House of Lust

by Tony Roberts

  “Pah! Web-footed idiots from a backwards armpit of the world. They would not dare venture so far from their homeland.”

  Vosgaris decided against arguing. Zilcian knights were feared and were acknowledged as being amongst the best. Luckily there were not many of them.

  The inspection completed, they resumed their march north-eastwards. As night fell a camp was struck and they tethered their equines in a makeshift manner, tied to a line stretched between two trees, and tents sprang up all round. Vosgaris and his two assistants were invited to General Vanist’s tent for an evening meal.

  Also present were the general’s senior officers, translator, and two others who looked like courtiers. Vosgaris sat in between Vanist and the translator who he learned was called Captain Lakush. “Tell me, Captain, is the Kastanian Empire still in a bad military state? I would have thought your emperor would have resources enough by now to fight an invader on his own soil.”

  Vosgaris pondered on the right response. He was supposed to be on an advisory role, and Astiras wanted him to report on the Mazag capabilities to fight and wage war. “The emperor has the Army of the East in Zofela but is concerned that Venn may invade either from Epros or lower Kral, and if his forces are in the field in southern Bragal it may leave us open to invasion elsewhere. The last time Venn moved they sent two armies into action, if you remember, General.”

  “We have many armies prepared for both defensive and offensive actions, Captain. I understand there are only three armies capable of defending what you have and nothing more.”

  “Which is why we are grateful for our alliance with Mazag.”

  Vanist picked up a large drinking cup brimming with a deep red vinefruit. One of Mazag’s legendary full-bodied ones, no doubt, Vosgaris mused. The general quaffed a large portion, wiped his coarse beard, belched, then thumped the cup down on the table. “Mazag is also pleased with allying to a weaker state. We know that once the offensive is taken by ourselves you will not object to us conquering those whining excuses for men.”

  Vosgaris smiled. He’d been warned about the Mazag tendency to insult. It was their way of probing for weaknesses and sensitive points. “The valorous Mazag armies should find those of Venn easily beatable, as it was outside the walls of Zofela.”

  The Mazag delegation nodded on hearing the translation from Lakush. One of the senior officers begged for permission to speak which Vanist permitted with a lazy flick of his finger. “Captain, is it true that Kastania is developing your own mounted archer units? We hear rumours, but have had nothing confirmed.”

  “It is true,” Vosgaris admitted. “We saw how effective your Hushirs were and thought we ought to imitate the masters.”

  The Mazag officers muttered amongst themselves. Vanist smiled widely. “Your emperor did not treat our Hushirs kindly, from what I was told. You allowed them to suffer heavy casualties?”

  “Only because they were reckless and impetuous, General. I understand they charged the enemy unsupported and without orders. I wasn’t there but I have seen the report.”

  “No doubt embellished by whoever wrote the report,” Vanist said, an edge in his voice. “Have you read your side’s report of the Battle of Zofela? Does it say the Kastanians won the battle? Or does it say Mazag won the battle?”

  Vosgaris saw all eyes had turned to him. “The report states the allied forces triumphed over those of Venn, General.”

  Vanist chuckled, clearly not satisfied. “I trust that you will write an honest report on the battle to come? I wish to have a copy, of course, because my sovereign will demand one. You will, of course, emphasise my part in our victory.”

  There was a heavy silence, laden with menace. Vosgaris bowed once. “General, I would not consider any alternative.”

  Vanist laughed again, this time much more pleasurably. He thumped the table hard. “Then I propose a toast!” All cups were grabbed, much of their contents slopping onto the wet surface of the table. “To victory! Shukh!” he bellowed, raising his cup to the sky.

  “Shukh!” the others echoed, and Vosgaris and his two aides followed suit. Shukh – victory.

  The days that followed saw the army march through valleys and along roads and small tracks. They avoided Zofela, passing to the south of the fortress, and they encamped finally at Kamalak. There were more Kastanian troops here, guarding the supplies that had been stockpiled. This immediately posed a problem. Vosgaris was peremptorily summoned to General Vanist’s tent.

  “You sent for me, sir?”

  Vanist scowled and waved at Lakush. The translator nodded out of the tent flap towards the distant figures of the Kastanian militiamen. “Are those people necessary? The General here views them as prison warders, keeping us hemmed into this small encampment. That is not the action of allies.”

  Vosgaris surveyed the distant soldiers, then turned to the general. Behind him the other senior officers crowded, their demeanour not exactly friendly. “General, sir, those men are there for two specific reasons.”

  Lakush translated, awaited Vanist’s snapped response, then spoke. “Which are?”

  “Firstly, to protect your supplies from the villagers – the temptation may well be for them to, ah, sample some of them? The emperor is anxious that you and your army be well provisioned and that nobody, not even the emperor’s subjects, may deny you what is here for you to have. Secondly, they are here to make sure none of the villagers visit this camp.”

  Vanist grunted. He growled a response. “What dangers would a bunch of peasants pose to my men? If your emperor is worried about these villagers, then move them or wipe them out. Or, if he does not have the troops to do that, ask us and we will be too happy to oblige.”

  Vosgaris shook his head. “Not necessary, General. These villagers – two of the settlements are Bragalese and one Kastanian – have been here for centuries and they would not move. As we will be here for a short time only, once we are gone everything will return to normal. The main reason the emperor wants to keep the Bragalese away is their women. Presumably you have heard of their – sexual proclivities?”

  Vanist turned and looked at his fellow officers. All chuckled. Clearly they did. He spoke again. “What is wrong with that? My men deserve a little – ah – relief from the boredom of campaigning.”

  “Indeed, but the Bragalese men would not like that. You would find yourself under siege before long, and the emperor’s militiamen would not be able to keep them away from your men.”

  “Hah! We would destroy them – do not fear about our ability on that account!”

  “General, perhaps you could keep them at bay, but you would not be able to move through Bragal without harassment, or with supplies. You would be isolated and eventually you would have to move back to Mazag territory. You would also not be able to fight the Venn on Bragalese soil without having to watch your flanks or backs. We fought a long war against these people and it took years of bitter and brutal fighting to bring Bragal back under control. Even now, the frontier zone with the Ister River is not fully under the emperor’s influence.”

  Vanist waved a dismissive hand. “Mazag would crush any insurrection within a year. However, I have my orders which are to ensure the Venn army is stopped before it gets to Mazag territory. I shall follow those. Just make sure those militiamen do not interfere with my army in any way. Clear?”

  “Perfectly, General.”

  “Or else those Kastanian troops will be humiliated.”

  Vosgaris bowed and backed out. He puffed out his cheeks. The Mazag were not going to take kindly to the emperor’s corralling of them one little bit. His job was going to be very difficult indeed. He would send another letter to Zofela informing him of the situation, and for an update on the known movements of the Venn army in Kral. If they managed to get an idea of what direction the Venn would be moving in, then the sooner Vanist’s army would be able to intercept them.

  Astiras received the letter two days later. He read it intently, then turned to Isbel, sitting ac
ross the room busy collating the latest treasury figures from a recovered Frendicus. She noticeably kept the taxman close to her these days, and ignored or avoided the major domo as much as she could. “Captain Vosgaris says the Mazag resent the policing of their army and he wants an update on the Venn army’s disposition.”

  Isbel looked up sharply. “Is everything alright with him?”

  “Of course, why shouldn’t it be? He’s got a job to do and if I thought he wasn’t capable, I’d’ve not sent him.”

  “Could I see?”

  “What for? It’s nothing to do with you.”

  Frendicus looked up at the tone in Astiras’ voice. Isbel looked away. Astiras was barely civil to her. He was enjoying getting back at her for the time she had done the same to him after the affair with Metila had become known to her. She deliberately did not look at Pepil; the smirk on his face would be too intolerable.

  Astiras gave the letter another examination. “Pepil, I want you to send a reply immediately. ‘Keep Mazag troops out of my villages. Failure to do so your responsibility. Venn army still in Kral, no sign of moving as yet. Will advise the moment I hear. Astiras, and so on and such like.’ Got that?”

  “Sire,” Pepil bowed and made his way to his scribing desk.

  Isbel handed Frendicus the sheet of figures he had given her. “That seems in order, Frendicus. Go prepare the imperial accounts.”

  “Ma’am.”

  As Frendicus vanished, Isbel stood up. The sooner she was away from the two men who turned her stomach, the better. “I’m feeling a little unwell. I shall go lie down in my chamber,” she said.

  Astiras looked at her sharply. “Have the tax and treasury figures balanced?”

  “Yes, I would not have finished unless I was satisfied they did. Frendicus is going to get them written up officially.”

  As Isbel reached the door Astiras snapped at her to stop. “And what are the figures?”

  “Ask Frendicus, or wait until he sends them to you. I doubt they’ll change in the couple of watches that will take.” With that she turned her back on him and left. She reached her chambers and sank onto her bed. To be truthful, she did have an aching neck and forehead, but that was down to stress and a growing urge to scream. Astiras was simply not letting her out of his sight these days.

  Today was not going to be an exception. The emperor burst in, standing by the doorway to the bedroom. He dismissed the handmaidens and slammed the door shut and strode over to her. “What is wrong with you? I do not like the tone in your voice.”

  “You think I like yours? Go away, Astiras, I’m not in the mood to deal with your childish behaviour.”

  He grabbed her arm and pulled hard, forcing a cry of pain from her, and made her stand up. “I am emperor, and your husband. You will obey me.”

  “Like some slave? Like Metila? I don’t think you’ve got her out of your system.”

  “Do not mention that woman! I forbid it!”

  “Forbid it? Who are you talking to? I’m not one of your frightened soldiers, petrified of incurring your displeasure. I’m your wife! I don’t know what’s come over you these past few seasons – but I do not like it one bit. You’re becoming a tyrant.”

  Astiras pushed her roughly onto the bed. “I am betrayed by my own wife after she puts me through all kinds of torture for the same thing she accused me of.”

  “Oh, Astiras! You did sleep with that woman whose name is officially barred,” she said sarcastically, “while the accusations of Pepil against the captain and myself were entirely groundless.” She was careful not to word it in the present, for she knew she would then be lying. “We both know why you’re acting like this – it’s to get your own back on me. Well, you have, Astiras, well done. Congratulations. I hope it satisfies your male ego.”

  The emperor’s lips tightened. “I demand respect, more respect than you’re giving me.”

  “Respect? Oh that’s a good one. Respect, dear, is earned, not automatically bestowed. Your behaviour recently has not deserved one tiny piece of respect from me. Oh, what are you going to do?” she added, seeing his hand raised. “Beat it into me? Go ahead – I will seem to respect you so that you don’t hurt me, but we will both know it’s only because of that, and that you can only get my ‘respect’ through physical violence. Is this all that our marriage has become?” She stood up and raised her head, turning it slightly, presenting the side of her face to him.

  Astiras swore. He turned away. “Your precious captain still seems to mean a lot to you. What if I punished him because of your lack of respect?” He turned to her, his eyes boring hotly into her. “Shall I be forced by your attitude to do it that way?”

  “Oh, very good; try to make it seem as if I’m at fault. Captain Vosgaris is blameless – why take our marital difficulties out on him?”

  “Because you care more for him than you do me. I cannot have that. You will obey me and respect me, or he gets it.” Astiras pointed a warning finger at her. “I shall have him demoted, whipped and sent to one of our mines. That way he won’t die quickly.”

  “Astiras!” Isbel gasped, “that’s monstrous!”

  “Well?” he loomed over her. “Do I have your respect? Your obedience?”

  Isbel sucked in her breath. She had to protect Vosgaris from Astiras’ increasingly erratic and violent behaviour. “Yes,” she said heavily.

  “Good – then you can satisfy my needs right now.” He unfastened his tunic. “Get your clothes off.”

  Isbel shuddered. She was afraid this might happen. He seemed intent on putting her through every kind of humiliation. Slowly, she complied, but by the time he had divested himself of all his clothing, she was only down to her undergarments.

  “Hurry up!” he snarled, his excitement evident. “I’m going to rip them off myself unless you get to it!”

  Isbel bit back a cry of despair. She pulled down her underskirt and was about to unbutton her chemise when his hands grabbed the hem and jerked it up over her head. He spun her round and pulled her remaining item off and then pinned her face down to the bed. She knew what was going to happen and tried to relax; fighting it would only hurt her. She emptied her mind, and lay there. Her legs were kicked apart brutally and he took a firm hold of her waist.

  Penetration was hard, rough and sudden. He pounded into her, grunting with every thrust, and she screwed her eyes shut, trying to distance herself from him. He finished and remained still for a moment, enjoying his high, getting his breathing under control. “Yesssss,” he exhaled in one long breath. He withdrew and got up slowly. His knees ached but he cared not.

  “I don’t care whether you make an effort from now on; as long as I get what I want, you can rest assured I won’t worry. You will not see anyone in private, or speak to them without an escort. You are mine to do with as I please. If not, then I cannot see any reason why you should remain empress. Let me know and I’ll have you sent to a temple somewhere. I’m emperor and I will have my way.”

  He dressed and Isbel rolled over, sobbing. Her world had fallen apart. Astiras was not the man she had married. What had happened to him? He was becoming a terrible monster; he was increasingly unable to deal with any opposition. Now she understood where Istan got his instability from; it must have been there all the time in Astiras, but only recently had it manifested itself.

  She wondered whether his behaviour could lead to him being deposed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The road from Kastan City to Turslenka was a comfortable one for the travelling group. The recent paving from the capital to the Frasian/Makenian border meant that the wagons had a more rigid and reliable surface to rumble along, and there were much less incidents of wheels getting stuck in holes or mud clogging them up. Across into Makenia there were still a few occasions when water had collected in pools or had flowed across the road leaving a wet, soggy surface, and here the wagons tended to get slowed or briefly stuck, but apart from that things went uneventfully. There were no bandits, no raiding g
roups of mounted enemies, not even any bad weather apart from a couple of sudden bursts of rain that never lasted too long.

  Amne had never been to Makenia, so it was a new adventure for her. Her daughters were excited in being out in the open, and every time they stopped, either for a rest during the day to ease their legs or to have lunch, or for the night, they were off like two wild canines, and the guards were hard-pressed to keep them from running off into the wilderness. Amne scolded them after one particularly extended chase and Kola and Stana were threatened by her that should they run off like that again they would be put in a roped-off enclosure.

  The two girls behaved a little better after that, and it settled down into a session of each asking what the various geographical features or animals were when one was spotted. Amne didn’t know all but she got help from other members of the party.

  There was another thing that Amne became aware of as they progressed along the road towards Turslenka. She was pregnant again. Elas had been with her the last night she had been in the palace, and had been unusually attentive and caring. Maybe he was going to miss her after all. She smiled and put a hand across her stomach; Elas had been quite gentle with her, and it had been one of his better moments. It seemed yet again their combined fertility had done the trick. Well, by the time she returned to Kastan city she would be the size of a fantor. She wasn’t looking forwards to that.

  The arrival at Turslenka was colourful; the populace threw flowers and little coloured leaves into the air and she waved from the back of an equine given her by one of the guards for the occasion. The guard walked alongside, making sure nobody got too enthusiastic at greeting her.

  After they had arrived at the governor’s residence, been greeted by Thetos, Argan and the senior officials, the new arrivals had been quickly shown their quarters and allowed to wash, rest and unwind before they felt ready to properly talk. The greetings had been brief and Argan’s smile had reminded her again of how similar to Astiras some of his mannerisms were, even though he did not look like their father. He took after Isbel, facially. He had shot up in height though.