From that point on, I lost all sense of the ebbs and flows of the civil war. It was too confusing for a novice, the more so as the square was soon invaded by a multitude of small columns, who did not seem to have much effect on the action but who certainly made a disproportionate amount of noise. Among these new arrivals, I gathered from the knowing remarks made by my two companions, were included such forces as the Tyranny, the Theocracy (these fellows much divided amongst themselves—spent most of their time attacking each other with miters and censers), the Big Brotherhood, the Autocracy, the Red Terror, the White Terror, the Green Terror, the Pacifists (singularly ineffective, this bunch), the Militarists (only a few here), the Colonels (fewer), the Generals (fewer still), the General Staff (a handful), the Generalissimo (one only—a skeletal old man, his face creased with infinite corruption, roaring over and again: “Unleash me!” “Unleash me!”), and a host of other little groups whose names and ideologies meant absolutely nothing to me. One such group advocated government by mass drunkenness, which they promptly enacted on the spot, to the great approval of the crowd. Another group advocated government by mass orgy, which they promptly enacted on the spot, to the even greater approval of the crowd.
My most vivid memory, however, was of a man painted all over his body with gold. He rode in a small cart, stiffly erect, vastly dignified. His two adherents alternated between pushing the cart and lying underneath its wheels, crying out: “All abase themselves before the Reincarnated Emperor of the Grinding Hegemony!” As the trio made their way around the square, the cries of the faithful got weaker with every passage of the cart over their bodies. In the end, the Reincarnated Emperor of the Grinding Hegemony was forced to dismount and haul the cart away himself, leaving the prostrate bodies of his loyal followers behind in the square. Judging from the expression on his gold face, he was exceedingly disgruntled.
After I gave up trying to follow the progress of the civil war, I spent most of my time observing the onlookers. Clearly, this was a great social event for the inhabitants of the Mutt. Not only were the residents able to follow every nuance of the struggle, commenting on every twist and turn with that peculiar language which is shared by every devotee of a sport, and which is utterly incomprehensible to those ignorant of it, but they were enlivening their entertainment by a vast consumption of food and beverage as well. Across the square, I could discern the figure of the Tapster manning a portable refreshment cart, around which swirled at all times a small mob. Even across the great din, I could hear his voice: “Beeeeer! Beeeeer! Beer and arsters! Free beer and arsters!”
Suddenly, a great cry drew my attention back to the civil war. In the center of the square, there was a sudden swirl of movement. In a moment, the confused mob of combatants resolved itself in its component parts, with various political trends fleeing in all directions.
“Treason! Treason! O foul treason!” came the cry from many throats in the square, along with: “O damnable King! O duplicitous royalty!”
From the spectators came an excited roar, as an understanding of the recent developments swept the crowd. Beside me, Mario was capering about in glee.
“I knew it!” he howled. “I knew it! There’s nothing like the Monarchy for a stab in the back! O cunning stroke! O shrewd stratagem!”
“What’s happened?” I asked Gwendolyn. She was almost as gleeful as Mario. She grinned at me, and put her arm around my waist. Not bashful, I followed suit. Then, for all the world like two teenagers enjoying an outing at the carnival, she filled me in on the developments of the civil war.
“The King’s betrayed his alliance with the Oligarchy and the Aristocracy of the Robe. Threw in his lot with the Rabble and what’s left of the Republic. Caught his allies totally by surprise. They’ve been routed—look!”
Sure enough, even at that moment were the Doges and the Bureaucrats fleeing the square, not without belaboring each other in the process, each blaming the other for the disaster. Inkpots were tossed, coins flung. Fierce weapons, I discovered, doubloons hurled at close range. But all this was but aftermath. The civil war itself was over.