by Tony Roberts
Astiras turned round, his hands behind his back. “Amne; do you wish to back out now?”
Amne looked shaken. Her face was white and her hands were tightly interwoven on her lap. “Will the mission be scrapped if I do, father?”
“No,” Astiras shook his head emphatically. “Theros will take over; he’s experienced enough.”
“But would it mean the chances of success are reduced?”
Astiras made a non-committal noise. “Possibly; the importance of receiving a member of a royal household would elevate the status of the negotiation and bring it to the attention of the other kingdoms. And no disrespect to Theros here, but you are a far prettier negotiator and that would, in my view, influence the talks in our favour.”
Theros smiled. Amne bowed her head and everyone waited for her to speak. Finally she looked up at her father. “You’ve always told us to put the empire first, father. So, I shall go.”
Isbel groaned and threw her hands in the air. Astiras smiled gratefully, walked across to her, pulled her to her feet and kissed her tenderly on the cheek. Amne smiled wanly. It was clear she was very worried. Theros looked thoughtful while Teduskis nodded with respect.
The empress was not happy. “I’m disappointed in you telling Amne she’s vital to these talks. She’s more important to us than any treaty with Mazag. They’ll probably break the treaty anyway when it suits them, so what’s the point of it all?”
“The point, my dear, is that it gives us time. I know Mazag won’t stick to it, Mazag know they won’t. But what it does do is put us on the moral high ground and gives us time; time is what we need. We can’t wage a war with anyone other than Bragal or the rebel states at the present time. But in time we’ll have had sufficient opportunity to rebuild our defences and armed forces. And Amne is my daughter; she’s got the guts to do it!” he smiled at her again, this time with pride.
“You’re putting us all in danger for your obsession with the empire,” Isbel said heatedly. “Sooner or later one of us will pay for it.”
“What do you take me for, Isbel?” Astiras snapped. “I’ve no intention of keeping to the original plan. Amne, Theros and their party will go by another route. They’ll have to go as a small party.”
“What – on their own – through Bragal?!” Isbel practically shrieked. “You’ve taken leave of your senses, dear husband!”
Astiras waved her words aside irritably. “Theros; those others you’re taking. Trusted men all?”
Theros bowed in assent. “The two clerks are very trustworthy; they’ve been here in the palace for a number of years. Perhaps you can assign a trusted man to guard us, your majesty?”
“I will,” Astiras promised. He looked at Teduskis. “Plan an alternative route. You recall the routes from our time in Bragal. I want the safest, fastest route to the Mazag border.”
“Your majesty,” Teduskis bowed.
Isbel shook her head in exasperation. “And what of Jorqel?”
“He’s a grown man; if he can’t look after himself he’s not suitable to be emperor when I die.”
Isbel gasped again. “I had no idea you could be so…..so callous!”
“I’m not being callous, woman,” Astiras growled warningly. “I have an empire to run and being frightened and scared at every threat is not the way to be! For too long this empire has been run by frightened little men dominated by their selfish ways. The only path to survival is determination, determination to carry on no matter what! Jorqel will look after himself; I have warned him, that is enough. Amne here will be protected by the best man we can spare. She will leave the night before I take the army out of Kastan. There will be no mention of this outside this room; is that clear?”
Theros and Teduskis nodded immediately. Amne did so after a brief pause. Isbel held her husband’s look for a short while, then she sighed. “Yes.”
As the afternoon went on, Isbel found herself outside the nursery. Her mind was a whirl of emotions, most of them upsetting to her. She went in and watched her two sons playing happily with their toys. Rousa was sitting in the middle of the room and went to stand but Isbel waved her to stay sitting with a tired smile. Will my husband put your lives in danger too, my darlings? she thought to herself. She picked each up in turn and hugged them both. Istan chattered in delight and made unintelligible noises, while Argan greeted her and endured the hug before being placed back on the rug.
“Look, mother, I’m fighting a battle!”
Isbel saw Argan had arranged a number of figures in two rows and was moving them against each other. Some had fallen over. “Who are they, Argan?”
“That’s father!” he pointed at a tall, upright figure on a charger. “He’s winning!”
“Of course,” Isbel smiled; “he always does.” She left the nursery, unable to stay any longer. Hurrying to her chamber she shut the door and burst into tears.
Being an empress meant she couldn’t wallow in self-pity for long. Composing herself and allowing her chambermaid to help her change her clothing, clean up her face and put new make-up on – an empress had to look her best even when not on any official engagement – she was soon making her way to her next scheduled appointment. Unlike Astrias, she kept her own schedule rather than rely on Pepil, and unlike her husband, she was planning for when he left. She would have to run the palace in his absence and that meant play the part of both emperor and empress in Kastan.
Theros was waiting for her in his office. Amne was away learning to speak Mazag from a native of that kingdom, learning the language like one born there, something Theros wasn’t able to teach her. He stood and bowed as Isbel entered. Isbel waved him to sit. She sat down opposite him and composed her thoughts.
“Theros. When you accompany my daughter to Mazag you will leave the palace without any senior diplomat. This we cannot have. I would like you to put forward one of your junior diplomats to stand in for you and to handle any necessary diplomatic issues we may have in your absence. I believe you expect to be away for a year or more?”
Theros nodded solemnly. “Indeed, your majesty. The journey through Bragal must be undertaken with care and we will be there in winter, never an easy time. Then we must pass through the mountains to get to Branak on unfamiliar roads. I do not know how long the negotiations will last but we must be prepared for them to extend for a number of sevendays.”
“Then you must appoint someone to stand in for you. Do you have anyone in mind? Someone loyal to the empire and not to any previous faction, of course,” Isbel smiled.
Theros smiled faintly back. It was hard to be sure of anyone’s loyalties these days. “I know of such a man, a rising star in my office. He’s from the island of Zipria and quite a clever fellow.”
“Then please arrange for him to be promoted to stand in for you. I shall interview him myself in due course. He will have to sit on the Council too, as we need a diplomat on it, and currently we do not have one. He is up to date with the events going on around the empire and outside our borders, I trust?”
“I shall make sure he is, ma’am.”
“Good.” Isbel studied the diplomat. He never gave anything away, which she supposed was essential to any decent diplomat’s armoury. But it meant she was never quite sure where his true loyalties lay. “Tell me, how realistic do you think my daughter’s chances are of securing a deal with Mazag?”
Theros sighed and thought for a moment. It was not easy giving an answer when so many variables and unknowns played a part. “Your majesty, no member of a ruling family from the empire has ventured outside the borders for a very long time, and the princess is virtually unknown. It will be a diplomatic mission of note, and Mazag will certainly gain political advantages as a result. They may be sufficiently honoured to be receptive towards us. I trust that they are. Amne is a beautiful young woman, and any male negotiator will be charmed, and that may well work in our favour too. I am hopeful, ma’am, but not over-confident.”
Isbel nodded. “Thank you, Theros. Just keep my
daughter safe. That is all I ask.”
“Has a guard been appointed yet?”
“I believe my husband is working on that; there are some – political manoeuvrings going on in the background.”
Theros bowed, then stood as Isbel rose to her feet. “I shall perform my duties to the best of my abilities, ma’am.”
Isbel smiled again. “The empire will be grateful – as will I.”
The empress then made her way along the plush corridors, past guards and attendants, accompanied only by her handmaiden, back to the day room. It was from here that the Koros family ran the empire; it was their office and planning centre. Four people were always on duty here waiting to take orders or commands to the various offices in the palace, runners or messengers all. Palace guards stood in strategic places, always ready for a command, and to ensure the imperial family lived and worked in safety.
Isbel was rapidly making this room hers. Flowers were in evidence in many places, adding colour and scent to the room. Pepil was often here, especially now that the emperor was turning more of his attention to the forthcoming military campaign, and most of the everyday mundane items that were needed to be addressed in order for the palace and empire to run smoothly were being offloaded onto Isbel’s shoulders.
“Pepil,” she began briskly, “make a note for Theros’s man to be interviewed here in two days’ time. Now, to business. Frendicus and his tax collectors have come up with figures needed for the coming winter’s building programme. The road repair scheme will take up much of our funding but having decent roads is essential. Have you got any news on the workforces being recruited in Frasia, Bathenia and Pelponia?”
Pepil shook his head. “As of this morning, there has been no further news, your majesty.”
“Then send messages to Niake and Kornith, asking the governor or acting governors there to advise us of the costs and progress. Inform them it is essential the work is completed there before the winter arrives.”
“And here in Frasia, your majesty?”
“Here it is different. The improvements will take longer; we are paving the roads, not merely digging up weeds, undergrowth and repairing landslides. But I will want the Kastan city guilds to supply the workforce and materials. Haggle with them over costs; I don’t want them taking advantage of us.”
Pepil bowed. It had been some time since anyone with such enthusiasm and industry had occupied the palace; it may be that if things continued in this manner, he might have to ask for some of those scribes recently released from palace employment to be returned. There was going to be a great deal more work under the Koros, that was for sure!
The sea crossing from the shores of Frasia to the shores of Bathenia was fraught with danger. The main reason was that two seas converged here, the Aester Sea to the north and the Sea of Balq to the south. Both seas were large and where they met, in a relatively narrow stretch of water, the tides raced ferociously except at high and low tides, when they were turning. At that time a crossing was possible, but only for about as long as it took to cross. Therefore ships’ captains had grown up knowing when to cast off and when not to. This also meant that if a ship wished to sail from one sea to the other, they had to time it when the tide was favourable, or else they would have to anchor or find an inlet in which to shelter.
Gaurel and Demtro watched as the shoreline of Frasia receded behind them, with the city of Kastan in the background. Kastan itself did not have a proper harbour due to the ferocious tides, but rather was served by the port of Galan a few leagues to the east where the waters were much more gentle. Similarly Niake was served by Aconia. Gaurel and Demtro would alight close to Niake rather than take the longer journey via Aconia, but it had to be timed to perfection. Neither were seamen so they were putting their faith in the sailors’ abilities. Or to be precise, Demtro was; Gaurel was putting his faith in the gods.
Demtro pushed away from the stern rail and cast a glance at his travelling companion. Gaurel was gloomy and morose. Clearly he saw this as a banishment, which indeed it was. “Don’t take it too badly, High Priest,” Demtros said cheerily. “Plenty of work to be done in my home town.”
“You are from Niake?”
“Yes. I saw the riots when the temples were burned down.”
Gaurel turned to the merchant with interest. “Indeed? And what did you see?”
“I saw people angry at the gods deliberately attacking the temples and razing them to the ground.”
Gaurel stared in disbelief at the man. “But the emperor of the time said they had been accidentally burned in the general riots! You do not tell the truth.”
Demtro shrugged. “See for yourself when you get there, High Priest. No other buildings around them were burned. There was no accidental damage. The people were genuinely furious at the gods for abandoning them. You have some hard work to do in Niake, I can tell you.”
Gaurel looked shocked. “Why would the people be angry at the gods?”
“Why not? These past few years our lands have been lost to nations or people that believe in different gods or have a different set of beliefs. People who formerly worshipped our gods are now being forced to convert or die. Our gods are not doing anything to stop it, so its no wonder the people lost patience and faith. You continually exhort us to keep our faith, but it is hard when the gods seem to have abandoned us.”
“You speak heretically, merchant!”
“I speak the truth,” Demtro countered, “and you know it, High Priest. What you clerics need is for our empire to roll back our enemies and return the people of those regions to our gods. But that won’t happen as long as you have weak and easily manipulated emperors on the throne, as we have had in the recent past. Oh, yes, it may be to your advantage to have one like that for personal gain and enhancement of your riches, but you lose your followers by the legion!”
“How dare you!” Gaurel enunciated slowly and angrily.
“I dare, god-botherer. I ask you; do you really believe in the gods you represent, or do you believe in personal wealth beyond everything else? If you think you can carry on collecting vast riches you’d better think again. I’m a merchant; collecting riches is my business and Niake isn’t big enough for the both of us. Try to outdo me and you’ll come to grief.”
“You godless unbeliever! I’ll have you lynched by the people for such heresy!”
“Ah go drown yourself,” Demtro scoffed. “Exactly who will listen to you, the priest who covers himself in wealth while the followers of your gods scratch in abject poverty and see their jobs wither and die; their crops fail; their friends massacred? If you enter Niake today with your blinkered views it will be you lynched and spread to all four corners of the city.”
Gaurel faced Demtro at the distance of a hand’s span, trembling in fury. “Truly you are a servant of evil,” he breathed.
“Quite possibly, bead basher, but if you want more followers and those who believe in our gods to grow, then you’ll have to endure an emperor who is likely to savage our enemies rather than run from them. Astiras Koros is the man to do just that. So stop plotting to undermine him, you fool. Your personal wealth is of less importance than the survival of this empire. Start getting your priorities right. You may realise in time that Astiras Koros is the best ally you’ve got. Unless of course,” Demtro said, turning away, “you care not for our gods and wish to see the symbol of our rival faiths erected on the ruins of our temples.”
He walked away from Gaurel, leaving the High Priest incandescent in fury, outrage, frustration, and, although he didn’t want to admit it, the knowledge that the merchant was right.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Working in the palace usually went on until nightfall or the first watch change after dark, depending on the time of year. Sereth left as night fell, as did most of those employed in the palace, and made his way by carriage to his home. Carriages were reserved for only the richer members of the palace staff. The humble office workers had to walk through the refuse-strewn streets and
avoid the piles of animal droppings that could easily be unseen in the dark, particularly now the street lighting was haphazard, to say the least. Not that dung was their only hazard; loose paving stones were also waiting to trip the unwary. It had been some time since money had been spent on the upkeep of civic buildings and walkways, or to clear the rubbish and refuse that was piling up in alleyways and roadsides, swept there by disinterested citizens or disheartened employees of bankrupt civic offices.
Sereth had been pleased that his house had been untouched during the time of his stay in the prison beneath the garrison barracks, unless one counts the obscene scrawl put there by someone carrying a grudge against him or the regime that had been in place at the time. Sereth had paid a workman he knew to paint over it and to carry out a check of the house to see if anything needed repairing. Apart from a roof tile or two, it was in reasonable shape. After all, it was in one of the more affluent areas and street crime was kept at bay it as the residents paid private mercenary gangs to ensure no one messed around. Anyone who did ended up as part of the refuse in the alleyways and no one bothered to ask any questions.
The Counsel reached his house and entered it gratefully. The furniture within had been taken after his arrest, shared out between the then emperor and his favourites, but Sereth hadn’t been that bothered. After all, most of it had been given to him by previous emperors as a sign of favour to him from others who had been arrested. What goes around comes around, he mused ironically. It was after all, part and parcel of the job. Anyway, he had sufficient funds hidden away to afford to be able to replace the furnishings ten times over if he wished to. But instead he’d pleaded with the empress and had been promised some replacements. What the palace failed to replace he’d get elsewhere, whether it be legal or not didn’t really matter.
He was surprised when a knock came on the door. He was even more surprised to see it was one of his old associates, Amsel Fokis, one of the powerful Fokis clan. He was the second eldest son of the current patriarch. Quickly ushering him inside, lest anyone see him there, Amsel was led by candlelight to a back room. Once inside Sereth lit a few more so that they could see each other properly, and then the curtains were drawn to prevent any passers by outside from looking in. There was only a single table and two chairs in the room which was being used for dining. Sereth would revise each room’s function when the rest of the furniture started turning up.