When burly Hrothgar, muttering and scowling, turned away from Ingeld, and strode angrily to the side, fists clenched, Sidonicus deemed it safe to settle again, affably, into the exarchical throne. Floon himself, wandering about in the swamps of Zirus, overflowing with the joys and beauties of life, celebrating the hardness of rocks, the flight of insects, the stealth of reptilian constrictors, and such, had apparently lived and died in abject poverty, which he seemed not to have noticed. This oversight, however, had imposed no obligation on those who waxed rich in his name to follow his example. In name they shared his poverty; in fact, they did quite well.
“How soon shall we be returned to the palace?” asked blond-haired Viviana.
“Soon,” said Sidonicus. “It is all arranged.”
“It has to do with the senate?” asked Ingeld.
“It is meeting now, secretly,” said Sidonicus. “Tomorrow, when it convenes, it will challenge the accession of the barbarian, Ottonius. It will assert the ancient senatorial right, long in abeyance, of ratifying or failing to ratify an imperial accession. It will not recognize the usurper, Ottonius. It will denounce the usurpation and demand the restoration of Aesilesius.”
“Or some other candidate,” said Ingeld.
“Possibly,” said Sidonicus, “but that need not be feared.”
“Aesilesius, as it is explained to me,” said Ingeld, “is a retarded boy, enamored of toys, terrified of insects.”
“He will do very nicely,” said Sidonicus.
“Perhaps you mean the empress mother will do very nicely?” said Ingeld.
“Perhaps,” said Sidonicus. “In any event, the empress mother is taking instruction with me. She will soon be ready to be smudged with holy oil, imported from one of the sacred pools of Zirus.”
“What if the senate ratifies the accession of the Otung?” said Ingeld.
“It will not,” said Sidonicus. “The senate hastens to reclaim its ancient prerogative.”
“It, too, is eager for power,” said Ingeld.
“Of course,” said Sidonicus. “The wine of power is a heady wine. And gold follows power.”
“Beware you do not hatch a new monster, one with five hundred and one heads,” said Ingeld.
“A word of the emperor may recess, or dissolve, the senate,” said Sidonicus. “And five hundred and one heads may be lopped off as easily as one.”
“What if,” asked Ingeld, “the Otung and his party decline to accept the predetermined verdict, the decision, the ruling, of the senate?”
“They must,” said Sidonicus. “If they do not, the city will rise, Telnar will burn, civil war will ensue.”
“Would that my father were here, and not on Tenguthaxichai,” said Hrothgar. “He would laugh with steel. He loves war.”
Sidonicus and Ingeld exchanged glances.
“It seems,” said Ingeld to the exarch, “you have planned well.”
“Tomorrow evening,” said Sidonicus, “you will all be returned to the palace.”
“Good,” said Hrothgar, eying Alacida, who had not yet recovered consciousness.
Chapter Five
“He speaks well,” said Julian, of the Aureliani, to Rurik, Tenth Consul of Larial VII, both occupying curule chairs of honor.
“Were it not to mean my head,” said Rurik, “I might be persuaded.”
“One must struggle, surely,” said Julian, “not to succumb to such eloquence.”
“He is not a senator, I take it,” said Rurik.
“No,” said Julian, “he is a rhetor, a fellow from the courts.”
“A professional speaker?”
“I believe so,” said Julian.
“He is quite good,” said Rurik.
“That is why he is here,” said Julian.
“Still it is difficult to stay awake, after the first two hours,” said Rurik.
“Do not nap,” said Julian. “It would be disrespectful.”
“I did not realize there were so many precedents, and so many legal opinions to be recognized, if not deferred to.”
“It is hard to keep track,” said Julian. “I stopped trying somewhere after the two hundredth citation.”
“Do you suppose he really believes that the matter will be decided in virtue of such considerations?” asked Rurik.
“He may,” said Julian. “It is a naivety of jurists.”
“The senate thinks the matter is already decided,” said Rurik.
“They must nonetheless go through certain motions, observe certain procedures, pretend to deliberate, and then vote,” said Julian.
“As was decided yesterday,” said Rurik.
“Yes,” said Julian.
“I like the senate building,” said Rurik. “From the outside it is stately, with its broad steps, its friezes, the deep porch and columns.”
“It is one of the most impressive buildings in Telnar,” said Julian. “Its message is clear. Behold patience, might, wisdom, and the majesty of the law. Buildings have their say, as well as men.”
“I have never been inside before,” said Rurik.
He looked to the steeply rising semicircle of marble tiers, on which some five hundred senators, each in his senatorial robe, white trimmed with purple, were ranged, some intent, or seemingly so, some reading, or writing, perhaps notes or letters, some looking about, some chatting, and some, we fear, asleep.
At a lower level, to the right, as one looked toward the tiers, there were two tables, one below the other. At the lower table sat Clearchus Pyrides, senator from Inez IV, who, as moderator of the senate, attended to order, procedure, and the recognition of speakers. Behind him and above him, at the higher table, was Timon Safarius Rhodius, of the Telnar Rhodii, primarius of the senate. His was the most powerful voice in the senate. Subject to some constraints, such as the right of a senator to appeal to the entire body, he controlled the agenda, might rule on the legitimacy of motions, could impose limits on debate, and had the final say on procedural questions. His “no,” or veto, could be overridden only by three fifths of the senate. Also, at present, he was evincing visible signs of exasperation.
“It is an impressive chamber,” said Julian.
“Very much so,” said Rurik.
The chamber was spacious, domed, and well lit, by encircling, vaulted windows. It apparently followed the instructions, or plans, of the previous four, or more, senate buildings. Telnarians tend to be fond of tradition. Some of its predecessors, despite repairs, alterations, and such, had been replaced, having fallen into dilapidation, or desuetude. Others had, from time to time, perished in fires, some spreading through the city, some consequent on civil wars. Twice, earlier senate buildings had been the victims of rioting, or sabotage. Once the senate had met in open fields, outside the city. Beyond the last fifteen hundred years or so the records are silent. The origins of the senate, as an institution, were lost in antiquity. It presumably emerged, or at least the supposition seems likely, from something like an assembly of elders or a village council. Testifying to the ancientness of the institution, it was thought to antedate even the enthronement of emperors. Its power varied a great deal over its history, waxing and waning, sometimes constituting an executive organ of the state, particularly during interregnums, sometimes serving as an advisory or consultative body, sometimes constituting little more than a claque, celebrating imperial decisions, sometimes serving as little more than an ornamental relic of tradition, whose approbation or disapprobation was neither sought nor noted. To be fair, it was entrusted with a number of routine matters, such as the appointment and reappointment of certain officials, most significantly provincial governors, these often nominated by the emperor, all such actions, of course, being subject to imperial approval.
“I trust, noble speaker,” called Timon Safarius Rhodius, of the Telnar Rhodii, primarius of the senate, down to the floor,
to the speaker’s rostrum, “the senate is now well convinced of the appropriateness of the proposed action, and is prepared to cast its shards, of approval or disapproval.”
The tiers seemed to welcome this observation.
“Noble primarius,” said the speaker, “my case is nearly complete, and it requires very little before it soars to its triumphant, irresistible conclusion. My case, justifying the intended action, and, in passing, clarifying and upholding the rights and power of this august body, utterer of the final and supreme word in Telnaria, entered into the records, will be consulted, quoted, and esteemed for millennia.”
Vigorous applause greeted this, but it lapsed almost immediately, as the tiers, awakening, realized the speaker had not, despite this seeming peroration, actually finished speaking.
“Very well,” said the primarius, wearily, “continue.”
“Such a stunning period,” said Julian, “would better serve in a synoptic summation.”
“I am hungry,” said Rurik.
Slaves were not allowed in the senate chamber, as in many public buildings. Similarly, they were not allowed in temples. Had slaves been present, they might have been dispatched on errands, such as returning with one tidbit or another, with something to allay hunger or thirst. Slaves were not allowed in the courts either, except as witnesses, their testimony commonly being taken under torture.
“Patience,” said Julian. “Our dear Timon, the primarius, I think, has just about had enough.”
As the speaker continued to add citations, and ever more devastating arguments to buttress his case, in particular the supremacy of the senate in all questions of Telnarian governance, an opportunity presents itself to remark on the nature of the senate itself, in particular on its constituents. The reader is already familiar, from numerous references in these histories, with the distinction between the humiliori and the honestori. He may also recall that one has occasionally spoken of the “high or highest honestori.” Now, amongst the highest honestori are the patricians, and amongst those are those of the “senatorial class.” It is from members, male members, of the senatorial class that the senate is mainly formed. Whereas an emperor may appoint senators, as he will, from any class, the senate, almost always, selects its own members, and those, naturally enough, from the “senatorial class.” Many of the senate seats are, in effect, if not in law, hereditary, descending from father to son. Others are kept much within families. Certain individuals of the high honestori, the patrician class, who are wealthy, popular, or influential, may be nominated by the senate for membership in the senatorial class, following which nomination they are often selected for the senate. Their family then belongs to the senatorial class. It might be mentioned that the distinction between the humiliori and the honestori is a social, or class, distinction. It has no necessary connection with wealth or power. For example, several of the largest fortunes in the empire were to be found amongst the humiliori.
“I deem it time,” said Timon Safarius Rhodius, he of the Telnar Rhodii, primarius of the senate, rising to his feet, “that the shards be cast.”
“Yes,” urged several members of the senate.
“Noble primarius,” protested the speaker, “I am nearly finished.”
“We of the senate,” said the primarius, “if I have the sense of the body, are ready to cast our shards.”
“Yes,” agreed several members.
“No!” cried the speaker.
“Be at ease, noble speaker,” said the primarius, “you have already succeeded in convincing us.”
“Yes,” cried a number of senators.
“Primarius!” protested the speaker.
“The outcome was resolved yesterday evening,” said Rurik.
“The expected outcome,” said Julian.
“May I, on behalf of the entire senate,” said Timon, “thank the noble speaker for his research, his juristic scholarship, his legal probity, and his formidable reasoning, and, too, for the eloquence with which he has overwhelmed and dismissed any possible objections, or cavils. I will now call for the casting of the shards, and I fully expect that every shard will favor the action now before us.”
“Every shard!” called out several of the senators.
“Primarius!” cried the speaker.
Timon then began the applause, and, amidst the applause, and many grateful shouts, these expressing the body’s gratitude to the speaker, the speaker, though it was difficult to tell for the noise, apparently continued to speak, angrily, and, a bit later, from a particularly dramatic gesture, and expression, apparently finished his case. He then stood there, his case seemingly submitted, and humbly inclined his head.
This brought an even larger expression of gratitude from the body.
He then looked up, his handsome features far less than fully pleased.
At a gesture from the primarius, the chamber was restored to order, a seemly decorum then prevailing.
The speaker had gathered up his notes, thrust them into a satchel, and was proceeding, swiftly, angrily, to the chamber exit.
“Have no fear, noble Gelinus,” called the primarius, after the retreating figure. “All will be entered into the records. The clerks will see to it, every syllable, every syllable.”
But Titus Gelinus, rhetor and attorney, had left the chamber.
“The moderator of the senate,” said the primarius, “may now initiate the casting of the shards.”
At this point, Clearchus Pyrides opened a large book, in which were inscribed the names of the senators.
Although the expression ‘casting of shards’, or such, had been utilized, and often, it might be noted that, at this time in the history of the senate, actual shards were not cast, deposited, say, in a white bowl or a black bowl. That had not been done for better than a thousand years. In this period, shards were cast, so to speak, by a voice vote, each senator responding to his name as the moderator called the senate roll. Change may be denied, disguised, or minimized, and the semblance of tradition maintained, in many ways. One way is to give old names to new things.
“I rise to a point of order,” said Julian, of the Aureliani.
“That has precedence,” acknowledged Timon.
“I do not recall,” said Julian, “that the senate has received imperial permission to sit, and, lacking this permission, as is well known, business cannot be legally transacted, nothing legal or binding may be enacted, and so on. Accordingly, this session is illegal, and any action taken, or to be taken, is null and void.”
There were many cries of protest, and some sounds of fear, from the senate.
“Do you speak for the emperor?” inquired Timon.
“Yes,” said Julian.
“Aesilesius?” said Timon.
“Ottonius, the First,” said Julian.
“Ottonius is not emperor,” said Timon. “He is a usurper.”
“Usurpers become emperors,” said Julian.
“He is not emperor,” said Timon.
“He who sits upon the throne, holds the sword, and commands men and ships is emperor,” said Julian.
“He is a barbarian,” said Timon.
“He is a citizen of the empire,” said Julian, “born and raised on the provincial world of Tangara, in the festung village of Sim Giadini.”
“He cannot be emperor until his accession is ratified, and we are met here today to consider that question, whether or not his accession will be ratified,” said Timon.
“And doubtless that question is hotly contested,” said Julian.
“Possibly,” said Timon. “We shall see by the casting of shards.”
“The bells announcing the accession pealed,” said Julian.
“Perhaps prematurely,” said Timon. “We shall see.”
“You take the noble Aesilesius to be emperor,” said Julian.
“Yes,” said Tim
on.
“He, then,” asked Julian, “authorized this sitting of the senate?”
“The senate does not need an imperial authorization to sit,” said Timon.
“That, I take it, is a point at issue,” said Julian.
“The senate,” said Timon, “is the supreme agent of governance in Telnaria. It is sovereign, superior even to the throne.”
“I gather that that is another point at issue,” said Julian.
“Surely you heard the arguments of the noble rhetor and attorney, Titus Gelinus,” said Timon.
“Indeed,” said Julian.
“They are weighty,” said Timon.
“Not as weighty,” said Julian, touching the holster at his hip, “as a single pistol.”
“We are senators of Telnaria,” said Timon. “We do not fear force. We do not succumb to intimidation. I shall order you ejected from this hallowed chamber.”
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