Arts of Dark and Light: Book 01 - A Throne of Bones

by Vox Day

  “I see Patronus is displeased,” Torquatus muttered. “Whatever his shortcomings, at least we know he won’t be a Severan pet.”

  “How can you tell?” Corvus had also glanced at the princeps senatus, and although he could see only the man’s profile, he couldn’t detect any sign of satisfaction or disgruntlement.

  “Because he doesn’t look like a cat that caught a mouse.”

  Corvus was willing to trust his colleague’s judgment. After more than two decades battling each other in the Senate, no doubt Torquatus knew how to read Patronus well. But Titus Manlius would never go over to the auctares, so how was it possible that Magnus, who had been a more bitter opponent of Patronus and his party than Torquatus, could have done so?

  But whether he was pleased or displeased by the college’s choice, Severus Patronus did not shirk his duty. When the procession reached the dais, the military commanders took their positions around it on the left, whereas the archbishops stretched out in a semicircle nearly half around it to the right.

  Valens himself mounted the first step, then turned around to face the senators. He extended his ringless hand to Patronus.

  The princeps senatus took it, but he did not kiss it. Instead, he raised it above his bald head and called out to the Senate in a loud and well-practiced voice.

  “City Fathers, I present to you the Most Eminent and Most Reverend Lord Giovannus Falconius Valens, celestine of the Our Lord and Savior’s Sanctified and Immaculate Church, the chosen of the Almighty God and the Sacred College. Will you have him as your king?”

  “We have no king but God,” the group response echoed through the chamber like thunder. It sparked a sensation of fierce pride in Corvus. This was the faith of their fathers that had made Amorr great. This was the unshakable faith in God, not Man, that had raised this city above all the other nations and cities of the Earth.

  Patronus continued with the ritual. “City Fathers, if you will not have this man as your king, will you have him as your prince?”

  “We have no prince but the Immaculate, the Son of Man, the Son of God, the most holy and perfect Savior of Mankind!”

  “City Fathers, if you will not have this man as your king or your prince, will you have him as your guide, as your guard, and as your advocate before the Most High God?”

  Corvus counted to three. Then he, Titus Manlius, and Marcus Fulvius called out together as they had been instructed. “We will have him!”

  A moment later, the five hundred voices of the Senate echoed them. “We will have him!”

  The horns sounded three times. Then triumphant stringed music began to play from the musicians hidden behind the dais, somewhere toward the front of the chamber.

  The new Sanctiff, who would be crowned publicly before the people in an open mass next Domenicus, raised his free hand in blessing the applauding senators, waited for a moment as his military commanders moved into position in front of him, then began to proceed down the aisle, followed this time by the twenty-six celestines, behind whom the archbishops fell in line. Giovannus Falconius would not receive the Sanctal ring nor take his seat upon the Sedes Ossus until he announced the name by which he would henceforth be known and the Senate’s three consular thrones had been removed from the house of God.

  Two hours later, Corvus was clean, shaved, scraped, confessed, absolved, and sitting happily on the floor of the triclinium, holding his six-month old granddaughter for the first time.

  It hadn’t been easy to escape the crowds of senators outside the palace. His fascitors had been forced to call upon the help of ten or twelve of his more loyal clients to extricate him from the rest of them without incident or too much delay. Or any violence, for which he was grateful, as it would have broken the uplifting air that still filled his soul after the stirring sight of seeing the most powerful and prideful men in Amorr bowing their heads and bending their knees in humility before God’s newly chosen viceroy.

  “And if I’d stayed there, I might have missed you,” he said to the little girl in his arms. “And we couldn’t have that now, could we, beautiful?”

  She truly was a lovely baby, with huge brown eyes that stared up fearlessly at him. He felt unexpected tears rising behind his eyes. Looking down at her was like going back in time. It was as if all the intervening years had never passed, and he was a man in his middle-twenties again, holding his younger daughter in his arms. There were times in the past when he’d thought he might have sold his soul to again experience one of those precious moments seared into his mind for all time. And now, holding little Decia, it was almost as if he was.

  “Father, what’s wrong?” Valerilla asked.

  He had to clear his throat before he was able to respond to her. She had grown from a tiny and helpless little creature very much like the one in his arms into a paragon of Amorran womanhood, but her brown eyes were still enormous, and they still danced with the happy humor that had marked her personality from the start. She didn’t have her mother’s striking beauty, but she was pretty, and her natural charm and easy smile more than made up the gap. Everyone loved her. Everyone always had. And although she was a mother herself now twice over, Corvus still found it absolutely impossible to think of her as anything but his little girl.

  “Not a thing,” he answered truthfully, if a little huskily. “Not one single thing. I’m only astonished by how much she resembles you when you were her age.”

  He felt a soft hand squeezing the back of his neck. His wife always knew when he was concealing the depth of his true emotions. But she respected his preference not to display them openly, for which he was grateful.

  “Well, she knows her grandpapa,” Valerilla declared. “Look at how she smiles at you!”

  The combination of his granddaughter’s cheerful, toothless smile with her happy, enthusiastic eyes was almost too much for Corvus. He cuddled her to his chest, knowing that if he held that infant stare one moment longer, he would break into decidedly unconsular tears. Bless her with beauty and love, God, he prayed silently, breathing in the pure, innocent scent of the recently bathed baby. Bless her with long life and happiness and joy. And do not hold my sins against her or her mother, Almighty Father. If there is a price that must be paid for them, let it be paid by me and me alone. Not her. Never her.

  Lost in his thoughts and prayers, he had lost track of the women’s conversation. Now, a sharp tone in Romilia’s voice caught his attention, and he tried to figure out what they were talking about. Then he heard a familiar name, and he realized at once what the subject of their discussion concerned.

  “It’s not right to speak ill of the dead, Rilla,” his wife said to his daughter.

  “It’s not about the dead. It’s about whether Papa was right to do what he did or not! Mama, everyone has been talking about it, but none of them knew Fortex like Rina and Corvinus and me. We grew up with him, after all! I heard him talk about the honor of the legions and how frightfully disciplined they were and all that sort of nonsense a million times! Did you know he used to hit me all the time with a stick that he pretended was a vinestaff when we were playing legion and he was the centurion? He was always the centurion! So, it’s just silly to pretend that Fortex was this poor naive young officer who simply didn’t know any better. He knew better. He just assumed all those rules he used to think so grand didn’t apply to him.”

  “I just think you could be a bit more sympathetic, at least to your aunt and uncle, if not Gaius Valerius.”

  “Sympathetic to Magnus and Aunt Julia? Mama, it’s their fault he was such a spoiled brat, not Papa’s! They filled his head with all sorts of stupid ideas about his birthright and his destiny, as if his birthright were different than Sextus’s or any of his other brothers!”

  Corvus carefully rose to his feet without using his hands, still cradling Decia in his arms. “Well, there’s naught to be done about it now. Did anyone see where my little warrior ran off to?” He kissed his granddaughter on the forehead then placed her gently in the arms of
his wife. He started to leave the triclinium in pursuit of his grandson, but Valerilla placed a small hand on his chest.

  “Father, Mama has told me how busy you are, but would you be free to take me to the Ephoran amphitheatre this evening? Laevius is reading twelve of the latest stanzas he composed for his Amorriad, and I thought you might like to hear it. Decius says they include a section about Valerius Victus and his conquest of the Marmori.”

  Corvus started to shake his head, but the hopeful expression in Valerilla’s big brown eyes was more than he could resist. He hesitated.

  Romilia took the opportunity to argue their daughter’s case.

  “You must go, Corvus. You haven’t shown yourself to the people once since you’ve been back from the field. You really must give them the chance to see their new consul and show their appreciation for your victory over the goblins. The city is restless. They’ve lost a consul and a sanctiff in the last three months, and now everyone is talking about the murdered celestines and how the new sanctiff is much too young to be anything but a disaster. Give them something else to talk about, something else to think about.”

  He glanced from his wife to his daughter. Valerilla nodded expectantly, enthusiastically, and he burst out laughing. How many times had she effectively lobbied him in that manner?

  “Very well,” he declared. “I should be delighted to hear Laevius give our ancestor his due. Romilia, are you coming too, or are you going to watch the children?”

  “And miss my first opportunity to see the Consul Aquilae finally receive his due? I’m not the one who is a stranger to our grandchildren, Corvus. Maronna will watch the children tonight. Now, do you have time to eat something before you have to run off to the Senate, or will you find something along the way?”

  “I think I have time,” he said, winking at Valerilla.

  “Oh, Father, I am glad!” she beamed, throwing her arms around him and nearly knocking him off balance. “And I’m so very proud of you! I always wanted to be a consul’s daughter.”

  “I always said you were a princess,” he reminded her. “And given how quickly your husband seems determined to walk the cursum, I doubt it will be long before you’re a consul’s wife as well, darling.”

  The sun was just beginning to set when the poet, Laevius, walked out into the center of the wooden theatre that had been erected for Hivernalia in the Forum.

  Corvus had to admit that Romilia was right: The applause that greeted them as they took their seats in the middle of the second level was even more rapturous than that which the senators had given Amorr’s new Sanctiff. And, judging by the comments and compliments that were directed to him, he began to realize that it was his defense of the clausores, and not his defeat of the goblin tribes, that was the source of his unexpected popularity with the public. Severus Patronus and the auctares might be the most powerful faction in the Senate, but the common folk of the city were clearly less than enthusiastic about seeing the people of the allied cities raised to their level as full citizens of the Republic.

  There were only a few other senators present. Laevius was much more popular with the plebs than he was with the patricians. Despite having been seated on a consular throne only hours before, Corvus felt uncomfortably self-conscious when the poet, upon reaching the candle-laden stand that had been set up for his manuscript, first acknowledged the audience to the left and right of the theatre, then threw a legionary salute in Corvus’s direction. Laevius was short and rotund, with a round face like a full moon, but he was blessed with a voice that might have done credit to a centurion. Even those seated in the heights of the theatre had no problem hearing him.

  “Although, Amorrans, it is not ordinarily my custom at the beginning of a reading to explain my art, tonight I shall make an exception. I am pleased to present to you the sixth book in my poetic tribute to the history of our great city, which I have entitled Amorriad and which purports to chronicle the mighty deeds of our ancestors, to whom we owe an everlasting debt.

  “We begin with the war against the treacherous king of the Marmori, Arsanius Tiranus, in which two legions, led by the consul civitas, Titus Valerius Victus, finally called him to account for the foul murder of Quintus Accius Plautus, an ambassador sent by the Senate to Marmorus in an attempt to negotiate an alliance between Amorr and that kingdom. But before I begin, I observe that we are honored by the presence of a descendant of that noble hero here in the audience tonight. So, I should like to dedicate this book to the new consul aquilae, Valerius Corvus, as well as to my patron, Licinius Lucretius.”

  The audience again applauded, but more hesitantly this time and with an anticipatory air. Laevius did not wait for it to die down, but began declaiming in his deep, resonant voice, causing the crowd to fall silent in an instant.

  The Senate spoke, and in one voice acclaimed

  Quintus Accius of silvered tongue enfamed.

  “Go you, now, to the land of Marmorus,

  And eternal friendship with their folk discuss.”

  Willing, Plautus obeyed; and, hither bound

  To Marmorus, its king at length he found…

  Something stabbed into his side, and Corvus nearly leaped to his feet, wondering where he was. Then he realized he wasn’t being attacked, he was in his seat, safely ensconced between his wife and daughter, and the weapon with which he’d been assaulted was only his wife’s sharp little elbow.

  “Do wake up, my lord consul. He’s just reached the climax, where your ancestor is confronting his sworn enemy. And mind your mouth!”

  Corvus wiped at the left side of his mouth. It seemed he had been drooling a little, and he was exceedingly grateful that the reading was taking place under the cover of night, as not even his daughter, sitting on his left, appeared to realize that he’d fallen asleep under the mesmerizing flow of the poet’s verse. He cleared his throat and straightened his back, thinking that he really must pay close attention to this particular part of the poem, as the slaying of the Marmorite king was generally deemed to be one of House Valerius’s proudest achievements.

  Laevius seemed to have hit his stride. He gestured grandly, and his voice showed no signs of weakness as he told of the bloody battlefield of Lausentius, where the Amorran legions shattered the army of Marmorus and the consul confronted the royal villain of the piece.

  Titus Valerius brandished his long spear

  Against the foe, and so inflamed his fear:

  “What further course can you hope to find?

  What empty hopes are hidden in your mind?

  There is no swiftness to secure your flight;

  Not with their feet, but arms, the valiant fight!

  Vary your shape in many forms, and run

  All across the world under the scornful sun;

  Pray for wings or winds to mount the sky;

  It will avail you naught, for today you die!”

  Tiranus shook his head, and uttered reply:

  “No threats of yours could ever give me pause;

  For mine the right and the gods’ own cause!”

  The king fled not, but firmly stood his ground

  Before the man that him had hunted down.

  The Marmori king was sworn never to yield

  And, as he cast about the bloody field,

  A javelin lay, broken, but free to wield;

  He drew it from the earth, and, poised on high,

  Charged toward his foe with a loud war cry,

  But so shattered in spirit that he scarcely knew

  His way, or what unwieldly spear he threw.

  He hurled it forth, but it fell well short

  And, want of vigor, mocked his vain effort.

  He sought to stand, but destitute of force,

  His sinking limbs failed him amidst the course:

  In vain he heaved, in vain he cursed;

  His last strength failed, by his wounds dispersed;

  On royal tongue the futile curses died.

  Tiranus failed; whatever means he tried
,

  All force of arms and artful skill employed,

  They went for naught and the endeavor void.

  Death’s cold whispers through his soul resound;

  He shouts for aid, no help nor succor found;

  Encircled, legions all his men surround;

  Once more he pauses, and looks up again,

  Calling to his pagan gods all in vain.

  Trembling, he views the Valerian advance,

  Brandishing aloft that most deadly lance:

  In despair he retreats before the conquering foe,

  Forsaken by all, awaits the coming blow.

  Alone he stands, as ruthless Death draws near,

  From behind his shield sees he the flying spear.

  The hero marked first, with an eagle’s view,

  His intended mark; and, rising as he threw,

  From his right hand the fatal weapon flew.

  Not with less rage the rattling thunder falls,

  Or stones from war machines shatter walls:

  Swift as a whirlwind, from an arm so strong,

  The lance flew past and bore grim Death along.

  Naught could the king his silver shield avail,

  Nor aught, over his breast, his coat of mail:

  It pierced through all, and with a grisly sound

  Transfixed his thigh, hurling him to the ground.

  In pain, Tiranus rent the vaulted sky:

  With howls and curses did he his gods decry

  Now upon earth the haughty king is laid,

  With face cast up, lost in the victor’s shade,

  Humbled, he thus to the conqueror prayed: