in the apprehension of this thief...or be suspected of complicity. Now, let us by all means go home. I will see to it that you are rewarded for your efforts."

"Our reward is service," Gove pointed out sanctimoniously, "to the Proarch and to your good self, captain."

"Of course," she agreed, managing a thin smile, "but an extra barrel or two of old ale does no harm." This raised a ragged cheer from the men, and Gove looked disgusted. You may pout, she thought, but you'll take your turn at the bung with the rest, that I'm sure of. "Five minutes to empty your bladders."

With some eagerness, the men dismounted, their worn boots sinking into the soft ground, hands already fumbling at groins. Nobody watched as she made her way towards the tree; she had taken pains to establish her need for privacy at these times, to the satisfaction even of Gove. The raven eyed her beadily as she circled round behind the trunk.

She reached into her jerkin and pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle tied with string, holding it up at shoulder height, casting a glance back at the men, now surrounded in a cloud of steam. "Take it," she hissed. "Quickly."

The raven stretched down and took the string in its beak.

"And next time tell him I want definite arrangements made for pickup," she snapped. "This was a complete shambles. I do have professional standards, you know."

The raven wisely chose not to reply. It took to the air and flapped off, heading into the sun, which was now almost on the horizon and red as an apple.

With a sigh of regret for her own bursting bladder, she refastened her jerkin and strolled casually back to the men. The ride home would be torture, but the payment would be worth it.

Now it was just a question of finding a safe way to quit her job.

Sonnet

This is no victory. A man is dead.
One man it took almost ten years to kill.
And now a host of men will rise to fill
His shoes, and lead the grand crusade he led.
Will they be white, or brown, or black, or red,
Or green? Who knows? But come they surely will,
And we will never know their names until
By some new outrage we are bruised and bled.
To kill is nothing; he could kill, and did.
It did not change our minds, except to make
Us ever keener strangers' lives to take,
And this he saw, and gloated where he hid.
Nothing is gained; the war, unchecked, goes on;
If we had changed his mind, we would have won.

Another: on the nature of the conflict

This war is not a war of rival creeds
Or clans or races; 't is not fought for land
Or power, glory, wealth; please understand
These are excuses, which like fecund weeds
Shield from scavenging birds the precious seeds
Of truth. No holy cause, no prize so grand,
Inflames the heart, puts bloody sword in hand,
Strews slaughtered corpses o'er the flowery meads.

This is the war of those who would make war
'Gainst those who would not. What more need be said?
And with each battle, each unnumbered dead
On either side, they gain one conquest more.
When we engage them, thus we prove them right;
If we would conquer them, we dare not fight.