Empire's Legacy- The Complete Trilogy

by Marian L Thorpe

  It all took a long time to sort out. The guards took my secca, examined it, asked questions I couldn't understand. Druisius intervened. Eventually, they gave me my knife back and took the two attackers away.

  “Druisius,” I said. I had been thinking, while the guards talked. He looked at me. “Cillian,” I said, and touched my mouth, shaking my head. He frowned. I shook my head again. He did not need to be bothered by this.

  “Sorley?” he asked. I pointed to myself, and then my mouth, and repeated 'Sorley'. I would tell him. He nodded. Then he pointed homeward, and then towards the wall, and gave me a questioning look. Where did I want to go?

  If I went back to the house, I would only brood on what had happened. Better to be doing something. I pointed towards the wall.

  We passed through a gate and out into a broad training ground, with stables at one end. No one was on the field. “Junia!” Druisius called. A dark-haired, muscled woman, half a head taller than me, came out from one end of the stables. She glanced at me, asking Druisius a question. I heard my name in the answer.

  “Lena,” she said, turning to me. I smiled. She gestured me towards the building. I followed her into a tack and equipment room smelling of leather and oils. She gave me an assessing look, then took a pair of leggings from a shelf, holding them out to me.

  I put them on under my tunic. We walked along the row of stalls until the second last, where a bay horse stood, browsing on hay. Junia pointed to the horse, and then to me, and then to the tack room. The first test, I realized.

  I pointed to myself, said 'Lena,’ and then pointed at the horse. Junia smiled.

  “Roseus,” she told me.

  I walked into the stall, saying his name, letting him get used to my voice and my smell. I patted his neck and held my hand out to let him smell me. A gelding, I noticed with relief. He wore a rope head-collar. I took hold of it and led him out of the stall.

  He stood easily to be tacked up. Junia pointed out a saddle and a sheepskin to go under it, and watched as I swung both up onto Roseus's back. The saddle was heavier than I was used to, and higher at the front and back. More importantly, there were no stirrups. I tightened the girth, bridled the horse, and went back to tighten the girth again. Junia nodded.

  I led the gelding to a mounting block and swung up into the saddle. The higher pommel and cantle made up for the lack of stirrups in a way, but I wasn't quite sure what to do with my feet. But I had ridden Tirvan's hill ponies bareback as a girl. I settled myself in the saddle and reined Roseus out onto the field.

  He was well trained. I took him through his paces, learning that he changed direction with either rein or leg signals—that made sense, I thought, for a horse carrying an archer whose hands would be occupied—and had an easy trot and a comfortable canter. After a few rounds of the training area, I reined him in in front of Junia.

  “Bêne,” she said. I dismounted and tied the horse where Junia indicated. We went back into the equipment room, and from a rack on the wall, she handed me a bow.

  Compact and deeply curved, it reminded me of the bows we had taken from the plains riders. But I had never seen one constructed like this. It had three layers, I realized as I examined it: a central layer of wood, between horn on the inside and what looked to me like sinew along the outer curve. As I compressed it to fasten the bowstring, I felt its resilience: the draw would take more strength.

  I saw from Junia's pursed lips and nod that I had surprised her, probably by stringing the bow on the first attempt. She took a quiver of arrows from the wall and we went back outside. Targets stood against one end of the field. She showed me where to stand and gestured me to shoot.

  I tested the draw of the bow first, slightly startled by the initial strength needed. On horseback, with no stirrups to brace against, this would be a challenge, I thought. I nocked an arrow, and shot, repeating the action several times. All the arrows except the first hit well inside the target.

  “Bêne sagiteri[17],” Junia said. At her gesture I unstrung the bow. She took it from me, pointing to the horse. I untied him and mounted again. She grinned and reached up to tie the reins together, dropping them on his neck. She folded her arms, nodding slowly, telling me to ride without reins and without hands.

  After several tries, I worked out how to tell Roseus to move forward rather than turn, and then how to change gaits. His easy trot was less easy, without hands, and at a canter I slid to one side, righting myself with a lurch of my body. Oddly, this did not seem to bother the horse. I realized I had no idea how to make him stop. I tried a calming noise, coupled with firm pressure from both legs. To my surprise, it worked.

  Junia stepped forward and took the reins. I slid off the saddle, feeling the pull in my inner thighs. She grinned again, touched my shoulder, and looked over at Druisius, who had watched the whole session sitting in the shade. He got up. We were done, I assumed.

  Druisius and Junia spoke for a few minutes, then, with a sideways movement of his head, Druisius indicated we were to leave. “Gratiás, Junia,” I said, and turned to pat the gelding. “Bêne Roseus. Gratiás,” I said to him, making Junia laugh.

  At the house I washed the smell of horse and sweat away, and heavily watered a glass of wine. With nothing to distract me I could not keep my thoughts from what had happened on the way to the training ground. What had the men wanted? Had I made trouble for myself, stabbing my attacker? Druisius would testify that I had only been defending myself. Reliving it, I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my chest. I added more wine to my glass and went out to sit on the roof.

  Prisca brought my solitary meal. I ate, wondering what to do with myself. After a while, I fetched my journal. Carefully, I drew a picture of the bow, labelling the parts, and making a few notes. I wrote down some words for which I needed translations. Then I went upstairs, and, with apologies for disturbing her lesson in Casilan, asked Irmgard to borrow the xache pieces.

  I thought about possible battles and how horse archers could be used for much of the afternoon, lining pieces up and moving them around, making notes and drawings. I thought about hills and valleys, marshes and woodland and city streets. Only in late afternoon did I return the game pieces to Irmgard.

  Sorley came in not long after. He looked tired. Turlo and Cillian, he reported, were to dine at the palace tonight. Sergius would take their court clothes over to the private baths. A glass of wine in hand, he dropped onto one of the benches in the sitting room.

  “What happened today?” I asked.

  “Atulf told his side of the story. The man is voluble. Cillian asked a lot of questions. I wrote down the answers so Turlo could understand, and that was all. Did you go to train?”

  “Yes, but something happened on the way. Is Druisius around? He should be here when I tell you.”

  Sorley fetched Druisius, and between us we told Sorley about the attack. After a long conversation between the men, Sorley turned to me. “Druisius says they have determined it was a random kidnapping attempt; you were with a guard, so worth a ransom. It happens here. He says it was his fault; he should have taken you a different route, and will tomorrow. And he says your knife skills are impressive.”

  “I misjudged and the knife hit a rib; otherwise the man could well be dead,” I said. “But perhaps that might have caused problems. Sorley, we cannot tell Cillian, or Turlo; they have too much else to concern themselves with. Will you ensure Druisius understands that, and the other guards, and Sergius and Prisca?”

  “I will,” he said slowly, “but, Lena, are you really not going to tell Cillian?”

  “Not now,” I prevaricated. “After the talks are done. I am not hurt and the men are dealt with. Had I been targeted because of who I am, to influence these negotiations, then he—and Turlo—would need to know. But Druisius says it was random.”

  Sorley looked doubtful. “But we cannot silence all the guards, and Cillian may hear it at the palace. What do I say if he asks me about it?”

  I hadn't thought of that.
“If he asks you, then tell him, but also tell him it was my choice to say nothing.” I couldn't ask Sorley to lie for me. He nodded.

  “That's fair.” Druisius said something. “Right,” Sorley replied. “Druisius says to tell you Junia sent a message: she is beginning to train a few new recruits in the afternoons. You are welcome to join them.”

  The days settled into a pattern. Most nights Cillian and Turlo came home very late. I didn't try to wait up for Cillian; tired and often sore from the archery training, I went to bed at my usual hour, waking when Cillian came home, usually just for a few murmured words. Far too early in the mornings, he was awake again, reading notes or talking to Turlo before returning to the palace.

  In the early afternoons, Druisius escorted me by a longer route on wider streets to the training ground. There were two other women training with me. We rode bareback for some days, learning to guide the horses with only legs and voice, and then we rode with an unstrung bow, discovering how handling it affected our seat and balance.

  The day we began to ride with a strung bow, practicing drawing it as we rode, I fell off Roseus several times. Instinctively I wanted to raise my body to draw, and when I did, I lost grip and balance. After the second time, Junia called me over to her. I reined the horse close.

  She mimed drawing the bow, and when I did she put one hand on my belly, pushing backwards, forcing me to drop onto Roseus's back. I understood immediately. I nodded, and she let me go. I urged Roseus into a canter again, and, concentrating on keeping a deep seat, drew the bow. I stayed on the horse.

  The feel of Junia's hand low on my belly remained with me as I groomed Roseus after the training. Don't let it bother you, I told myself. What had Sorley called it? The right stimulus. I untied the gelding, leading him back to his stall. As I closed the door, Junia put her hand on my arm.

  “Baineas?” she asked. “Lavi?”

  Sorley was doing his best over our dinners together to teach me some basic Casilan. I sorted through the words I had learned. Junia was asking me if I wanted to go the baths. After three falls off Roseus, it sounded like a very good idea.

  “Itá[18],” I said. She grinned, calling over to Druisius. He shrugged, and took his place behind us as we walked. Junia led us back through a gate and into the city to a smaller bathhouse than the one Prisca had taken me to. A statue of the huntress goddess, bow in hand and dogs at her feet, stood outside it. One hand of the statue rested on a dog's head, and as we passed Junia reached out to touch it. The stone gleamed from countless fingers. I followed Junia's example, feeling as if it were appropriate, somehow.

  Inside we gathered our towels, were rinsed off by the attendants, and settled into the hot pool. Junia's body was muscled and lean, her shoulders wide. Several scars snaked over her arms and one thigh. I wished I could ask her about actually fighting, about how the mounted archers were deployed, and when.

  I closed my eyes, letting the hot water pull the ache from my back. For some time, I soaked in the heat, enjoying the feel of the water, until I felt Junia's fingers trail down my arm. Desire stirred. I did not open my eyes. I took a deep breath. The fingers asked again. I opened my eyes and looked at her, at the question in her eyes. Every choice leaves something behind.

  Very slowly, I shook my head. She cocked hers. Are you sure? she was asking me. Again, I shook my head. “Habea quincalum[19],” I tried. She looked surprised.

  “Quincalum?” she asked. “Non quincala[20]?”

  “Quincalum,” I repeated. She gave me a wry smile, and shrugged. I smiled back, trying to indicate I wasn't offended by her interest.

  She didn't appear to take my refusal badly. After the cold pool and the massage, we dressed companionably and went out to find Druisius. They chatted as we walked. At the junction of two streets Junia left us, calling 'crasti'. I'd have to ask Sorley what that meant.

  “Gratiás, Druisius,” I said, as we reached the door of the house. What does he really think of his assignment, I wondered, escorting me around the city, spending much of his time just waiting? But he was always cheerful. As usual, he grinned, and went off towards the kitchen. As I entered the sitting room, I glanced out to the roof, looking for Sorley. Cillian and Turlo sat at the table, wine glasses in front of them, talking. I went to join them, giving Cillian a quick kiss. “I wasn't expecting you,” I told them as I sat down.

  “We made the first proposal this afternoon,” Cillian told me. “Quintus and Atulf are deliberating with their advisors. Tomorrow they will make their objections and modifications, and we will begin the trades and compromises.” A trace of cynicism coloured his voice.

  “It is all taking too long,” Turlo complained.

  “The treaty must be seen to be fair and balanced, and well-considered.” Cillian answered. I didn't think this was the first time they'd had this discussion, somehow. “Three or four more days will do it, I believe.”

  “Aye,” Turlo said, sounding doubtful.

  “You,” Cillian said, turning to me, “have been at the baths.” He would have smelt the lavender on my skin when I kissed him, I realized.

  “I fell off my horse three times today,” I told him. “The baths help with the aches.”

  “The lessons are going well?”

  “Yes. It's more difficult than I thought it would be, but I'm learning.”

  Turlo stood. “You two have seen little enough of each other,” he said, “and Cillian and I perhaps too much. A nap will be welcome. I will see you at dinner.”

  I smiled up at him, appreciating his courtesy. Cillian waited until he had gone. “We have quite a while before dinner,” he observed softly. “Turlo has gone to his bed. Might we follow his example?”

  Later, his fingers circled the bruises on my hip, already purple from this afternoon's falls. “They look painful,” he said.

  “They're tender,” I answered. “Nothing more. I shouldn't fall any more. Junia—she's the captain of the archers—showed me what I was doing wrong.”

  “Sorley tells me she was impressed by your skill with the bow. Or so Druisius told him.”

  “It's a much better bow. I want to buy one; they are made of three layers, and somehow that makes the arrows fly further than a bow of the same size made just from wood. I don't understand why, though.”

  “I wouldn't know,” Cillian said. “Does Junia?”

  “I can't talk to her to find out.”

  “If she can read—and I assume she can, if she is a captain—then I can write the question out, she can write down the answer, and I, or Sorley, can translate it for you.”

  “Don't you have enough to do?” I asked. “What does 'crasti' mean, by the way?”

  “It's a casual way to say, 'I will see you tomorrow'.”

  “That makes sense,” I said. I didn't want to think about Junia any more. “Can we talk about the negotiations?”

  “Broadly. What did you want to know?”

  “Why is Turlo out of sorts?”

  His caressing hand stopped. “He wants to complete them, so we can begin our own talks with the Empress. But I believe Quintus may be involved in those, too, and I—we—cannot afford to antagonize him. So we must be thorough, and responsive to his concerns. Which takes time.”

  I heard frustration in his voice. “I'm sorry, Cillian,” I said. “I didn't mean to spoil the afternoon.”

  “You have not,” he answered. “None of it is ever far from my thoughts. There are several major issues: the northern border, ownership of some islands, and the trade route east. I believe the proposal we have made regarding the trade route will stand; the bargaining will be over the exact location of the border, and the division of the islands.”

  “Who will get the trade route?”

  “Neither Casil nor the Boranoi, or both, depending on how you look at it. I have proposed this: that Casil takes the west bank of the river, and the Boranoi the east; each builds docks and warehouses, and all taxes and tariffs are set jointly and equally, by a committee comprised of equal
numbers from each side.”

  I considered this. “What if they can't agree?”

  “Then the proposal goes to the Empress and to the Boranoi king, and together they decide. Neither side wants war again, so it is in everyone's best interest to reach a compromise.”

  “It's brilliant,” I said. “None of the committee members will want to earn the displeasure of his leader, and so they will all be reasonable.”

  “My belief is those appointed to the committee will not want to give up the bribes and underhand payments they will collect from the traders, and that will be why they do nothing to jeopardize their positions,” Cillian said drily. “Either way, I believe the proposal will stand.”

  “Cynical man,” I said lightly. He smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes. “Cillian, what's wrong?”

  “Nothing, käresta. I am just preoccupied.” He was telling me to leave the subject alone. Perhaps he just didn't want me reminding him of what he spent almost every hour on; he had needed to relax, and I had not respected that.

  I reached up to kiss him. “And I am not helping. What can I do, my love?”

  “Not very much. You will need to be patient with me, as I told you.” His hand resumed its light movement on my hip. “What have you been doing, when you aren't training?”

  I told him about borrowing the xache pieces and planning mock battles. “Turlo is right,” he said. “You are thinking like a leader, you know.” He stretched and sighed. “We should get up, käresta; it must be nearly dinnertime.”

  At dinner, Cillian encouraged Sorley to talk about the instrument he was learning, the cithar. “It's different than the ladhar, but more in the tuning and the length of the neck than anything else,” Sorley explained. “And the music is mostly in a different key, and uses quarter tones, so the notes slide into each other. I can't really explain beyond that. You're not musicians.”

  “My ability to pick out a simple melodic line on the ladhar to accompany a danta does not qualify me to be called a musician?” Cillian asked with a straight face.