I was out of breath by the time we reached the top. I stepped out behind Druisius onto a wide walkway, broken by guard towers every thirty paces or so. We could see the city below us, the Prægrandeum easy to find, and once I had found that, I could retrace our steps. Further away, another circular building caught my eye. “What is that?” I asked, pointing.
“A temple,” Cillian answered, after listening to Druisius.
“Temples and arenas,” I said. “Why do they need so many?” I turned away from the city, to look down over the river. The breeze came from that direction and I wanted to feel it in my face. From up here, I could see along the river to the harbour where Irmgard's ship lay at anchor. I wondered where Geiri and his men were housed, and if they were comfortable. Looking this way, I could see fields and trees, and people working in orchards.
Cillian came to stand beside me. “Such a contrast,” he said, “from inside the city to outside.” He put his hand on my back, and I leaned against him. Druisius said something, warning in his tone.
Cillian stepped away from me. “Gratiás,” he said to Druisius. “Apparently it is not proper for you to touch me in public. Only a scrapta, a loose woman, would do that.”
“A loose woman?”
“A woman who sells her body for men's pleasure.”
I blinked. “Do women do that?” I asked.
“Yes. And men, too. Both for other men, and for women.” The distaste in his last words made me flinch. He had turned away from me, looking out across the fields and orchards.
I didn't know what to say, or do, not up here on the wall with Druisius nearby. “Cillian,” I said softly. A brief shake of his head told me to leave it alone. I looked down, closer to the wall. Below us, in a walled, dusty area, a group of mounted archers were practicing, shooting arrows at a target. I frowned, studying them. “Cillian,” I said, “are those archers below us women, do you think?”
He looked down. “I would say so.” A quick question to Druisius followed. “Yes, they are: part of the army. Women can be archers, mounted or not, he tells me.”
I watched them, part of me longing to be down there with them. I could practically feel the bow in my hands. The drills were orderly, each woman riding forward at a signal from the instructor. The target hung loose, and someone made it swing as the rider approached, so the arrow had to find a moving object. The horses must be responding to knees and voice, I thought, not the reins. How hard would it be to learn to do that?
“We should go, Druisius says, before we are noticed,” Cillian told me. “He doesn't want to get his fellow guard in trouble.”
We spoke very little on the walk home. As we entered the house, I could hear a ladhar being played. By now, I could separate Sorley's style from Rind's, and this was Sorley playing. Druisius, handing me my purchases, stopped to listen. He asked a question. Cillian gestured him upstairs. He followed us. Sorley looked up as we came in, smiling his pleasure at seeing us.
“This is Druisius, Sorley,” Cillian said. “He has been an excellent guide this afternoon. He heard you playing and wanted to see the instrument.” Sorley held the ladhar up. Druisius took it, running his fingers along the strings, a practiced motion.
We left the musicians talking. My feet hurt from walking on the cobbled and paved streets in thin sandals. In our bedroom I dropped down onto one of the stools, massaging a foot.
“Wine?” Cillian asked.
“Yes, please.” He poured a glass, leaving it to me to choose how much to water it. His own in hand, he sat on the other stool. He raised his glass to me.
“To Casil.”
“What did you think? It must be strange, to see these buildings you have read about.”
“Like finding the landscape of a dream is real,” he answered.
“That's a lovely image,” I said. Should I ask him about what he'd said, up on the wall? No, I decided. He had indicated I should leave the subject alone; it was his to raise, not mine.
“Well,” he said, “I am supposed to be good with words, am I not?” A trace of cynicism etched his voice. I frowned. Twice now today, these echoes of old defenses. He smiled, ruefully. “And I am not sure why I said that. A thought, but not one relevant to this, or any, conversation between us.”
“Are you concerned about tonight's audience?” I asked. It would explain his mood.
“Yes. Not for Irmgard; that is a good agreement, and while they may ask for a small change here or there to remind us they have the upper hand, I am not expecting any difficulties. But once that is done, Lena, then it is time to begin our real business here. And that I am concerned about.”
“I was thinking about this earlier, about what you had to do, when we were looking at the statue of the sun giant,” I said. “Casil ruled the world, once, and may think it still does—and we are only a little forgotten piece of that world. And you must try to convince them they should help us.”
“Exactly so.”
“What can I do to help you, Cillian? This is such a huge burden you must carry.”
“I—we—will need your thoughts, on what the women of the Empire would see as acceptable to give up,” he answered. “At some point.”
“I know that,” I answered. “I meant for you, not for the negotiations. What can I do for you, my love?”
He considered. “Is it fair to say I don't know? I have never attempted anything this large before, and I have never had anyone to care about my needs, either.”
“There are two sides to that,” I said slowly. “With a task so difficult to do ahead of you, I don't want to be part of—of the weight on your mind.”
“That is not what you are, at all,” he replied. “You lighten the weight, käresta; you don't add to it. You, and increasingly, Sorley, in a different way. He is becoming to me what Alain was, but now I can admit to needing a friend.”
“I am so glad.” I was. “You will tell me what I can do, what else it is you need, in the next days?”
“As best I can, yes. But you may need to be patient with me, again.”
I am not going to tell him about the dream by the riverbank, I decided. He had far more important things to occupy his mind. I would deal with it on my own.
Chapter Sixteen
“Irmgard seems pleased with the agreement you reached,” Sorley said, over dinner.
“I don't actually know the details,” I said. “What will happen to her?”
Cillian had just taken a bite of food. He gestured to Sorley to go on with the explanation. “She will stay here, in this house, with most expenses covered, I gather. For eight months, she will attend the Empress, be introduced to men the Empress deems suitable, and allowed to choose whom she will marry. If she can't decide in those months, then at the end of the time she agrees to let the Empress choose for her. Is that right, Cillian?”
“Yes. She understands that the marriage, however it happens, may take her away from Casil. It will depend on the nature of the alliance the Empress wishes to strengthen.”
It sounded cold to me, but if Irmgard was satisfied, that was all that mattered. “What happens to Rind and Hana?”
“Appropriate marriages,” Cillian said.
“Do they get a choice?”
“Not really. But that is no different than in Varsland, except there Irmgard would have chosen for them. It is not outside their expectations, Lena.”
I wasn't sure that made me more comfortable. “What was the original offer?”
“Four months, not eight, and some details around the oarsmen. We argued that it was unfair to ask Irmgard to choose among potential husbands before she had some proficiency with the language, and the oarsmen that chose to stay needed some guarantee of work. She is being provided with a language tutor and will be allowed to keep three of her men as personal guards, although she will need to pay them. The rest will be given work on the ships or at the harbour, if they wish.”
“We argued?” Turlo said. “You did.”
“In consultation,” C
illian said mildly. “Is that not my role?”
“Aye, it is. One the Empress is taken with, it appears.”
Cillian did not reply. We finished the meal, talking of the city and its sights. Prisca brought me my tea and a bowl of dried fruit, dark brown in colour. I tried a piece: it was chewy and sweet, and when I bit into it, the interior was a golden yellow. I took a second piece.
“Do we need to go over what is to be said tonight?” Cillian asked Turlo.
“Aye, we should. And review the letter of petition, perhaps?”
Cillian nodded. “I will change, then come to your room.” He stood. “Stay here and enjoy the evening, Lena.”
Sorley waited until both men had left. “What's wrong with Cillian?”
“He's nervous.”
“And he doesn't want you with him?”
I laughed, gently. “Sorley, he needs solitude sometimes. As do I. There's nothing wrong.”
“You know him so well.” I thought I heard a hint of wistfulness in his voice.
“In some ways. What did Druisius think of the ladhar?”
He accepted the change of subject. “He plays a similar instrument called a cithar. He says he'll bring it when he's not on duty and show me, let me play it. I'm looking forward to that.”
“Rind is letting you play the ladhar a lot.”
He shrugged. “She says she's too busy for it right now, and I can use it until we leave. Lena, I talked to them today, and both she and Hana are perfectly happy with the arrangements. I know it's not how things are done in the Empire, or Linrathe, but you don't need to worry for them.”
“I won't, then.” It really wasn't my concern.
I heard Cillian's footsteps at the door. He came back out onto the roof, dressed in his court clothes, carrying a rolled vellum scroll. “Expect me to be late,” he said to me.
I stood to go to him, holding him lightly so as not to mar his finery. He pulled me into a tighter embrace, not caring about his clothes. He kissed my hair, and then my lips. “Wake me, if I'm asleep,” I murmured.
“Perhaps,” he said, letting me go. Sorley had also stood, and for a moment the two men simply looked at each other, until Cillian spoke. “Wish me good fortune, mo charaidh, for all our sakes.”
“Always,” Sorley said. Cillian smiled.
“Meas, Sorley,” he said. “It matters.”
We watched him walk across the sitting room to Turlo's door. “Shall we stay out here?” Sorley asked. The evening was cooling, and a light breeze made being outside even more appealing. I agreed. There had been a thread of discord between Turlo and Cillian again, and I didn't want to overhear an argument.
The sun went down. Fireflies began to appear, flashing brief sparks against the growing dark. I heard the guards on the stairs. Sergius came up. Seeing us on the roof, he came out, then after a word from Sorley, went to Turlo's door to knock. The men came out, Irmgard came down with Hana, and were escorted away by the guards. Silence fell.
“Sorley,” I said, “I never told you how it ended, with Maya. May I?”
“If you like.” He was being polite, I knew.
“I had gone to live in Casilla, with a woman called Ianthe, and the child she was raising, Valle. Just sharing the house, you understand? Valle was the son of Maya's brother, Garth, and Ianthe's sister Tice, from Karst village. It's a long story; maybe I'll tell you, someday. I had found work on the fishing boats, that spring, and I was happy enough.
“In early summer, Maya arrived, unexpectedly. She and Garth had been unusually close as children, and she still idolised him. She was determined to help bring up his son. She moved in, and after a while, she and Ianthe became lovers.” I hadn't admitted that to anyone else, not even Cillian.
He looked away. He understood now why I was telling him this.
“And I think that would have bee—all right. I could have stayed. Garth and I had been close, and I liked being with his son. Without the war, I would have seen Garth at Festival when he came to see Valle. I always thought that was at least half the reason Maya had come, so she could see her brother again. But she became distant. Unwelcoming. In the summer, she asked me to leave. So I did.”
“Did you still love her?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “I hadn't thought I did, but living with her again—yes. I still think about her, and hope she is alive, and happy.”
“You would have stayed, if she had welcomed you?”
“I think so. Sorley, you heard Cillian, just now. It is not just me who is glad you are here.”
He smiled. “I'm beginning to believe that. We are growing more comfortable with each other.” He picked up his ladhar. “Music?” he offered. I nodded, then remembered something.
“Can you ask Prisca for several more oil lamps for our bedroom?”
“Of course. But why?”
As much as I had come to appreciate Sorley, this was private. “When Cillian comes in, late, sometimes he likes to make notes,” I said. “The one lamp doesn't really give enough light.”
He appeared to accept that. I waited for him, watching the stars appearing. He came back with the ladhar, and shortly afterwards Prisca carried a tray of lamps into our room, coming out with one for our table. Sorley tuned the ladhar and began to play, gentle melodies. I listened. Tiredness began to seep in, making my eyelids heavy. I didn't want to sleep, yet, though.
A quiet tap at the door, and Druisius stepped out onto the roof. He held a stringed instrument, larger than the ladhar. Sorley stopped playing to greet him, beckoning him over. Druisius smiled at me, pulling out a chair to sit by Sorley, showing him the cithar. He offered it to Sorley, who took it, fitting a hand onto the neck. Druisius reached out to adjust his hold, moving Sorley's fingers slightly. Their eyes met.
“Sorley,” I said softly as I stood. “I'm tired. I'm going to bed now. Thank you for the music. Enjoy the night.”
Prisca had left six lamps on the low table by the window, beside the one she had lighted. I moved three to each of the small tables either side of the bed. Movement had woken me up, a bit. I retrieved my journal and began to write about the day. I couldn't find the right words to describe how Casil had made me feel, though, so I gave up. I might as well sleep, I thought. I would wake when Cillian came in, regardless of how quiet he tried to be.
I was wrong about that, though. When I did wake, I was alone in the bed, but I had the sense of someone else in the room.
“Cillian?”
“I'm here,” he said quietly. “Did I wake you?”
“No.” I sat up. I had shortened the wick on one lamp before I had gone to bed. I could see his silhouette in its faint glow, nothing more. “Have you been back long?”
“A while. I needed some wine, and to think, before I tried to sleep.”
“What happened at the palace?”
“For Irmgard, what we expected. The Empress made a few changes regarding the oarsmen, but nothing that mattered. So that is done.”
“Then what is wrong? Did she refuse our petition?”
“Not exactly. She promises she will consider it, but she is asking us to do something first. Something not inconsiderable.” He sounds tired, and discouraged, I thought.
“What?”
Casil, he told me, had been at war with several countries to the east and north of it on and off for centuries, but more recently for the past fifteen years. Allegiances shifted and allies came and went, but after the battle in which the Emperor had been killed, eight months previously, peace talks had begun. Good progress had been made until eight weeks ago, when both sides had reached an impasse. The Empress had asked Cillian and Turlo to resolve it. Fresh eyes and minds might see a solution, she had said. Only then would she consider assistance to the West.
“But—” I didn't know what to say first. “That could take weeks. Months. You don't know the lands, or what has been offered and refused, or the history. And will your authority to do this be recognized?”
“Our authority is given by the
Empress. We have been given two days to review the history and the existing treaty proposals, so in a very few hours I need to begin reading, and instructing Turlo in what I read. And yes, this could take weeks, or months.”
“But will she not expect a treaty advantageous to Casil?”
“To some extent, yes. But Eudekia is not just a figurehead Empress, Lena. Her grasp of history and politics is keen. When she made this proposal tonight, she spoke of the Emperor Adricius, who was Ulpius's successor and Emperor through the devastation of the Eastern Fever. Remind me to tell you about that, some day,” he added. “When the worst of the plague was over, Adricius realized he could not maintain the Empire as it had been; he chose to abandon lands and consolidate his strength in Casil and lands close to it. The Empress referenced this tonight, indicating that she was willing to do the same for peace, and to ensure she had an Empire to leave to her son.”
Cillian's voice had changed as he spoke. He sounds interested, I thought. Intrigued.
“Do you want to do this?” I asked.
“I must. We must: Turlo will be fully involved. I am no general. But consider this, Lena: it will let me see how the Empress and her advisors think, what they consider appropriate to include in a treaty, how they bargain. All to our advantage when the negotiations for support begin.”
And what if you cannot bring the two sides to peace? I wondered. What happens then?
“I should try to sleep,” Cillian said, “although I am not sure I will. And more wine will only slow my mind in the morning.”
I leaned over to adjust the wick on the lamp. “There are other ways to help you relax.”
Morning light woke me. “Hello, my love,” I said sleepily.
“Lena,” he greeted me. “I have been thinking. I will need you and Sorley, to make notes. It will be faster than me trying to read and write, and Turlo will need notes to refer to. Perhaps you and Sorley can divide the day between you, and do that for me?”
“Of course,” I said. I remembered something. “Wait until breakfast to ask Sorley.”
“Why?” Cillian asked, as he got out of bed.
“He may not be alone.”
Empire's Legacy- The Complete Trilogy Page 91