Exercises in Rhetoric

“Premise one:” the speaker began. “Should one person force themself on another in a sexual manner, the victim may choose between two fates for their assaulter: Death, or marriage.”

“What kind of stupid law is that?” Bacchus muttered under his breath.

“The kind that exists in a fictional universe for the purposes of debate,” Hades scolded him. “Shut up.”

“Premise two: When a married party returns to the star, their belongings are redistributed to their spouse in what is known as ‘inheritance’. One man forces himself upon another,” the speaker continued. “The victim does not immediately proclaim their verdict—”

“Of course they don’t!” Bacchus hisses. “They’ve just gone through something absolutely horrific—”

Hades elbows him sharply.

“—and now to be told that they must choose whether to kill the other person or suffer a lifetime of matrimony to him?”

Several others shot irritated glares at Bacchus, or so he assumed, as their eyes could not be seen beneath their masks.

The speaker cleared their throat. “While he waits to learn his fate, the assaulter is overwhelmed by shame and decides to return to the star. As he enters the care of the Words of Emet-Selch, the victim makes their decision: They will marry the man. The question I pose to you is this: Should the victim be entitled to the assaulter’s inheritance?”

“That’s the important question here?” Bacchus sputtered.

The speaker fixed him with what would surely have been a sharp glare were their eyes not covered by their mask. “If you’re not interested in debating rhetoric, you don’t have to be here, you know.”

“So sorry, so sorry,” Hythlodaeus spoke up. “It’s his first time. He’s not familiar with the usual assumptions.”

“Ah, then shall we do a quick refresher?” the speaker suggested. “These rhetorical exercises are essentially works of fiction taking place within a simplified legal system. To wit, the point is to debate the facts presented without getting hung up on any real-world nitpicking. As connoisseurs of these legal fictions, we may occasionally discuss topics that do not oft transpire in the modern era, as a means of expanding our rhetorical repertoire.”

“I suppose there’s a certain logic to that,” Bacchus granted. “Forgive my interruption.”

Another listener spoke up. “I don’t mean to be crude, but the premise at play essentially turns an act of rape into a marriage proposal, does it not? So then by accepting—”

Bacchus cringed. Hades sighed and shook his head as if to dissuade him from complaining.

“But on the other hand, the marriage did not actually take place,” another protested.

“By Amaurotine custom, no, they did not have a wedding. But there was no premise stated indicating that the society we’re discussing has such stringent customs. He proposed; they accepted. What more do you really need?”

A few other debaters sitting around shifted uncomfortably. “Let’s just vote already,” someone said. “So we can move on to the next topic.”

“There’s hardly been any discussion,” the initial speaker protested.

“The facts are pretty simple, though. All those in favor of the victim inheriting their assailant’s property, say aye.”

“Aye,” said a number of people. Bacchus was among them, though he wasn’t particularly convinced by the argument that the two were properly married. Maybe he shouldn’t be voting based on justice?

“Consider this, then,” the original speaker said. “Premise one: As before, a rape victim has the option of marrying their assailant or having them put to death. Premise two: when two parties are wed, the consent of both is required to grant a divorce or add additional parties. A married party rapes an unwed man. The victim insists on marriage. The assailant’s spouse refuses. What is to be done?”

“More rape and death?” Bacchus muttered. “Is this the Hall of Rhetoric or the Hall of Titillating Hypotheticals?”

“Shh!” Hythlodaeus chided him.

“Euthalia is quite fond of these provocative topics,” Hades replied quietly. “I do wish they would display a bit more variation.”

“Why would any such victim even want to marry their rapist?” Bacchus went on. “Unless— wait, was this a set-up to get the rapist out of a marriage they didn’t want to be in?”

“An interesting interpretation,” mused a girl sitting nearby.

“And the existing spouse does not wish to be divorced or to add a new partner?” Hythlodaeus clarified. “My, my, what a conundrum.”

Bacchus tuned the discussion out. He wasn’t sure what conclusion the hall came to, but at one point Hades offered the viewpoint that if the assault had been a set-up, the so-called assailant and victim would best be punished by being stuck in a marriage with each other.

Euthalia opened their mouth to propose another topic.

Hythlodaeus jumped to his feet first. “Premise one!” he said. “The winner of a particular contest is entitled to the automatic acceptance of any one concept they submit to the Bureau of the Architect. Premise two: No concept shall be accepted should it be deemed a threat to mankind. The winner of this contest submits a concept for a beast that feeds exclusively on human souls. What shall be done about this?”

As the rest of the hall debated Hythlodaeus’ dilemma, Bacchus had to stifle a yawn. He was glad everyone else was having fun, but this all just solidified that rhetoric wasn’t his thing.

He had to get out of here.

When the floor next opened, he stood up. “Okay, I have a topic for you, esteemed debaters. Premise one: Premise two is true. Premise two: Premise one is false.”

Hades and Hythlodaeus stared at Bacchus like he’d just stabbed someone.

The hall immediately erupted into frenzied shouting.

In the ensuing mayhem, Bacchus slipped out past his befuddled peers. He caught snippets of debate — “But if premise one falsely states that premise two is true, then premise two must—” as he rushed for the door.

“Well, you’ve certainly made a mess of things,” Hades snapped once they were outside.

Hythlodaeus laughed. “I suppose when next you say you don’t want to go somewhere, we shall take you at your word.”