Empire of Avarice

by Tony Roberts

  The arguments for and against were getting quite heated and Isbel had to slap her hand on the table a few times to get the others’ attention. Clearly the issues were not going to be sorted out any time soon. Isbel was finally reduced to sitting listening to Panat shouting at Frendicus, both on their feet, yelling at each other from a distance of three feet.

  Suddenly the door crashed open.

  Everyone stopped. The two guards swung round, their volgars already at the ‘on guard’ position, when they recognised the newcomer, and they stepped back and snapped to attention. He came down the stairs, removing his gauntlets, staring hard at Isbel. Vosgaris reached for the hilt of his sword, wondering why this man hadn’t been stopped when the light from the lower part of the chamber finally lit up his face.

  Vosgaris gaped. Isbel gasped. “Astiras!”

  The emperor strode slowly towards her, ignoring everyone else. He casually tossed his metal gauntlets onto the table, narrowly missing Pepil. Isbel stood up, trembling. It had been a long time since she’d seen her husband. “When-when did you get back?”

  “Just now,” he growled, taking her by the shoulders and staring at her intently.

  Vosgaris stood there, his brain switched off. The others were all standing too, in a reflex of etiquette, but nobody was sure whether Astiras had noticed them or not. Isbel looked at the sweat streaked, armour clad man, and realised he’d ridden hard to get here and had come straight to the chamber. “I-I thought you were at Zofela.”

  “I was – but I had to return here.” He looked at his wife again, then slowly his head turned and Vosgaris had the distinct impression his soul was being burned out of him by his intent eyes. “Get out – now.”

  Vosgaris snapped into life. “Yes, sire!” He began stumbling towards the exit.

  Astiras turned his attention to the others. “All of you – out. I’ll speak to you all tomorrow!”

  There was a rush for the door and Vosgaris pushed the two guards out, too. The door was closed behind him and he stood in the corridor, suddenly perspiring. “By the gods,” he breathed to the guards, “I’d forgotten just how frightening he can be!”

  Isbel was being held tight. “Astiras – we were having a council meeting,” she protested.

  Astiras didn’t reply. Instead he kissed her, long and hard. Isbel uttered a few noises before melting into his embrace and returning his kisses. She was lifted up and seated on the table. “Astiras…”

  He was removing his armour. “I haven’t seen you in over a year,” he growled. “Stop talking.”

  Then she was being pushed down onto the map-inlaid table top and he was upon her and, indeed, she had no more time to talk.

  ____

  The news was round the palace like wildfire. The emperor had returned! Argan was beside himself with joy. “Father is back!” He bounded towards the imperial day room but his mother was not there. Frustrated, he went running from one room to the next, shouting out for both mother and father. He came pounding round a corner and collided with Vosgaris. “Whoa, young prince, slow down there!”

  “Father’s here, Vosgaris!”

  “Yes, yes,” Vosgaris grinned, tousling the boy’s hair, “I’ve seen him.”

  “Where?”

  “He’s with your mother. He’ll want to see you soon but he’s got lots of things to say to her. Grown-up stuff,” he added, nodding with emphasis.

  Argan’s face fell. “Oh. I hope he won’t be long!”

  “I’m sure he won’t. After all, he’ll want to see what a big strong boy you’ve grown into, eh? And he’ll want to see Istan, too.”

  “Phaw! Istan can get lost.”

  “Now, now,” Vosgaris wagged a finger under Argan’s nose, “that’s not the way to speak about your younger brother.”

  “I don’t care,” Argan sulked, unhappy that he couldn’t see his father immediately.

  “Look, I’ll tell you what. Let’s go to the dining room and see if the cooks can rustle up something to eat, eh? We’ll get to eat the hottest and freshest things before anyone else. Mmm?”

  Argan stood undecided for a moment. “What if mother and father don’t want to eat?”

  Vosgaris took the boy by the shoulder and began guiding him back down the corridor. “Oh, don’t you worry about that! Your father will be very hungry after he’s seen your mother. And your mother will be too, I bet.”

  “Why?”

  Vosgaris cursed under his breath. He’d forgotten the curiosity of youth. “Oh, your father has ridden from Bragal and I think he hasn’t eaten properly so he’ll be as hungry as anything! I bet he could eat an equine!”

  “Do they eat equines?”

  “We don’t, no. But some places do.”

  They came towards the dining room and two guards on duty opened the door. Vosgaris stopped and spoke to one, advising him to pass on the word that a special meal was being prepared to honour the return of the emperor, and the food would be served in one watch’s time. Then they entered the dining room, so big and empty without diners. “Where do they eat equines, Vosgaris?” Argan asked, looking up at the captain.

  “I hear they eat them in Mazag.”

  “Ugh! That’s horrid!” Argan stuck out his tongue in disapproval. “That’s where Amne’s gone, isn’t it? Will she have to eat equine, too?”

  “Oh I doubt that; she’s like you I think. She won’t like eating equine. Anyway, they have other foods than equine in Mazag.”

  “Have you heard from her yet? She’s been gone so long I’ve forgotten what she looks like!”

  “No, nobody has heard. She’ll send a letter once she gets to Mazag, don’t worry.” Vosgaris sat the boy in his chair and clapped his hands loudly. A cook popped her head through the wall serving hatch. “Yes, sir?”

  “The emperor has returned. Get a dinner cooked. Full course, celebratory style.”

  “Oh, goodness!” the cook shrieked and jerked back, banging her head on the hatch architrave. The hatch shut loudly.

  “Clumsy fantor,” Argan said.

  Vosgaris looked at the boy in astonishment. “Fantor? Where did you learn about them?”

  “My books! They have lots of monsters in them, Vosgaris. You’ll have to see them.”

  Vosgaris grinned. The chamber began filling up. Rousa appeared with Istan. At the sight of his brother Argan scowled, and Istan stuck out his tongue. Vosgaris twisted his lips. The two brothers really didn’t like each other. It was unsettling. Rousa put Istan in a seat five places from Argan and it seemed they would ignore one another, until a pile of steaming sweet cakes were brought out from the kitchen.

  By then Mr Sen had appeared, wondering where Argan was since he was missing the morning lesson. He soon sat down though and the cakes were shared out. Istan crammed his into his mouth as fast as he could and dived out of his chair and made towards Argan’s as fast as he could. Argan, though, had seen him coming and twisted away, holding his cake. Istan, enraged, struck out, then pulled Argan’s hair, screaming at him, “give me my cake!”

  Argan dropped his cake on the table and screamed in pain, and the chair he was in fell back, taking him with it. Vosgaris grabbed the falling boy and saved him from a possible injury. Istan clambered onto the table, making for the cake, but Vosgaris grabbed him by the collar and hauled him off. Istan yelled in outrage and struck out, catching Vosgaris around the head.

  The captain cursed under his breath and put Argan down gently, then he swung Istan round, placed him over his knee and proceeded to spank him hard. Istan screamed in surprise, pain, and fury. Rousa got up, flapping her hands in distress. “Oh, oh! Don’t, don’t! Leave him, Captain!”

  “Be quiet, Rousa, and see to Argan here,” Vosgaris said tightly, then carried on smacking the bawling Istan. Finally he stopped and pulled Istan round to face him. The three year old was clutching his bottom and screaming. “Istan – be quiet!” Vosgaris barked. “Or you’ll get another smacking; do you want that?”

  Istan shook his head and stop
ped, but the tears were still falling down his face. “You horrible!” he spluttered.

  “Yes I am,” Vosgaris said sternly, aware that Rousa was now fussing over Argan. The six year old pushed her away and picked his chair up, avoiding the ineffective efforts of the nurse, and got back into his chair and rescued the crumbling remnants of his cake. “Now you listen to me, Prince Istan. You are behaving very badly, not like a prince. You’re more like a canine. Do you wish to be treated like one? If so I’ll put a collar around your neck and put you in a kennel.”

  Istan pulled such a furious face that Vosgaris was taken aback. Was there so much malice in such a young person already? Vosgaris stood up and loomed over him. “If I catch you behaving like that again – to anyone – you know what you’ll get from me!”

  “I’m telling father!” Istan stormed. “He’ll have your head cut off! I hate you!” the three year old spat and ran off, bawling in outrage.

  “Good riddance,” Vosgaris commented. He looked at Rousa. “He should have been disciplined long ago. He’ll needs a firm hand from now on. Otherwise you’ll be trying to cope with a monster there.”

  Rousa put her head in her hands. “Oh no, oh no; you’ve made things worse now! I’m going to have to try to calm him down. Oh dear, oh dear,” and she waddled out after Istan into the passageway outside.

  Argan was rubbing his head ruefully, and eating the cake with his free hand. He had fought back the tears because he wasn’t going to show Istan that he was a cry baby. Besides, he had his cake. And Vosgaris had taken his side against Istan and nobody had ever done that before. He thought Vosgaris was the best ever. It made him feel very happy.

  “Are you alright, young prince?” Vosgaris asked, seating himself. He glanced at the worried looking Mr Sen who had done nothing except eat during the entire scene. Even as Argan was nodding back at him, Vosgaris smiled crookedly at Mr Sen. “Looking forward to teaching Istan? Can’t be long now before he starts.”

  Mr Sen looked glum. “I’m not sure I can handle such a temper. He certainly is his father’s son.”

  “I worry once he grows up; if he’s still like that goodness knows what will happen. He needs knocking into some sort of civilised state. That nurse has ruined him.”

  The door opened and Astiras came in, holding a crying Istan in his arms, followed by Isbel and Rousa. Everyone stood up. “So,” Astiras glared at Vosgaris, “I hear you’ve been beating my son here. Like to explain your conduct, Captain? Striking a prince of the blood? Do you value your position here, or even your life?”

  Vosgaris saluted and gave his account of what had gone on. The emperor glowered but unexpectedly Mr Sen stood up and backed Vosgaris’ story. The emperor decided to believe what he’d been told. He looked from Vosgaris to Argan. “Well, Argan? My – how you have grown! You’re going to be a big strong man, I can see!” he grinned, and held out one arm. Argan ran to him and flung his arms around him, and got a nasty kick from Istan who was glaring down at him. Argan yelled and thumped the offending leg hard. Istan screamed and flailed at Argan in sheer temper. Astiras pulled both apart and set them down, a hand around each. “Is this how you two carry on? I’ve come back to find my two sons are barbarians!”

  “He always starts it, father!” Argan accused his brother who was pulling a face at him.

  “So I’m beginning to hear.” He looked at Rousa. “I think your services are no longer required, nurse. From now on my sons will need a firmer hand.”

  Rousa looked shocked and put her hands to her mouth. Isbel looked surprised. “Astiras...” she began.

  “If these two were women, then Rousa would be suitable. But you’ve seen these two. I’m frankly disappointed nobody has stopped it – apart from the Captain here.” Astiras dismissed Rousa with a flick of his fingers. The nurse turned about and ran out, sobbing. Isbel scowled at her husband, then chased after Rousa.

  “Women!” Astiras said heavily. “The gods help me! Right you two,” he looked down at both boys. “You are princes, both of you. Perhaps one day one of you may even be emperor. But only if you start behaving properly and not like barbarians. Kastania does not need barbarian emperors. Do both of you understand?”

  “Yes, father,” Argan nodded eagerly.

  Istan scowled. Eventually, after some prompting, he mumbled his assent. Astiras grinned, hugged both boys and then stepped back. “Well, I must have a good look at both of you.” He gave each a long, pleased scrutiny. “Yes, you are both growing up fast! Big and strong I want you.”

  “Are you staying now you’re back, father?” Argan asked.

  Astiras grinned and shook his head. “Sadly, no. I must still fight a war in Bragal but we’re winning. Teduskis is looking after things there while I’m away. I’ll have to go back next sevenday but I’m here for a few days, just to see how things are here and to be with my two sons!”

  Argan smiled. Istan was still sulking and didn’t react.

  “Now you two – go to your seats. It’s time we ate – I’m starving!” Astiras announced and sat the two boys either side of him. Vosgaris hovered behind Argan, making sure he was seated safely. Other people came filing in, including the empress. She said nothing to Astiras, but the two red spots on her cheeks indicated she was less than happy with him. Rousa was not with her.

  Astiras smiled at his wife but it wasn’t returned. “Ah! It’s lovely to be back with my happy family,” he said with a huge breath of air.

  Vosgaris smirked behind his hand, while Isbel pursed her lips and glared at his sarcasm. Mr Sen wisely looked down at his napkin and the other diners said nothing. Astiras was an intimidating presence there, and the relaxed meals of the past were forgotten.

  “Tell me, Captain,” the emperor said, turning to Vosgaris, “how do you feel about taking over the guardianship of Prince Istan?”

  Isbel looked up sharply. “He has Argan to look after, Astiras! He can’t possibly deal with both boys, especially as they are going to be in different places throughout the day!”

  “Indeed,” Astiras swung an arm idly over the back of his chair. “Then, dear, you find someone appropriate to take up the exacting task, or I’ll appoint Captain Vosgaris here to take care of Istan full time.”

  “I shall certainly do that!” Isbel snapped, “now you’ve so heartlessly dismissed Rousa! And after the years of service she’s given us. She brought up Amne….”

  “I’m fully aware of what she’s done,” Astiras turned to his wife, “and what’s she not done, which is just as important. Istan needs a firm hand to bring him up, not a wet blanket of a nurse! I won’t have him becoming uncontrollable.” He looked at Istan, oblivious to the conversation, tucking into a fruit assortment.

  “I’m their mother, Astiras, and I ought to have some say in their upbringing.”

  “That you are,” Astiras agreed, “and you do. But this one matter is something I’ve noticed almost the moment I’ve set my eyes on him and I don’t like it. It’s all well and good being tough, but this streak of – nastiness – needs to be controlled or we’ll have a big problem on our hands before we know it.”

  Isbel wasn’t going to be deterred however. “We will speak of this later. For the moment its best not to carry this on in front of the children.”

  “As you say, dear,” Astiras said, sitting up straighter in his chair.

  “And don’t ‘dear’ me, Astiras Koros!”

  The emperor rolled his eyes. “I’m beginning to think facing a Bragalese insurrection is much more preferable than dining in my own palace.”

  “Well you know where Bragal is,” Isbel said acidly. “If you prefer to go there I won’t stop you!”

  “You know you’re quite attractive when you’re angry,” Astiras said mildly.

  “Oohh!” Isbel clenched her fists and looked away from her husband.

  Argan looked in confusion at his parents. Why were they cross with one another? They hadn’t seen each other for such a long time. Argan was pleased his father had come home. He
would have thought mother would have been pleased too, for she had often said she wished he was here. Now he was here, she was cross at him. He didn’t know why grown-ups did the things they did. He might ask Vosgaris later.

  As things turned out he didn’t have much of a chance. After the meal he was whisked outside to fence with Panat Afos while Istan was put into the hands of two young Holy Virgins, women destined for a life within the temples of the empire. While not permitted to be preaching clerics, they performed many valuable and important functions, from ensuring the temples were kept clean to tending the sick, infirm, or needy. The temples were the spiritual guides of the empire. Astiras had summoned the two to take care of Istan in the short term while a proper guardian was found.

  Isbel had waited until Istan had gone before curtly gesturing him to join her in their chamber. Two guards took up their posts as the doors slammed shut, and they exchanged knowing looks.

  Within the luxurious room Isbel swung round, furious. “How dare you come here and start throwing your weight around with my children! How dare you dismiss a faithful retainer like that! In front of all of us – it was so embarrassing! The poor woman is inconsolable! So close to retirement and suddenly you cut off her living without a moment’s thought! If this is how you intend governing the empire you can do it without my help!”

  Astiras gave her a long silent look, then grabbed a chair and swung it round, sitting himself back to front so his arms rested on the back as he faced Isbel. “Have you been blind to Istan’s temperament? It struck me the moment I saw what he was like, and after hearing what the others said, it was clear nobody had done anything to stop him. The child needs guidance, not a free rein! He needs to know he cannot have whatever he wants, Isbel. Rousa was not the right person to look after him, clearly.”

  “All the same, Astiras, you were wrong to dismiss Rousa like that! I had to calm her down and promise her a pension. And a place to live in the palace.”