The Bastard King

by Harry Turtledove

  “Rowr?” the moncat said.

  Lanius took another step back. Iron jumped down to his shoulder. The moncat’s hands and thumbed feet gripped Lanius’ tunic. Its nails weren’t out. One hand reached for the piece of meat.

  This time, Lanius let the moncat have it. He got a firm grip on Iron. The moncat, intent on tearing at the meat, didn’t notice till too late and wasn’t too upset when it did notice.

  “I think that’s that,” Lanius told the servants. “I hope that’s that. Thank you all for your help. Well, almost all.” He sent Bubulcus a last sour look.

  “I didn’t do anything, I’m sure,” Bubulcus protested.

  “Yes, you did—you opened that miserable door,” Lanius answered. He looked down at Iron. “It’s a good thing I managed to lure you down, or Bubulcus would have found out what trouble really is.”

  The moncat purred.

  Grus drummed his fingers on the top of the table behind which he sat. “One of these days,” he said, “I have to do something about the nobles. If another count takes it into his head to raise a rebellion like Corvus and Corax’s, he’ll probably have the men to do it. They all want to hang on to their peasants and keep the tax money that should come in to the city of Avornis.”

  Nicator and Hirundo both nodded. “That’s true. Every word of it’s true, by the gods,” Nicator said. “Those bastards all think they’re little kings. They don’t care what happens to Avornis, as long as they get to do what they want.”

  “True enough,” Hirundo said. “But what can the man who really is King of Avornis do about it?”

  “There ought to be laws against letting nobles buy up small farmers’ land and turning the farmers into their own private armies,” Grus said.

  Even Nicator, normally the most tractable of men, gave him an odd look then. “Who ever heard of a law like that?”

  “I don’t think anybody’s ever heard of anything like that,” Hirundo added.

  “I suppose not.” But Grus kept right on drumming his fingers. “Maybe somebody ought to hear of a law like that.”

  Nicator looked unhappy. “I can’t think of any faster way to get nobles up in arms with you. If you sent out a law like that, you might touch off the uprisings you were hoping you’d stop.”

  “He’s right, Your Majesty,” General Hirundo said.

  “Maybe he is,” Grus said. “But maybe he isn’t, too. What we have now is a problem, no doubt about it. Maybe we’d have another problem with a law like that—”

  “By the gods, you’d have a problem getting the nobles to pay any attention to a law like that,” Nicator said.

  No doubt he was right there. Still, Grus said, “We ought to do something, or try to do something, anyhow. Leaving the farmers at the mercy of the nobles isn’t doing Avornis any favors. And if we’re going to put in that kind of law, when better than now? After we’ve beaten Corvus and Corax, the rest of the big boys out in the provinces will be on their best behavior for a while.”

  “Till one of them decides he can win in spite of everything,” Hirundo said. “How long will that take?”

  “If we start hitting them with new laws, maybe it’ll take longer,” Grus said.

  “Or maybe it’ll set ’em off,” Nicator said. “That’s the chance you take.”

  Grus sighed. “I don’t think I’ve done anything but take chances since I ended up with a crown on my head. If I hadn’t taken chances, I’d probably be dead now. I’m going to take some more.”

  He didn’t try to draft laws on his own. He wanted no room for doubt in them, which meant he needed to deal with Avornis’ chief lawmaster, a gray-bearded man named Sturnus. The law-master had big, bushy eyebrows. They both jumped when Grus spelled out what he wanted. “You aim to keep the nobles in check through laws?” he said. “How unusual. How … creative.”

  “Cheaper than fighting another civil war,” Grus observed. “I hope it’ll be cheaper, anyhow.”

  “That is what the law is for,” Sturnus said. “Letting people do this, that, and the other thing instead of fighting, I mean.”

  “Let’s hope it works that way,” Grus said. “I think it’s worth a try. If we make a few nobles hurt, maybe the rest will remember the local farmers owe allegiance to me first—and so do they.”

  “I’m sure stranger things have happened,” Sturnus said. “I trust you will forgive me, though, if I can’t remember where or when.”

  “You don’t think the law will do what I want, then?” Grus asked.

  The lawmaster shrugged. “I don’t think it will do all of what you want. Laws rarely work exactly the way the people who frame them intend. This one may well do some of what you want. The question is, Will that be enough to satisfy you?”

  “We’ll find out,” Grus replied. “If it doesn’t work—and if I win against whatever rebellions it causes—I’ll tinker with it.”

  “That strikes me as a wholesome attitude,” Sturnus said. “How soon would you like to see a draft of your proposed law?”

  “Tomorrow will do,” Grus answered. Sturnus laughed. Grus didn’t. “I wasn’t joking, Your Excellency. Did I say something funny?”

  “You said—tomorrow,” Sturnus replied. “I didn’t think you were serious.”

  “I’d intended to ask for this afternoon, but I thought that might be too soon,” Grus said. “Why? When did you have in mind giving me the new law?”

  “In a couple of months, as I got around to drafting it,” Sturnus answered. “After all, winter is coming on. Nothing much will happen out in the provinces till spring at the earliest.” By the way he spoke, nothing that happened out in the provinces was likely to matter much anyhow.

  “What are you working on that’s more important?” Grus held up a hand before Sturnus could say anything. “Let me ask you that a different way. What are you working on that’s more important than something the King of Avornis tells you to do?”

  Sturnus started to give a flip reply. Grus could see as much. But the lawmaster wasn’t stupid. As Grus asked it, the question had teeth—sharp ones. Sturnus saw them before they closed on him. He said, “When you put it like that, Your Majesty, you’ll have it before the sun sets tomorrow.”

  Grus smiled. “Good. I knew I could count on you.”

  Lanius wished he could be angrier at Grus. The only thing he found wrong with the law protecting the peasantry from the nobles of Avornis was that he hadn’t thought of it himself—and hadn’t had any share in drafting it. He went to Grus to complain. “Am I of age, or not?” he asked.

  “You certainly are, Your Majesty,” Grus answered, polite as usual.

  “Am I not King of Avornis?” Lanius persisted.

  “You wear the crown. You have the title. What else would you be?” Grus said.

  “A statue?” Lanius said. “A clothier’s mannequin? Something of that sort, surely. Being King of Avornis means more than crown and title. The King of Avornis rules the kingdom. Do I rule Avornis?”

  Grus—King Grus—had the grace to look faintly embarrassed. “Well, Your Majesty, you do need to remember, you’re not the only King of Avornis right now.”

  “Yes, I’d noticed that,” Lanius said dryly. “Do I rule half of Avornis? The north, maybe, with you ruling in the south? Or the east, with you in the west? No? Do I rule any of Avornis? Any at all?”

  “You reign over the whole kingdom,” Grus said. “You get all the respect you deserve—every bit of it.”

  “I point out to you, there is a difference between reigning and ruling,” Lanius said, his voice under tight control. “Who rules the Kingdom of Avornis?”

  Grus had never been a man to back away from saying what he thought. Today proved no exception, for he replied, “Who rules Avornis? I do, Your Majesty. We’ve had this talk before, you know, though you likely didn’t understand what it meant quite so well back then. But I’d say I’ve earned the right. I was the one who drove the Thervings back into their own land—”

  “Till they come over
the border again,” King Lanius broke in.

  “Yes, till they do.” Grus, to Lanius, sounded maddeningly calm. “I was the one who put down Corvus and Corax. You helped some there, and I thank you for it, but I was the one who did most of the work. If the Menteshe turn troublesome down in the south—and there’s always the chance they will—who’s going to lead the fighting there? I will. Of the two of us, I’m the one with the experience. Are you going to tell me I’m wrong?”

  However much Lanius wished he could, he knew he couldn’t. But he didn’t try to hide his bitterness as he answered, “How am I supposed to get experience if you hold everything in your own hands? The more you do that, the less chance I have to win any experience, and the more you’ll be able to blame me for not having it.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Grus said. “You can’t help being young, any more than my son can.” He sucked in an unhappy-sounding breath; he wasn’t blind to what Prince Ortalis was, though he didn’t seem able to change him. “No, I don’t blame you a bit. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to climb down off the horse and hand you the reins. Avornis, right now, is mine, and I intend to keep it.”

  “You are blunt, aren’t you?” Lanius said.

  “It saves time,” Grus answered. “In the end, time is all we really have. Suppose you tell me what you think of this whole business, and then we’ll go on from there.”

  If I told you what I thought, I’d end up in the Maze, probably in whatever sanctuary’s housing Corvus these days, Lanius thought. On the other hand, how could Grus not already know what he thought? He said, “I don’t like it a bit. Would you, in my place?”

  “Probably not,” Grus said. “If our places were flip-flopped, I’m sure you’d keep as close an eye on me as I do on you.”

  Sometimes Grus could deliver a message without coming right out and saying it. He’d just done that now, or so Lanius thought. And this message was something like, Don’t try overthrowing me, because I’ll know what you’re up to before you get well started. Lanius wondered how true that was. He decided he didn’t want to find out—not right now. “I think we’re done here,” he said coldly.

  “Yes, I expect we are.” Grus sounded cheerful. Why not? He had the power Lanius thought should be his by right of birth. “Any time you’ve got troubles or worries, Your Majesty, don’t be shy. Bring ’em to me. I’ll help you if I can.”

  “I’m sure of it,” Lanius said. “You certainly helped me here.”

  “‘If I can,’ I told you,” Grus replied. “For some things, there’s no answer that makes everybody happy. That’s where we are right now, I’m afraid.”

  “Yes. That’s where we are. Your Majesty.” Lanius stalked away. He listened hard, wondering if Grus would laugh out loud as he left. Grus didn’t. As far as he could be, he was sensitive to Lanius’ pride. Sometimes, that stung worse than outright contempt.

  What can I do to Grus? Lanius wondered. How can I pay him back? Can I pay him back at all? When Grus first took his share of the throne—and took over the whole job of running Avornis—he’d warned against trying to unseat him. He’d just done it again. And he’d shown himself a man whose warnings deserved to be taken seriously. Most of the time, Lanius kept that in mind.

  Now … Now he was too furious to care. He stormed into his own living quarters and glared at Sosia for no more reason than that she was her father’s daughter. She, fortunately, had enough on her mind not to get angry at him. “I’m glad to see you,” she told him. “I’ve got news.”

  “What is it?” he growled.

  Even his tone didn’t faze her. He wondered if he were altogether too mild-mannered for his own good. Then she said, “I’m going to have a baby.”

  “Oh,” he said, and no doubt looked very foolish as he said it. “That’s—wonderful,” he managed, and then, “Are—are you sure?”

  “Of course I am,” Sosia answered, as indulgently as she could. “There are ways to tell, you know. Now—what were you all upset about a minute ago?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Lanius said, and discovered he meant it. How could he stay furious at the other king when he’d just gotten Grus’ daughter pregnant? He supposed some men could have managed it, but he wasn’t one of them. He hugged Sosia. “That is wonderful news—especially if it turns out to be a boy.”

  She nodded. “What if it’s a girl?” she asked, worry in her voice.

  “In that case, we just have to try again,” he replied, and grabbed her as though he intended to do that there and then. Sosia laughed. Maybe that was happiness, maybe just relief.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The yellow-robed cleric named Daption bowed low before King Grus. “Your Majesty, I’m sorry to have to tell you that Arch-Hallow Bucco met the common fate of all mankind last night. The end must have come easily—he went to bed in the evening, and no one could wake him come morning.”

  “That is an easy passing,” Grus agreed. “My father was lucky in his going, too. I wonder if I will be.” He sighed. The gods knew the answer to that, but he wouldn’t, not till the day.

  “May it be so, Your Majesty,” the cleric said, and then, quickly, “May you not need to learn for many years to come. I meant no offense, no ill-wish, no—”

  Grus raised a hand. “You didn’t offend me. I understood what you meant.”

  “Your Majesty is gracious,” Daption said, relief in his voice. “Uh, have you yet thought about who will follow Bucco as Arch-Hallow of Avornis? There are, of course, several good candidates from among the senior clerics of the capital, and no doubt others in the provinces, as well. Do you know when you will announce Bucco’s replacement, or will you ask for advice from the hierarchy before making your choice?”

  “Arch-Hallow Bucco was a bold and powerful man,” Grus observed. “He always had his own notion of what should be done.”

  “Indeed he did.” The yellow-robed priest sounded proud to have served under such a man. But Grus hadn’t meant it for praise. As far as he was concerned, Bucco had stuck his nose where an arch-hallow had no business putting it. Daption coughed a couple of times before continuing, “As I say, Your Majesty, there are several excellent candidates for the position. If you like, we would be pleased to submit to you a list of the possibilities, from whom you may, of course, choose.”

  “I’m sure you’d be pleased,” Grus said. Like the nobility, the priesthood wanted more power for itself and less of what it saw as interference from the Kings of Avornis. Of course, what it saw as interference looked like necessary oversight to Grus, as it had to the kings who came before him. “I won’t need a list, though. I know the man I want as arch-hallow.”

  “Do you?” Daption raised an eyebrow in polite disappointment. “And he is—?”

  “His name is Anser,” Grus replied.

  Daption thought for a moment, then frowned. “I’m very sorry, Your Majesty, but I must confess I do not know the name. From what city does he come?”

  “From Anxa, down in the south,” Grus said.

  “I … see,” Daption said. “How interesting. Since the Menteshe came, we haven’t had so many arch-hallows from that part of the kingdom. Not a few kings have feared to choose southern men because of the possible taint from the Banished One.”

  “I’m not worried about that here,” Grus said firmly.

  “I do admire your intrepid spirit, Your Majesty.” The yellow-robed cleric made his praise sound like, I think you’re out of your mind, Your Majesty. His frown hadn’t gone away, either. “What is this Anser’s rank, if I may make so bold as to ask? Surely he cannot now wear the yellow robe; I believe I know all the clerics of my own rank throughout Avornis. Would you elevate to the arch-hallowdom a man from the green, or even from the black?” He closed his eyes for a moment in well-bred horror at the thought.

  Grus sighed. He’d hoped Daption wouldn’t make him give all the details so soon, but the other man had, and now there was no help for it. “Anser will be a red-robed priest—which is to say, the Arch-Hallow
of Avornis—as soon as he is consecrated,” the King of Avornis said.

  Daption’s eyes grew wide. “Do you mean to say he is … a secular man?” the priest whispered. “You would place a secular man on the arch-hallow’s throne? That is—highly irregular, Your Majesty.”

  “Maybe so,” Grus said, “but he has one virtue that, to me, outweighs all the rest.”

  “And that is?” The priest sounded as though it couldn’t possibly be anything important enough to counterbalance his secularity.

  “He’s my son,” Grus answered. To him that counted for more than anything else.

  “Your son?” Daption echoed. “But I thought Prince Ortalis was your only son.”

  “Prince Ortalis is my only legitimate son,” Grus said. “Anser was … just one of those things that sometimes happen. He’s part of my family, though, and I intend to take care of him.”

  “Is that what you call it, Your Majesty?” the cleric demanded. “But what of our holy faith?”

  “I think our holy faith will do quite well, thanks,” Grus said. “The gods have children. I don’t expect King Olor and Queen Quelea will be too upset because I had one out of wedlock. Queen Estrilda has forgiven me.” Mostly, he added to himself.

  “But … Your Majesty!” Daption seemed to be struggling to put his protest into terms that wouldn’t infuriate the King of Avornis. “Appointing a … a boy who has lived a … a secular life to the post of arch-hallow offends the dignity of all holy clerics who have held the post since the beginning of time.”

  “After Anser’s been arch-hallow for a while, he’ll be as holy as any other cleric, don’t you think?” Grus asked mildly.

  “But—” Daption tried again.

  This time, Grus cut him off with a sharp question. “Are you telling me I haven’t got the right to appoint the man I want as Arch-Hallow of Avornis? Is that what you’re saying?”