by Tony Roberts
With that the camp was transformed into a hive of activity. Tents were packed and rolled up onto wagons, and beasts of burden hitched to the latter. Wagons were brought forward and other supplies loaded up. Weapons were checked and put into scabbards, or held in hands. Shields dusted off, examined for rot or splinters, and then slid into position. The army marched with them on their backs, ready for use at a moment’s notice. These veterans were going to take no chances.
Jorqel composed a quick letter and sealed it before passing it to the messenger who mounted up, waved his farewell, and rode off south into the night. Dawn was in the air when the camp was finally packed and torches were extinguished. Fires were kicked into extinction and a last check made of the area to make sure nothing had been left. The men were glad to move, for the latrines were becoming fetid with frequent use. Now their contents could seep into the ground and fertilise the land.
As the sky grew lighter, the scouts were allowed to ride off to the horizon and Jorqel mounted his white charger. In the saddle he settled himself and looked around. His bodyguard were ready, all like him, mounted on strong chargers. To front and rear were the two companies of foot soldiers, all spearmen, and on the flanks the two companies of imperial archers were waiting. With a lazy wave, Jorqel set them off southwards towards the border of Lodria, where imperial rule had been thrown off, the people there preferring to follow a nephew of a long dead emperor and his family, the traitorous Fokis. Emperor Astiras would not tolerate this, whereas his predecessor had done nothing to stop it.
Jorqel felt elated as he rode along the road; he would show the people of Kastania that the Koros dynasty would not allow rebellion in any part of the empire!
CHAPTER SIX
Argan awoke during the first watch after dawn. He yawned, rubbed his eyes and stretched out in his clean bed. It felt nice. He had slept well. His younger brother Istan had his own room now, and it meant that his crying no longer kept him awake. He decided he liked the palace, even though he’d only slept there two nights. Well, one and a half, really. He wondered what was going to happen this day. He’d been told that a new tutor was going to teach him what he was to learn during the day, and that there would be a special room where he would be taught these things. It would be only him taught by the tutor. Istan was too young to learn anything yet.
Argan threw aside the blankets and padded to the window that overlooked the courtyard. He struggled to pull the curtains aside but finally stuck his head through the centre, giving up with wrestling the heavy drapes. It was a clear day and in the courtyard below the changing of the guard was going on. He liked to see this. It happened twice a day; at this time in the morning and just before dark. There were lots of soldiers all with the big long handled weapons marching in lines and other men, without these big weapons, were shouting at them. Argan wondered whether these shouting men were cross. They certainly sounded it.
More men came marching from the place where they slept. His father said this was called a barracks. The ones already in the courtyard then marched towards the barracks and went inside. The new men split up and marched to particular places to stand still and watch. That was what was called being on guard, so he’d been told.
“Ah, you’re awake,” Rousa’s voice startled him. He’d not heard her come into the room. “Get dressed, young prince; breakfast will be ready soon, and we don’t want to miss that, do we?”
“No, Rousa!” Argan said and tugged at his sleeping clothes. “What am I going to wear today?”
“Your new clothes,” the nurse said, throwing open one of the huge floor-to-ceiling wardrobes that filled in various alcoves. The room was huge and there was plenty of space to walk around and get things like clothes out of chests without bumping into anything. The floor was covered in a thick fluffy carpet and Argan liked the feel of it against his bare feet.
“My new clothes?”
“Yes,” Rousa smiled, holding up a wormspun shirt and jacket combination that was pale yellow in colour with blue piping on the cuffs and collar. The collar itself was very decorative and layered. Rousa laid it on the bed for Argan to get into, then she lifted out of the clothes chest the small leggings, also wormspun-like and coloured pale yellow. The blue piping went down the thighs. Resting at the bottom were many pairs of shoes, and Rousa picked up a pair made of soft felt. These were indoor shoes, as opposed to the leather ones for outdoors.
“I’ll leave you to get dressed, young prince,” she said. “I’ll see you downstairs.”
Argan threw on his clothes, patting the jacket. It was a bit heavy but he got used to it fairly quickly. The leggings were very comfy and smooth. He supposed because he was a prince now he was allowed to wear such things. The shoes were a snug fit and he wiggled his toes inside them for a moment. Then he smelt breakfast and his tummy growled, reminding him that he was hungry. He ran to the door, pulled down the silver handle that was shaped like a hunting feline’s paw – he liked that – and trotted out into the wide corridor. One of the men he’d seen out in the courtyard was standing in an alcove almost opposite. He bowed as he caught sight of the boy.
“Hello!” Argan said brightly.
“Greetings, young prince,” the guard said solemnly.
Argan beamed and bounced along the corridor to the stairs. He liked it that one of the guards was there in the corridor outside his room. Maybe it was so to stop Istan sneaking into his room to wake him at night with his crying? The huge staircase went down in one big run. On either side were high rails and they were too high for him to touch, so he jumped down from one step to the next.
His sister, Amne, appeared from another passageway and stopped at the top of the staircase. “Slow down, Argan,” she said. “You don’t want to fall, do you?”
Argan stopped and waited until Amne came alongside, then he held up his hand and she took it, and they went down the rest of the stairs together. “Do you think we’ll have those huge giant fowl eggs again today?” Argan asked loudly.
“They’re water avian’s eggs, Argan,” Amne said with amusement.
“Water avians? They don’t lay eggs, do they?”
“Oh yes they do,” Amne said, taking Argan across the floor-boarded hallway to the dining wing. Servants were carrying food from the kitchen across a corridor to the dining room. More guards stood on watch and Amne seemed nervous around these men. Argan didn’t know why.
“How?”
“How, what?” Amne asked, turning her head to look down at her brother.
“How do water avians lay eggs?”
“Well….. they push them out of their….back ends.”
“Their bums?” Argan asked very loudly.
“Shhh! No, not their bums,” Amne replied, looking wildly around the room. Her father and mother were both looking at Argan in surprise. Rousa was frowning as she stood close to the door and a number of other people were seated at the large table. Argan saw one was Teduskis, while the others were people he had never seen before. He decided he didn’t want to sit near the strangers. Teduskis was not a stranger but Argan that morning felt he didn’t want to sit near him either. He wanted to sit next to his mother.
“What was all that about, Amne?” his mother asked as the two went to sit in the two seats next to Isbel.
“Argan wanted to know how water avians laid eggs, mother, that’s all.” Amne pulled out a chair for the young boy who clambered up into his seat. A servant appeared, holding a thick cushion, and passed it to Amne who slid it behind Argan. “Argan, stand up a moment.”
Argan, who had found the table top at nose height, pushed himself up and felt the cushion slide under his bottom. He sat down and found he was now high enough to use his spoon. He smiled at his sister who sat next to him. Amne pursed her lips and looked about. There was someone missing.
“Father, where’s Captain Mercos?”
She didn’t see Teduskis look at her sharply, then shift his eyes sideways at Astrias, but Isbel did. She kept quiet, but regarded Teduskis wit
h a very long look which the retainer caught and he looked away. Amne missed all this as she was looking at her father who had made a show of looking round the chamber. “I really do not know,” he said truthfully. “Perhaps he had an appointment? I shall find out, of course. I wouldn’t worry unduly about him, Amne. I thought you didn’t like the man.”
“I don’t,” Amne replied, “but he’s usually on guard or on duty when Teduskis isn’t here.”
“True. I’ll find out after breakfast.”
Argan didn’t listen as he didn’t really understand what they were talking about. He was looking hard at the egg that was placed before him. It was big. If it didn’t come out of the bird’s bottom, then where did it come out of? It can’t be the mouth as the egg was too big for a bird’s mouth. As everyone seated was served with an egg and bread Astiras stood and tapped the side of his cup with a silver spoon. All turned to him attentively.
“Another morning. We must give thanks to the gods for our good fortune, and to continue to do so. A moment’s prayer of thanks.”
Argan bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut. He’d been told if he prayed hard enough the gods would hear him. But he didn’t need to shout, so his wincing mother had told him after one particular hard effort a few sevendays ago. The gods would hear him whether he whispered, screamed or thought the prayer. So Argan concentrated and thought very hard about how he was grateful to the gods at making him a prince and his father the emperor. And maybe could the gods tell him where the avians made their eggs?
A servant sliced off the top of the egg for him and then stood back, a small white cloth draped over his velvet sleeve. Argan struggled with the height of the egg but dunked his bread into the egg without knocking it over which was an achievement for him. Amne kept an eye on him, as she normally did, but the boy seemed to be coping well that morning.
Astiras ate well and avoided looking at his wife who was giving him a fairly hard stare from time to time. Conversation was strained and sparse, and the adults guessed the empress was not entirely happy with her husband. As a result the diners left fairly rapidly once the eggs had been eaten and drinks thrown down throats. Teduskis fairly fled from the room, not wishing to be caught in any conversation with Isbel. That was the responsibility of the emperor. He was just a faithful retainer.
Amne wiped Argan’s mouth before standing up. Opposite her the diplomat Theros Pognon stood as well, bowing low to her. His duty that day was to begin her tuition in the art of diplomacy, as he was to accompany her to Mazag when the time came. He was plain, slim, and had a really dreadful basin hair cut around the level of his ears. Amne found him oddly attractive in a repulsive way. He must have been in his forties. She turned to her mother and father. “I must be at my lessons. I’ll be in the palace library if you need me.” She bowed and the emperor and empress bowed back.
Argan waved at her, his smile wide. Amne tousled his hair and then walked to the door, Theros allowing her to precede him.
“Argan, you must be at your studies too,” Astiras said, a smile on his face. The young boy was to be taught how to be a prince, learn the art of war, how to govern a province, and how to speak languages and the dozens of other skills someone of his station would need. It would take over a decade, but the end product ought to be worth the effort. A stout, bearded man with double chins at the end of the table stood slowly, wiping his mouth. It had been a wonderfully cooked egg and the bread was divine. He was glad to have secured the job as tutor to the young Prince Argan. His name was Iovan Sen and he was a man who had tutored many of the young members of the Kastanian nobility already. He had been in the right place at the right time when the coup had occurred and had made enquiries at the palace the day before. He had been interviewed and accepted almost immediately, but he thought it had been the references he carried on him from the prominent families of the city that had done the trick. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained, he believed.
“Come young Prince,” he said kindly.
Argan looked at his parents. They smiled and nodded. “This is your tutor, Mr Sen. He’ll teach you lots of things. Go with him. He knows where you’ve got to go,” Isbel said. “I’ll pop in and see how you’re getting on in a short while.”
“What about you, father?” Argan asked.
“Well, young man, I’m going to be very busy today. Got to see lots of people. Being emperor means I’m going to be very busy.”
“And your father and I have things to discuss right now,” Isbel said, putting her hand on Astiras’ arm. Astiras winced, but changed it quickly into a smile.
Argan hugged the pair and then trotted off dutifully after the waddling tutor.
Isbel waited until the door had closed before turning to her husband. “What’s this about that man Mercos? You and Teduskis have done something to him, haven’t you?”
Astiras eyed the two guards standing dutifully at the end of the room. “Not here, dear. I don’t want us overheard.”
Isbel looked at the two guards. Neither had given any sign they had heard the low voices of either herself or her husband. “Our chamber, then?”
“Yes, but it’ll have to be quick. I’ve an appointment fairly soon with Frendicus and his tax collectors.”
“Your wife is more important, Astiras Koros! I didn’t agree to become empress only for you to ignore me, you understand?”
Astiras sighed and stood up. “I know, Isbel. But there’s so much to sort out and fast. I’d no idea how bad the rot had set in here before yesterday. If I don’t do something now, we won’t be around in a couple of years. Come on, let’s get to our chamber and you can say what you need to say, and I’ll tell you what’s going on.”
Isbel stared at her husband for a moment, then stood up and was allowed to lead him out of the dining room. Pepil was waiting outside, rolls of parchment in his arms. Astiras waved him off, saying he would join him in the treasury, a set of rooms attached to the palace, in due course, and to get Frendicus and his minions to work at once. Pepil bowed low and moved off along the corridor. The two went in the opposite direction, up the staircase and into their chambers. Here the imperial guard were on duty and none of the suspect palace guard could overhear them.
Astiras sat heavily on the bed while Isbel remained standing. “Well?” she began. “Just what is going on?”
Astiras bowed his head, then snapped into a business-like posture. “Mercos was arrested last night leaving a meeting of conspirators who were planning to overthrow us and replace us with a more – sympathetic regime to them.”
“Oh no!” Isbel put her hands to her mouth. “Already? It’s begun so soon?”
“Are you surprised? We live in a fractious time. We’ve had ten years of civil war, so even though most of the players are now gone, their supporters remain and anyone gaining power is likely to be opposed by a fair number of people.”
“Not to mention upsetting hordes of people,” Isbel said sharply.
Astiras grinned lop-sidedly. “Yes, that didn’t help.”
“So who else is involved?”
Astiras ticked off the names on his fingers. “The temple, the merchants, the Thieves‘ Guild, the palace guard, the Fokis family, the Duras family, possibly the Palanges and the Kanzet families too.”
“All of them?” Isbel was aghast. “That’s just about everyone!”
“As I said, it shouldn’t be a surprise. Everyone who has benefitted in the last few years. They’ve become rich; the empire has become enfeebled and poor. Now I’m trying to bring them to heel and they’re screaming in outrage; no matter they’ve raped the empire and robbed everyone blind; they think they’re entitled. They’re a bunch of traitors.”
“Traitors or not, you’ve got to do something to stop them, Astiras! Our children are in danger.”
“I’m well aware of that, Isbel. From what I understand the Thieves’ Guild has sent an agent out to kill Jorqel. I’ve sent a warning letter to him. He’ll have to take whatever appropriate action he can.”
“But – can’t you do something with the guild?”
“Such as? They’re totally independent. Having a guild makes them visible. If I take any action against them they’ll go underground and start a campaign of murder against us. I’ve no idea who their agents are or where they are.”
Isbel sat down on a chair. Her heart was beating hard. “Then nobody is safe!”
“We’re as safe as we can be, given our position. Teduskis is going to be a busy man this sevenday; he’s taken Mercos to the city dungeon under the garrison quarters, and I think there’s a few inhabitants in there who can be freed. They’ll be invaluable to our regime; they were imprisoned for opposing the previous emperor. Teduskis is going to meet the guild leader later today to thrash out an agreement. That’s all we can do.”
Isbel drew in a deep breath. “What about our little boys? They’re so vulnerable! And the new tutors – how do we know they’re reliable and loyal?”
“We don’t,” Astiras conceded, “but we can’t stop doing everything or we might as well quit. The only good thing is that these tutors were appointed yesterday before this clandestine meeting last night and nobody there has any connection with the tutors.”
“I’m surprised at Teduskis; I thought he was your personal bodyguard, that’s all.”
Astiras laughed and stood up. “Not at all; he’s a damned important man. If anything needs doing unpleasant, he’s your man.”
“But he seems such a nice man!”
“He is; but he’s utterly dedicated to us. You can’t get anyone better than he.”
“What did that war in Bragal do to you both? You’ve both become – cold hearted.”
Astiras’ eyes became unfocussed and he saw in his memory people impaled on trees, of burning villages, of rows upon rows of people hanging from poles erected on roadsides, of sudden ambush, of children suddenly throwing off their cloaks to reveal swords to cut the throats of unsuspecting soldiers. Corpses, burning, death. He sucked in a deep breath. “I’m glad to be out of it,” he said harshly. “But I’ll have to return there soon if we are to keep Bragal in the empire. In the meantime I have to build a foundation here.”