Empire of Avarice

by Tony Roberts

  Vosgaris led the way to the door and opened it for Isbel. The empress leaned forward slightly. “See me in my day quarters after lunch, Captain.”

  “Ma’am,” Vosgaris said. In the dung again, he thought with a long suffering sigh.

  Argan was sent to his room to change, and the dress-master selected a new set of clothes for him, tutting over the state of the soiled clothing. Argan had to wash before he was declared acceptable, and walked down the staircase to the dining room where the rest were already seated, including Velka who was now wearing a small ruddy-brown dress that had come from the palace wardrobe. Argan seated himself in his usual place and made sure Velka was alright, seated opposite him. She didn’t seem worse for wear, so he felt better about that.

  The meal did seem a little strained and formal, and Argan said nothing. He didn’t know if he were supposed to say anything or not, so he contented himself with stuffing himself with the nice pastries and meats. He watched what Velka ate but she didn’t seem to eat that much. Maybe because she was small and a girl. Not like Istan who ate like a porcine and then tried to take everyone else’s. Istan would probably grow up to be the size of a fantor.

  Argan smiled to himself at the thought. Istan would have to give children rides around Kastan if he did end up a fantor.

  When the meal ended, the Varaz thanked Isbel for her hospitality and bowed to Argan. Velka shyly smiled at him and Argan smiled back, waving his fingers at her. She did likewise. When the three had gone Isbel called both Argan and Vosgaris to her day quarters. First she dressed Argan down about the garden incident. Argan took it stoically. As far as he was concerned he’d done nothing wrong. “Mother, will we see them again?”

  “I’m not sure; they were very cross about you getting Velka dirty.”

  “But we did nothing wrong, mother. We were having fun!”

  “Having fun and behaving properly are sometimes two different things, Argan, remember that. But I was proud of you standing up for Velka.”

  “Thank you, mother. I didn’t think it was right and I thought she was going to cry.”

  “Yes, she did look as though she were. Would you like to see Velka again?”

  “Yes, mother. She’s very nice.”

  Isbel digested that. “Very well, I’ll see what I can do. Now you may go to your lessons with Mr. Sen.”

  Argan bounded off, leaving Vosgaris to face the empress.

  “Captain. I don’t approve of you enjoying my son’s bad behaviour. I think sometimes you’re a bad influence on him.”

  “Ma’am.”

  “Don’t ‘ma’am me, Captain. I would appreciate a bit more support from you in stopping him embarrassing me like that!”

  “Kids will be kids, ma’am. I remember getting into scrapes like that when I was young.”

  “Well I say it isn’t to be tolerated here, do you understand?”

  “Perfectly, ma’am.” Vosgaris stared over Isbel’s shoulder.

  Isbel sighed. “Captain,” she said, in a less severe manner. “I don’t want us to have any bad feeling between us, but we do seem to have constant issues over Argan. Can you please exercise a little more control over my son when he’s under your care?”

  “I shall endeavour to give it my fullest attention, ma’am.”

  Isbel flared her nostrils. “Captain Vosgaris, stop giving me that bland kind of response! I would like to see you actually meaning what you say!”

  Vosgaris looked her in the eye. “Ma’am, I believe Argan is a healthy, polite, courteous and wonderful young boy who will be the envy of the empire one day. He’s the sort of boy I’d be proud of if he were mine, and I know from what other people have said, they feel the same. You should be proud of what you have done in bringing that boy up the way you have. He’s a sensitive lad, and curious. He needs stimulation and love. But I really feel to keep on criticising him for little things hurts him deeply. He doesn’t show it that often, but I know he hurts inside when he feels an injustice has been done. You saw how he stood up for Velka, ma’am. He’s an honourable boy, and that’s something any mother should be proud of.”

  Isbel regarded the sweating captain for a moment. “Captain Vosgaris, sometimes you speak too candidly for someone in your station, but in this instance I’ll let that go. I thank you for your words, and believe me, I am proud of him. But he’s a prince of the empire and he must understand what is acceptable and what is not. I don’t want to catch you – smirking – at his misdemeanours again, do you understand?”

  “Yes ma’am,” Vosgaris said with more feeling. “Don’t worry, I shall not do so again.”

  “Good.” Isbel looked at the young captain closely. “Vosgaris,” she said in a softer tone, “please understand I’m very grateful for your hard work here in the palace, and I sometimes think we couldn’t function properly without you. I don’t want a rift to come between us.”

  Vosgaris bowed slightly. “I’m hopeful that doesn’t happen, either, ma’am.”

  “Good. Hopefully it won’t,” she smiled.

  Vosgaris snapped smartly to attention. “Thank you ma’am. I’d best be about my duties.”

  “Very well, Captain. Thank you.”

  Vosgaris smartly marched out of the room and stood outside for a moment. He puffed out both cheeks and straightened his hair, then marched off, thinking of things that weren’t proper to his station.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  It was a frosty morning when ten riders arrived at the gates of the Nicate estate in northern Lodria. The equine’s breath clouded the air and their riders, muffled against the cold, trotted along the gravel path towards the front of the main house. Two men led the column followed by one holding a banner with the crest of the Koros emblazoned across it. Prince Jorqel came next, followed by the rest of his escort.

  Jorqel had left his visit to the Nicate estate until last. He’d attended all the other noble Houses over the recent past and made his excuses about why their daughters were not to be his bride. Many had accepted with good grace, but a couple had been quite angry, particularly the Duras family. Jorqel had pointedly reminded Lord Duras that his family had lost their estates in Frasia and their other land was under review. Further remonstration could result in the loss of what estates they had in Lodria.

  So now all that remained was to go to the Nicate estate. He’d sent ahead a messenger a few days back to warn them, something he’d not done for the rest. He wanted them to look their best, which is what he intended to do himself. Important life decisions needed suitable attire.

  Gavan was not with him. Gavan was more of a man of action, a man who pursued the more exciting diversions of life. Gavan left the ‘bottom droppingly boring’ aspects of administration to Jorqel while he carried out his master’s wishes in stealing equines from Tybar lands in between spreading his seed amongst the maidens of Slenna. Jorqel considered that there may well now be no more maidens left in Slenna. Gavan had complained on more than one occasion that his childhood friend was becoming boring and bland and was neglecting the more exciting things, but Jorqel was now mindful that as heir to the throne, those days of lusting, wenching, drinking and fighting were mostly gone.

  Mostly.

  He did miss them but the Koros had made it plain they were not like those other Houses who had blighted the throne of Kastan in recent years, and deflowering the daughters of Kastanian families was not to be. However recently Jorqel’s mind had been turning more and more to Sannia Nicate and her physical charms. Time to take a wife before the lure of wenching became too much.

  The last few sevendays had been very busy for Jorqel, and he’d not found the time to spare to come, but finally the new boundary of Slenna had been completed and he’d managed to get the final plans for the new castle sorted out with the architects and builders, as well as the financial advisor he’d brought in. Costs as against plans. It was all too complicated and he’d spent far too many watches at night sitting with his head in his hands thinking over what to do. On top of that
he’d received two messages. One from Niake from Evas Extonos about this rebel Lombert Soul, the other an unpleasant sack of heads from the Governor of Imakum. The heads of the slaves from the place they’d stolen the equines from. There had been no written message with them but the underlying one was very clear. Jorqel had told Gavan to lay off violating the border for the time being.

  The one from Niake was one he equally couldn’t ignore. To that end he’d send a message of his own south, spreading it out to the settlements, farms and message posts around Lodria. It was a warning to Lombert Soul to disband his army or else face his army in battle and a hanging from the roadside. He’d given Lombert Soul until the end of the year to surrender or be declared an official traitor to be hunted to death.

  One final job he’d done. The spy Kiros Louk had returned with details of Lombert Soul’s bandit force. It was made up, as expected, of disaffected former soldiers who’d lost their jobs under the previous administration. So this wasn’t a rabble Soul was collecting; it was something to be taken seriously. In the spring he’d have to march down to Bathenia and take him out. Kiros Louk had then collected the balance of his fee, and Jorqel had immediately contracted him to go to Romos and spy out the island there for him. Pirates ran the former imperial province and Jorqel wished to know how many there were, how strong they were and what their plans were for the future.

  Running a province was a royal pain in the sitting region. But Jorqel was conscientious and knew he must learn the hard way. One day he would become emperor and then he’d have all of Kastania to run, and if he knew what it took to run a province, he’d have a better idea of what sort of person he would appoint to run them.

  However, no provincial matters were to be dealt with today. No. Today was for him and his future and the woman he would marry and spend the rest of his life with. Sannia Nicate had been such an obvious choice from the moment he’d clapped eyes on her. He was just amazed nobody had made a move on her before.

  He saw the waiting committee at the steps of the house and dismounted as he came alongside, passing his reins to his designated handler for the day, one of his bodyguard. They took turns. The equines were led off to the stables and Jorqel walked to the foot of the sanded steps. The frost had been severe and nobody wanted the prince to fall on any ice. Lord Nicate stood at the top, then came down to meet Jorqel. He knelt and bowed at Jorqel’s feet, and was allowed to rise.

  “An honour, my lord,” Lord Nicate said.

  “Thank you, Lord Nicate. A pleasant place to live,” he commented, looking round at the scenery. In the distance the sea lay, a flat iron grey colour, punctuated with the white of spume-topped waves. In between the house and sea a row of tall trees stood, waving in the breeze, acting as a windbreak.

  “Thank you, my lord. We do like living here. Please, come inside out of the cold. We have prepared a banquet for you.”

  “Thank you, Lord Nicate. Do you have a place I can freshen up first? It has been a cold ride from Slenna and I need to warm up, get the aches from riding out of my joints and change into non-riding clothes. I would not like to be eating dinner smelling of equine!”

  Lord Nicate chuckled. “Of course, sire. Follow my servant here who will show you to your quarters. Your men?”

  “Can be quartered where available. Two will be with me for the meal. May I ask how is your daughter, Lady Sannia?”

  “She will be with us presently. She is wishing to look her best, I am sure you will understand.”

  “Of course. I shall be along shortly. Give my compliments to your good lady wife. I take it she will be with us today?”

  “Indeed, lord. She is helping prepare my daughter. I leave that sort of thing to the women!”

  The two men chuckled and Jorqel then followed the servant to a room along the corridor. Two of his bodyguard followed while the rest were shown quarters around the estate. The two bodyguards checked the room first, then Jorqel followed. The bodyguards placed Jorqel’s smartest uniform on the bed that stood in the room while they swiftly changed out of their armour and riding gear by the door.

  Jorqel threw his armour onto the bed and slipped into his wormspun attire – a green coloured tunic and light brown hose with a newly made wide brown leather belt. He flexed his arms and checked the small mirror that had been thoughtfully left on the top of the dressing table. He’d never found attracting women any trouble, being the well-built and handsome man he was, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. His neatly clipped beard was always kept short. Straggling beards always looked untidy. He took great care over his appearance. Although tall, he didn’t look thin. That was due to his muscular build. Carrying round heavy armour, a shield, a long hunk of steel, whether it be a sword or mace or whatever, and hauling a great stallion about at the same time required strength, and he had built up his physique ever since his first battle in Bragal where he’d almost dropped his shield.

  Since then he’d made sure he’d been tough enough to do the job. He also knew fighting men. Nothing impressed the men more than a tall, big, muscular leader. He now flexed his body again, seeing how the muscles rippled underneath his thin wormspun tunic, and he smiled to himself. One advantage in wearing wormspun material. If you had a body like his, it showed it off wonderfully.

  “All in order?” he asked the two men. They had changed into long red and white livery, smooth tightly woven woollen jackets and lightly brushed leather hose. They weren’t the biggest men, but they made up for a lack of build by being incredibly tough and vicious in battle. Jorqel had selected these two as it made him look even bigger with them on either side of him.

  “Sire,” one of the two acknowledged.

  “Then let’s go.”

  They were led by the same servant to the dining hall, a modest open-beamed chamber with wide windows that looked out onto the rear of the house, and a neatly manicured open-planned garden. It was white with frost now and the trees were stark and leafless, but Jorqel had the impression it would be stunning in summer.

  The table was set for six. Lord Nicate showed Jorqel to the top end, and his two bodyguards were seated opposite one another just down from him. Lord and Lady Nicate would sit next, then at the bottom, facing Jorqel, would be Sannia.

  A few moments later the door opened and in came Sannia. Jorqel sucked in his breath. By the gods! She wore a pale yellow long dress. Her hair, tied with a band of gold, cascaded down her back. The dress was more conservative than at the ball, but as it was winter he didn’t expect her to show off half her body. He knew what it looked like. His memory had been indelibly burned with it. But it was her face; shining, smiling, fresh. She curtseyed before him, and he bowed low. “Lady Sannia, a delight to renew our acquaintance.”

  “My lord,” Sannia smiled and glided, there was no other word to describe it, to her chair.

  Jorqel engaged in small talk for the main part of the meal, keeping strictly to the subjects of trade, the state of the economy, the Tybar and responding to the general view of the populace of being a chivalric man for not sacking Slenna after its fall. Cities and towns had all too often, in the recent past, been sacked and plundered by the warring factions, and to find someone who did not do this was refreshing. Jorqel had deliberately restrained his army, as it was going to be his headquarters, and he didn’t want a shattered shell. He was also astute enough to know he’d end up being favourably regarded for sparing the town.

  He did frequently steal looks at Sannia who looked stunning. He couldn’t help looking at her. The dress was wonderfully shaped. He wondered at the construction. It curved inwards under her arms, shaping her body. It also helped to push up her breasts which, as he recalled, were not insubstantial. It continued down, flaring out at her hips, accentuating them, and then flowed in folds to the floor.

  After the meal had finished, Jorqel asked if he could take Sannia somewhere private, and was surprised to hear that Lord and Lady Nicate would retreat to their day room, and leave the two together. Both looked excited and left wit
h alacrity. They would have to be dense not to know what this was about, Jorqel mused. He flicked his fingers at the two guards to get out and they did so, grinning.

  Sannia stood as Jorqel neared, and took his hand. Her heart was beating wildly. He hoped that what he was about to say was what she had prayed for ever since she’d got back from the ball. When Jorqel hadn’t come she’d begun to worry that he wasn’t interested, but when his letter had arrived she’s felt all weak and nervous again. Just like now. Her legs threatened to rebel, to dump her on the floor, but she steeled herself and forced her legs to obey. They were trembling, and she hoped this gorgeously muscled man didn’t notice. His presence, a manly, powerful one, almost overwhelmed her. Swooning into the arms of the heir to the imperial throne might not be what was expected, but she wouldn’t wish to swoon into anyone else’s. By the gods, he was just as attractive as she’d remembered, and in daylight even more so. Beautifully proportioned, with that triangular shape to his upper body she just loved, those eyes! Oh, those eyes… eyes that drew her in. He had to be snapped up by her double quick or someone else would get there first. She didn’t care that he was the prince of Kastan – if he’d been a minor noble she’d’ve gone for him. She tingled as he took her by the hand.

  “Lady Sannia,” he said, smiling. “I’ve kept the vision of you standing by the balcony at the castle in Slenna with me all this time. You’re as beautiful as I remember.”

  “M-my lord.” She cursed under her breath. Get a grip on yourself, Sannia! She took a deep breath, convinced her trembling could be heard shaking the crockery in the kitchen down the corridor. “I, too, remember our time there together well. I hoped you would pay us a visit. I so looked forward to being in your presence again.”

  “And I think you know why, Sannia.” He knelt at her feet. “I would be honoured if you would accept my offer of marriage.”