Empire's Reckoning

by Marian L Thorpe

  “She needs stories,” I said, “to give her perspective.”

  “Stories told by you, with all your scáeli’s skills?” Cillian asked. “A tale spun to coerce and convince, my lord Sorley?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you are leaving in two days,” Lena said.

  “I am,” I said. “But why can’t I take her with me?”

  The immediate objection came, of course, from Druise. “You cannot protect her properly,” he growled.

  “But you could,” Lena said. “Sorley, would it break tradition if Druise went with you to guard Gwenna?” Scáeli’en travelled unarmed, except for our belt knives, and usually alone, although there were exceptions to that.

  “Not considering who she is,” I said.

  “Then...” Lena turned to Cillian. “There is wisdom in Sorley’s suggestion,” she said to him. “In Tirvan, it was other adult women who helped us make sense of our rules and traditions, when we were young and argumentative.”

  “You, argumentative?” Cillian said. “I cannot imagine it, käresta.” His eyes were soft, as they always were when he looked at her in their private rooms. Lena pulled the cushion from behind her back and threw it at him. He caught it easily, laughing.

  “Such behaviour from the Comiádh and the Lady,” I said. “And what were you like at fourteen, Cillian?”

  “I would ruin Druisius’s good opinion of me, were I to say,” Cillian answered. He tossed the cushion back to Lena. Druise snorted.

  “If I had one, perhaps,” he said. “Am I going north?”

  “I have no objection,” Cillian said. “It is an excellent idea. But it is not my decision. What about the guard, Lena?”

  “They can be my responsibility for the summer,” Lena said. “But are you completely sure, Sorley?”

  “If you are, yes,” I said. “I may well be glad Druise is with me, though.” Since earliest childhood, it had been Druise Gwenna had gone to when she was upset or confused.

  “No doubt,” Cillian said, understanding. “And now I am going to make an exception, and have a second cup of wine. Who is joining me?”

  We talked no further about it. Druise and I played music, and we drank a bit more wine, Cillian limiting himself to two watered cups. He’d mixed the few drugs he sometimes allowed himself into one, and he was relaxed, free of pain. Not terribly late in the evening, Lena yawned. “Bedtime,” she said. She got up from the floor where she had been leaning against Cillian’s good leg, her usual place when she listened to music. She bent to kiss him. “Try to get some sleep.”

  “I will see you in the morning, käresta.” He smiled up at her. Druise picked his cithar up, stretching as he stood.

  “Good night,” he said. “See you at breakfast.”

  We let them leave. I stood, holding out a hand to Cillian to help him up. We walked across the silent hall to the annex and his library. The door between it and the adjoining treatment room was open, lamplight flickering in the space beyond. His xache set — mine, really: Irmgard has sent it to me, in gratitude for learning her sons were alive — sat on the table, the carved walrus ivory gleaming palely as I lit a lamp. Cillian went to the shelves that lined one wall, pouring me a small amount of fuisce.

  I picked up the white cat from the chair where he had been sleeping, transferring him to my shoulder. He purred, rubbing his head against mine before jumping down to stalk out into the hall. Sitting, I looked at the gameboard. We were part-way through a game, although we hadn't played for some weeks. The lamp flickered. I deliberated over my move, taking a sip of the peaty spirit. I moved a piece, capturing one of his, eliciting a faint sound from Cillian. I looked up at him, seeing the amusement in his eyes, dark in the lamplight. I had left myself vulnerable.

  Reaching out, he took my game piece in one deft move. He might never walk easily again, or dance, but his hands were as graceful and skilled as they had been before that terrible autumn, nearly fifteen years past. “Will you never learn?” he asked.

  “Someday, perhaps,” I said. “But you don’t really want me to, do you? It will always suit you to be the teacher.”

  “Not always.” He smiled, slowly, his true, radiant smile, rarely seen. “Not in all things, Somhairle.”

  “Good morning, Sorley,” Apulo said quietly, when I met him in the corridor just before dawn the next morning. “There is a jug of hot water by your door.”

  “Thank you,” I said. I picked up the jug of water, crossing our sitting room to the bedroom that was nominally Druise’s, and almost never used. As I washed, I thought about my dream just before waking. Apulo had been in it, as the frightened castrati slave he had been, arriving from Casil fourteen summers past. What he had been subjected to as a bath slave, by men who saw a pretty boy who could not refuse them, made me angry even now. When Druise had told me that Apulo had been a singer before his enslavement — his sentence for stealing a cithar — somehow that engendered even deeper anger. He had already paid a terrible price to keep his high, pure voice, and that had not been his choice, either.

  Why am I thinking of this? I wondered, as I dressed again. But it wasn't hard to work out. Gwenna’s questions would have no easy answers. In offering to tell her the stories, I would have to face my own memories: disillusionment and doubt, uncertainty and discontent, and deep sadness and deeper joy. Much of what I remembered was confused now, events recalled out of sequence. Gwenna’s birth was a fixed point, and I knew Cillian and Lena were married just before that, and that the Governor arrived after it. Two other memories were as clear as the day they happened. But others were distorted by time, both the details and the chronology blurred.

  I didn’t think it mattered. If I wanted Gwenna to truly hear what I had to tell her, I would have to wait for her questions. Even then, I would need every scáeli’s skill I had to explain her father’s actions, to help her understand his reasons. All my skill, all my own hard-won acceptance, and all the love I had for them both.

  Chapter 4

  14 years earlier

  Spring came early, that first year after the Marai defeat. Grass gleamed green in the pastures and coltsfoot flowered a week or more ahead of its time. The strong southerly winds brought swallows back to their mud nests under the eaves of byre and cottage, and they brought a fleet from Casil, too.

  We had expected it, but still we barely had time to prepare. A messenger had been sent from the Eastern Fort, but the ships had travelled almost as fast. A flagship, and six ships behind it, bringing the new Governor of the Western Empire and his entourage.

  “How convenient for us that Decanius is not here,” Cillian said, as we walked out into the sunshine. He leaned heavily on his stick, and our progress was slow, but he didn’t need my arm. “First impressions, on both sides, will not be marred by his influence.” Professing an interest in horse breeding, the Procurator had decided to visit the grassland villages to see the first foals of the year. Talyn had gone with him, taking Druisius to translate. I wondered now if Decanius had guessed the Governor would arrive soon, and had chosen to absent himself.

  “Accompany me to the docks, if you will, Lord Sorley,” Casyn had requested, when the ships had been sighted a little earlier. “The officers you have been teaching can converse adequately, but for this I need your fluency in Casilan.” The stairs were still too difficult for Cillian. He would wait at the gate that led to the harbour.

  We were at the harbour before the ships were rowed in, the breeze off the water catching cloaks and hair. The first vessel approached. Oars were withdrawn, ropes thrown, and the ship eased in beside the jetty. Rufin escorted a man in middle age off the ship, his hair close-cropped, his expression genial. He looked around him in interest. Two other men followed closely behind them.

  “Governor,” Rufin said, “may I introduce the Princip of the Western Empire, Casyn? Princip, the Governor of this Royal province, Livius.” I translated quietly, although the gist was clear. Livius stepped forward, offering an arm to Casyn.

&nbs
p; “Princip. I look forward to our work together.”

  Casyn replied, in the formal words I had taught him. I introduced myself, in both my roles. Livius smiled and made an appropriate reply. His eyes were friendly, I thought. “Where is the Procurator Decanius?” he asked.

  “Inspecting our horse breeding locales, some days east,” Casyn answered, after I’d explained. Diplomatic, making it sound as if it was an official duty. Livius pursed his lips.

  “We had little warning of your arrival, Governor,” I said. “Your ships almost outpaced the messenger.”

  He nodded. “Now a difficult question, one I am commanded to ask immediately so that word can be sent back to the Empress as quickly as possible. The lord Cillian? He was not expected to live, the last we heard.”

  I glanced at Casyn: he would have heard Cillian’s name. With a motion of his fingers he indicated I should speak. “The lord Cillian,” I said, the title strange on my lips, “has made nearly a full recovery, and waits for you at the fort. He is lame, and cannot climb the stairs, but otherwise is healthy. And,” I said, for my own reasons, “he is married, and newly a father.”

  Livius smiled. “How fortunate. The Empress will be pleased. Now, Princip, may we go to the fort? I have instructions for you, and personal letters to deliver. And Rufin tells me there are baths?”

  “Princip?” I asked. “Do you wish me to stay here to translate for the ships?”

  “No need,” Rufin said, in Casyn’s language. “Some of your officers came to Casil with us in the autumn.” He gestured to two men behind him on the quay. “They have taught me enough. I can manage.”

  “Excellent,” Casyn said. “Thank you, Captain.”

  Cillian had left the gate to stand near the top of the steps, supporting himself with his cane. Filus Imperium de Westani had been appended to his signature on the treaty that had made this land a province of the Eastern Empire, and he wore the grey-and-white of his father’s office. “Governor,” he said in his flawless Casilan, “I welcome you to Wall’s End fort. I am Cillian, son of the late Emperor Callan, and the Princip’s nephew.”

  “Lord Cillian,” Livius said, offering his hand again. “Your recovery will bring the Empress great relief.”

  “I am pleased to hear it,” Cillian said. “The Empress is well? I have written to her, if that is not too great a presumption.”

  “The Empress is very well,” Livius replied. “And the letter is no presumption at all, my lord.”

  “Major,” Cillian said. “The Western Empire has only military ranks, Governor.”

  “If you prefer it, yes,” Livius said easily. I translated the conversation for Casyn, quietly. We entered the fort, our pace slowed to accommodate Cillian. At Casyn’s workroom the door guards saluted. Livius returned their salutes. Wine and pastries waited on the central table, Birel standing against a wall. At Casyn’s signal he served both before leaving us.

  “Before any other topics are discussed,” the Governor said, after an appreciative sip of the wine, “I have a letter for you, Princip, from the Empress, written in your language by our most competent official, but you will forgive any errors. He has only had a few months to learn. Although,” he tapped his chin with a loose fist, “the presence of the Lord Sorley, as his country’s representative, might be inappropriate.”

  “May the Princip read the letter first, and make that judgement?” Cillian asked.

  “As you wish.” The Governor handed a sealed letter to Casyn. He broke the wax, unrolling the vellum. His eyes scanned the writing. Carefully, he put the letter down.

  “I see,” he said. “I would prefer the Lord Sorley to stay. Better Linrathe’s envoy is aware from the beginning of what has been ordered.”

  “Certainly,” Livius replied, genially. He sat, apparently completely relaxed, looking around.

  “Our land has a new name,” Casyn said to us, “one that better places it in the Eastern Empire. From today, our country is to be known as Ésparias.”

  “The Western Land,” Cillian said, “in Heræcrian. Was this our land’s name before, Governor?”

  “So I am told. Do you speak Heræcrian, Major?”

  “I am learning,” Cillian said. “The physician Gnaius is teaching me, when we both have a little time.”

  “Do you approve of the name, Princip?” Livius asked. He sounded as if he cared.

  “It is appropriate,” Casyn said. “I expect it will take a little time for it to become reflexive on the tongue.”

  “No doubt,” the Governor agreed. “Now, as to the second directive, is there a child to be sent? Or is the Major’s newborn —” He turned to Cillian. “Forgive me. Son or daughter?”

  “Daughter,” Cillian said.

  “Daughter,” Livius repeated. “Is she the only heir? We would not expect her to be sent to Casil to be educated, not for some years.”

  Cillian’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “I would hope not.”

  “The presumptive heir, Governor, is my daughter’s son, Faolyn,” Casyn said. “He is nine.”

  “Of sufficient age,” Livius said. “Can he be ready in ten days, or perhaps fewer? You may send companions and an escort befitting his rank, of course.”

  He turned to me. “Lord Sorley, the Empress extends an invitation to Linrathe, if your leaders would like a child of their house to also be educated in Casil.”

  The only appropriate child was Ruar, and Liam, his great-uncle and regent, would never agree. “I will make the invitation known, Governor,” I said.

  “Now,” Livius said, “we have much to discuss. The Procurator has completed the census and land surveys, I trust?”

  “I can answer that, as the Princip’s adjutant,” Cillian said. “The accounting is complete.”

  “Very good. Tomorrow will be soon enough to review those figures, I think. Princip, I would like to see your fort and your men. Will you show me?”

  “Of course,” Casyn said.

  Cillian made an apologetic grimace. “I will accompany you, but I may not be able to walk as far or stand as long as is needed. The Lord Sorley could also translate, if you wish.”

  “I think not,” the Governor said. “Perhaps one of the officers who returned with me?” No surprise, I thought. Why would he allow me to hear his opinions?

  “Major, this is not your area of responsibility,” Casyn said to Cillian. “My other adjutant, Michan, has been more concerned with matters concerning the troops,” he added, addressing the Governor. “I will request he join us.”

  Dismissed, Cillian and I stood to leave. “Major,” Casyn said, casually, “consider who should accompany Faolyn to Casil. An officer with proficiency in the language, and an appropriate guard, I think.”

  Chapter 5

  “My workroom,” Cillian said to me in the corridor. We didn’t speak until we’d reached the room and the door was closed. “Your impressions?”

  “A man used to power, and to being obeyed,” I said.

  “Close to Eudekia, and not a friend of Decanius, I would say.” He leaned on his cane. “The Empress gave in to Quintus on the Procurator, but has prevailed in her choice of Governor. If Decanius anticipated this, it more fully explains his attempt to consolidate power and wealth before this man’s arrival.”

  He sat, stretching his bad leg out in front of him. Without asking I moved the footstool into place. “What do you think of this request to send Faolyn to Casil?” I asked.

  “Order,” he said, “not request. I am unsurprised: Gnaius told me once it was common practice, to bring the heirs of provinces to the palace to be brought up there.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Educated, he said, in the manners and ways of Casil, although I think indoctrinated might be a better word.”

  “What will Talyn say?” I sat down.

  “Very little, most likely,” he said. “In the normal course of things in this land, Sorley, he would have joined the cadets at seven.”

  At seven I had been learning to control my pony, irritated
by a four-year-old brother who wanted to do everything I did. To be sent away from family and familiar things, to a city so far away that even the language was new — I couldn’t imagine it. I’d been homesick at eighteen.

  “Can Talyn go with him?”

  Cillian laughed drily. “I believe the boy would be mortified, Sorley. His mother? His father would be acceptable, and perhaps should be sent, if he is alive. But tell me of the officers in your language classes: who is proficient, not just in language, but in the other qualities he or she will need to navigate the politics of the palace? I would like someone there whom we trust, who will provide us with information that is not also shared with the Governor.”

  I thought about the officers I taught. One was a friend of Lena’s.

  “Yes,” Cillian said, when I offered his name. “He might well be suitable. I have another thought, and not one you will like, mo charaidh. Who among us swore loyalty not just to the Princip, but to his heirs, and has sources of information within the palace that no one else will have?”

  Druisius. I bit back my first instinctive ‘no’. Druise was a soldier of the Western Empire — Ésparias — before anything else. “How long will Faolyn be expected to stay in Casil?”

  “For several years, I should think. But I was not thinking to send Druisius for so long, Sorley. A few months, to allow him to re-establish friendships, or perhaps even connections with his family. Someone who would write to a soldier in a far province, but unimportant enough that those letters would not be considered of interest to anyone else.”

  I spread my hands. “He is yours to command, Cillian.”

  “But you do not like the idea.”

  “Would you?”

  “Were it Lena being deployed away from me for some months? No.” He studied me. “Do you care that much for him, Sorley?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I must consider it, in ordering a man away from his consor.”

  “Which answer will make you feel better?” I asked, abruptly irritated. “Yes or no? If I say yes, will it relieve your remorse over my feelings for you, but make the decision to send Druise away harder? Or do you prefer no, which makes it easier to have Druise go to Casil, but resolves nothing between us?”