“Yes, majesty,” the captain responded, and hurried out of the room.
Captain Kérés reported next.
After bringing the officer up-to-date, the king inquired: “Can you handle the situation at Kórynthály?”
“Absolutely, sire,” the soldier promised. “When Lord Télen strikes, we’ll surround him and his men, and arrest them on the spot. There’ll be no advance warning to the conspirators.”
“Good,” the king stated. “Proceed, captain.”
After Kérés had departed, Arkády turned to the two women.
“That’s as much as we can do now,” he indicated. “Please join me at the council meeting late this afternoon.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
“WHAT DIFFERENCE DID THIS MAKE?”
At the beginning of the afternoon session of the conference of reconciliation, much discussion was devoted to a proposed reformation of the laws governing the transmission of titles and estates, and the king asked the Archpriest Athanasios to research the topic, and then report back to the group several days hence with his findings. The cleric immediately departed, glad to have a break from the seemingly interminable speeches and pontifications of all the learnèd gentlemen.
He went again to Saint Ptolemy’s House in Paltyrrha. This squat gray building served as the State Archives of Kórynthia, housing a variety of official civil and military records, indeed, all such materials except those falling under the provenance of the church.
Instead of working on the king’s project at once, however, the priest decided to devote an hour or two to his own quest to discover his origins. He started with a volume of the military Annales from the year ii Kyprianos iii, or a.d. 1166, beginning with the month of April. He read through three months’ worth of receipts, travel claims, orders, reports of scouts and spies, and other miscellanea before finding something of interest.
In the middle of the volume he noted a cryptic expense voucher:
“2.vii. cp Areek R., dd. 12 s. 25 o., add. exp., jrn., Apr. ii K iii to Tôrtous, per OB ay K iii 228.”
Athanasios interpreted this record as stating:
“Second of July. Captain Arik Rufímovich, Detached Duty, is reimbursed 12 staters and 25 obols for additional expenses incurred on a journey in April of 1166 to the Emirate of Tôrtous, per Order Book accession year Kyprianos iii, p. 228.”
Why, the priest wondered, would Arik have gone on such a distant journey, save to retrieve the child Afanásy?
He then pulled the volume of the Order Book series covering the last half of the year 1164, the accession year of King Kipriyán iii, and turned to page 228.
Buried in the middle of the page was a simple one-paragraph statement:
“15.ix. Ordered by the Regents, that Mösza P. be sent abroad for her health and continuing education.”
This had to be the reference. But where was the proof? He checked the shorthand index at the front of the book, and noticed several other volumes and pages cross-referenced to the main entry.
In the tome for i Kyprianos iii (1165), the Master of the Exchequer was ordered to pay 75 s. to Nasr ad-Din ibn Abdalláh, Emir of Tôrtous, for the reimbursement of physician expenses for “PM.” Halfway through the same year, the book recorded the repayment of living expenses for two unnamed persons to the same ruler. A similar notation appeared in the following year, but in 1167, recompense was made for one person only. The vouchers continued through the year 1169, and then stopped, without explanation.
Princess Mösza was his mother? There was no other possible interpretation. She had either died in the year 1169, or had departed for parts unknown. He wondered if there would be a stone for her in the royal graveyard at Kórynthály.
But who was the father? And why such secrecy? There had been plenty of illegitimate Tighrishi born over the past two centuries, although most had either been ennobled and given a small fief, or publicly sent to the cloister. Of course, such things were frowned upon when women were involved, particularly when they were unmarried.
Suddenly something occurred to him, and he was thunderstruck.
My God, he thought to himself, I’m first cousin to King Kipriyán. But what difference did this make to them? Why couldn’t I have been told?
He had a feeling that there was more to the mystery than he had already uncovered, but at least he now knew the name of one parent. He would keep searching assiduously until he found the other.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
“HAVE YOU TESTED IT?”
Late in the afternoon, after the conference had adjourned for the day, the members of the Royal Council quietly filed into chambers for a review of the day’s events. They were not prepared for what they heard from King Arkády.
“What!?” shouted Prince Kiríll. “He’s doing what!?”
Expressions of outrage filled the room.
The king explained what steps he had taken to counter Kipriyán’s proposed coup d’état, adding:
“We still have the lancers of Munkás and Éskak to consider, but if they can’t enter the city, they’ll be temporarily neutralized.”
“I can handle that little business,” Kiríll interjected.
“Good,” the king commented. “I want the ringleaders arrested and sent to Legalsó Vár. Speaking of which, I’ve ordered Lord Lásky to appear before this council meeting to report on the security improvements he’s made at the keep. I expect he’s waiting outside right now. Captain Fösse, be prepared to follow my lead. Call for Lord Lásky,” he added.
“Call for Lord Lásky,” echoed out into the hall, as the guards, who had been carefully selected by the captain, escorted the Governor of the Royal Prison into the room.
“Thank you for coming on short notice,” the king smiled, motioning the diminutive baron to sit. “We’re all interested in hearing about the new security measures you’ve instituted.”
“Yes, your majesty,” he stated, shuffling some notes he had brought with him. “Well, sire, in the wake of the unfortunate break-out of several months ago, we have inaugurated new checkpoints and examinations of passes. I can now say with some assurance that no one who has been incarcerated at Legalsó Vár will ever escape from it again.”
He paused, suddenly embarrassed, for it was the very king sitting before him who had managed to break out of Lásky’s prison so recently.
“Are you quite certain, Lord Lásky?” Arkády inquired.
“Absolutely, sire,” the little man replied. “Why, I’d stake my life on it.”
“But have you tested it?” the king pressed.
“I don’t understand,” the governor replied. “How can we possibly do that?”
“Well, you might try imprisoning someone who really knows how the system works, and see if that individual could successfully get away,” the monarch posed.
“I, uh, don’t think that would be practical,” Lásky indicated.
“Oh, I think it would be most efficacious,” Arkády ventured, “and I have just the candidate for the initial experiment.”
“You do?” the prison supervisor stated.
“Yes, Lord Lásky, you,” the king said. “You would do very nicely indeed.”
“I don’t understand,” the baron responded.
“I’m quite sure that you do,” King Arkády noted. “Lord Lásky, I charge you with high treason, in that you did conspire with the Duke of Tighris to restore him to the throne and murder your legitimate monarch. How plead you?”
At that question, two guards seized the governor and pulled him from his seat, knocking it backwards in the process. There was a loud rattle as the chair toppled over.
Lásky’s face went completely ashen. His hands began to tremble, and his mouth moved up and down as he tried to speak.
“You have but one chance to save your miserable little life, Lásky,” the king stated, “not to mention preserving your titles and estates for your family. Confess everything, name all of your co
-conspirators to this council, detail your plans, and you may spend the rest of your days in your own prison, with your wife retaining your property. Otherwise...well, you do know the penalty for treason, I believe.”
It didn’t take the little man very long to reveal everything that they needed to know.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
“A SMALL SCARAB LURKING SOMEWHERE IN THE BACKGROUND”
Later that evening the King Arkády hosted an unveiling of the restored tapestries of Jaél. Since being brought from the citadel of Myláßgorod, courtesy of the new Count Zygmunt, the objets d’art had been carefully cleaned, repaired, and hung by trained artisans, and now they glowed in all their revealed beauty before an audience of carefully-selected connoisseurs. The king paraded about, displaying features of this piece and that, like a proud father.
The works had been placed in a room of the east wing of the palace that had been specially cleared of its previous trappings and furniture, and redecorated to accommodate Jaél’s set of masterpieces. And now that they could be clearly viewed, it was obvious even to the most obtuse of onlookers that masterpieces they were indeed.
Beginning with the first panel to the right of the entranceway, the tapestries depicted the rise of the Psairothi tribe in Atlantis, the persecution of the “Anointed Ones” in that ancient land, the prophecy of doom uttered by the great seer Ishmaél, the flight of the persecuted minority to the east and the west, the wrath of the old gods visited upon Atlantis, and the sinking of that continent beneath the waves.
The king also had restored the one tapestry of Jaél which had previously hung in Tighrishály Palace, and placed it at the end of the sequence. It depicted a scene from what must have been another, related set of weavings, showing the war of the gods over the fate of Atlantis, and how the losers were cast down into the pit and imprisoned there, until that day when someone should release them and let loose their fury upon an unsuspecting world.
This was the first time that Arkády had seen the old panel since it had been cleaned and repaired. He now looked upon the grotesque images of the old gods ranged in rows on either side of their dungeon, and suddenly he recognized the place as the one where Mösza had taken him so many months before. He shivered in the warm air.
“Striking, isn’t it?” Arrhiána commented.
“Obscene,” the king retorted. “I can almost feel their eyes moving upon me. One has the feeling that it was either done from life or from the memory of one who was present.”
“What do we know about the artist?” she inquired, linking her arm with his while she examined each work.
“Very little,” Arkády stated. “In his Historia Nisyrias, the ancient historian Mikhaêl, writing about the ninety-nine ‘biographs,’ states that ‘Iaêl son of Ismaêl’—and we don’t even know if this is the same ‘Ishmaél’ as the ancient seer—‘mastered the nine ancient magics of the Psairothi, and then created a tenth, the magic of weaving, which had never been considered before him. He fashioned during his life many great tapestries and other works of fabric, even, it is said, a dress of shivery electrum thread for Stephaélla the Sorceress.’”
“Then these panels are supposed to contain magic of a sort?” Arrhiána asked.
“Such is the legend,” her brother replied. “I’ve tried probing them, but I get no feeling from any of them, except a kind of tingle sometimes.”
“Each of them has a small scarab lurking somewhere in the background, I notice,” she said.
“That’s his sign,” Arkády noted. “All of the ancient artists used such symbols to identify their work, instead of the monograms or signatures common now.”
“They’re so alive!” she exclaimed. “Each of the faces shows a personality that I wouldn’t have believed possible in a fabric composition. I wonder how many threads per inch he used, and what kind of loom was employed.”
“I tried to determine that as well,” the king admitted, “but got nowhere. All I can tell you is that the density is much greater than that in an average weave, and the cloth is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. It has an ability to retain and display color that is simply extraordinary. Once, late at night when I couldn’t sleep, I came down here and let myself in. Only half of the panels had been cleaned by then, but I started looking at the second one over there, and suddenly it was an hour later. I don’t remember anything of the intervening period.”
“I wonder if any more of these exist,” Arrhiána mused.
“We could find out,” the king stated. “Let’s send out a call to the furthest reaches of the kingdom, asking that all tapestries be inventoried by their owners within the next six-month, and that these lists be returned here to you. If we spot any likely candidates, we can examine them ourselves, and make the owner an offer he can’t refuse.”
The princess smiled most prettily.
“That sounds almost threatening, Kásha,” she noted.
“Yes, I’m a very mean king,” he agreed.
“Still,” she said, “it bothers me a little that we have no idea what kind of magic was employed, or, more to the point, what it was intended to do other than to make these scenes come vividly alive. Isn’t there any clue in Mikhaêl?”
“Of a sort, but no one knows what it means,” he indicated. “‘Hyphainó, skarabaie, kai mageuó,’ or ‘I weave, scarab, and I make magic.’ According to Mikhaêl, it was writ on Jaél’s tomb, summing up his essential philosophy. I confess, it doesn’t make much sense to me.”
“I wonder,” she mused. “Could it have something to do with the scarab symbol itself?”
“Perhaps,” Arkády indicated, “but how?”
“I don’t know,” the princess admitted, “but I’ll think of something. However, we’d better get back to our guests. I see Antónia Lady Vydór standing over there, chatting with Sir Werner von Brüst, and making very certain that he won’t miss any of her finer features. Hovering on his other side is Lady Millitsénta Prüdníka. Why don’t you go over and smile that sweet smile of yours and give them the grand tour?”
“And I see Lord Hölleröller,” he pointed out, “standing there with his large mustachios and double (no, triple!) chin hanging down almost to his oversized belly, who is said to own three large manor houses and estates in Grüninsel, and who’s recently lost his wife to the fickle flux.”
“Pooh!” Arrhiána retorted. “Fickle flux indeed!”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
“YOU ALWAYS DID ENJOY THE KILL”
“Gad, I hate these things,” Kiríll groaned, as they left the exhibition of tapestries. “These grungy old hangings, and we’re supposed to say ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ at each and every one, and then be nice to all the fat old lords and ladies tottering around, if they even can totter. I mean, did you see Lord Vydór, that old sot, making his ga-ga eyes at Lady Dûffus?”
“Just be glad you’re not the king,” Zakháry agreed. “You’d have to go to every one of these bloody things, and then smile and bow and smile again.”
“Which is just what you’ll be doing in Mährenia soon,” his brother noted.
“Yes, but at least I’ll be the one setting the agenda,” Zakháry replied.
“When exactly are you leaving?” Kiríll wanted to know
“As soon as the conference is over, and I can arrange for a regent to oversee my fief here,” Zakháry said. “Not long, I think. I need to get settled there before the snows arrive.”
Then he changed the subject. “What do we do tomorrow, Kir?”
“Well, dear brother, our dirk-toting friend from Tôrtous has just arrived,” Kiríll stated, “and I shall arrange a pass for him to attend the conference on the morrow. And if he should fail, then I think we must try again ourselves. Melanthrix has proven to be the traitor we always suspected he was. He deserves to die. They all deserve to die. I’ve already made special plans for Munkás and Éskak.”
“I can just imagine,” Zakháry laughed. “You always did enjoy the ki
ll, brother. What about father?”
“He’s irretrievable,” Kiríll noted. “If he survives, then it’s back to Kórynthály with him.”
“And if he doesn’t?” his brother inquired.
“Then it’s back to Kórynthály with him!” Kir responded, laughing.
CHAPTER FIFTY
“HE’LL KILL ME”
On the next morning, the Feast of Saint Bêrtinos the Abbot, the third session of the reconciliation conference began promptly at tritê with a blessing and an address by the patriarch. In his homily, Timotheos urged the participants to strive for unity, and to keep always the loving-kindness of God foremost in their minds as they wrestled with the great problems of the land.
At that very moment in Kórynthály, a soldier named Didím came running up to Captain Kérés, saying a fire had been reported in the ancient Church of Saint Ióv, and would he please come quickly.
Kérés had not gone to the conference that morning, as originally scheduled, pleading an indisposition incurred the previous evening, when he and several of his fellow officers had visited a local tavern, and pretended to drink themselves nearly senseless.
Instead, the captain had arranged for a special troop of lancers to be split from the forces of Munkás and Éskak at Katonaí Field, ostensibly for training maneuvers, and had then arrested the commander and officers of the troop and replaced them with his own men. The ordinary soldiers he had quietly deployed around the outskirts of Kórynthály Estate during the middle of the night.
Corporal Didím again pleaded with the captain to bring his men quickly, lest the church burn down. And indeed, Kérés could see smoke billowing up in the distance. Instead, however, he abruptly pulled his sword, swept the tip right up under the man’s chin, and ordered him to confess the conspirators’ plans or lose his head, then and there.
Curiously, Didím suddenly learned how to obey his orders most promptly. Based on the information thus gathered, Captain Kérés sent one troop here and another there, and flagged a runner to go to Sergeant Émilman in the nearby forest.
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