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

by Vox Day

  Then Severa glanced toward them and, despite the loud cheering that greeted the presentation of the newly betrothed Falconian pair, he could hear Sextus catch his breath.

  Even Aulan had to admit his sister looked spectacular. Her face was painted boldly, almost like an actor’s, to enable her to stand out before the crowd, and it gave her natural beauty an inhuman quality, as if she were not a woman, but a demigoddess. And when she smiled at her husband-to-be, her white teeth almost seemed to gleam in the dancing firelight. It boded well, he thought, for the future of their two Houses.

  The cheers died down, and an anticipatory hush filled the air.

  The archbishop turned toward the six of them. His deep voice echoed off the stones of the surrounding buildings as he asked the ritual question. “Who comes this First Night to offer this maiden to the men of the People? By what right do you offer her?”

  “I, Aulus Severus Patronus, of House Severus, offer her, by right of fatherhood.”

  “And what price do you demand?”

  “An alliance with my House.”

  The archbishop turned back toward the crowd and spread his hands dramatically. “Is there a man who will claim this daughter of House Severus and take her in pure and holy matrimony?”

  “I will claim her!” Sextus said loudly, his voice cracking a little. A few people in the otherwise quiet crowd tittered a little at his nervousness. “I will meet the price.”

  “And you are…?”

  “Sextus Valerius, of House Valerius.”

  An audible gasp swept through the Comitium like a wave. There were some cheers, hastily silenced, as well as a few cries of disbelief, although Aulan could not tell if they were from Severan or Valerian clients. It was clear there were many who had not heard the rumors of the unlikely alliance in the works.

  “This man will meet your price, Severus Patronus. Will you accept his offer?”

  He nodded imperiously. “I will accept it.”

  “Then come to me, Sextus Valerius. Come to me, daughter of House Severus.”

  Sextus and Severa stepped forward together and stood side by side. Sextus extended his left and and Severa her right.

  The archbishop bound them together with a long piece of red yarn that he quickly wrapped around their wrists, then tied off with an expert flourish. That accomplished, he took their joined hands in both of his long-fingered hands and pronounced his blessing upon the betrothal. “The contract is complete. May the Almighty God bless you and your Houses.”

  Both Sextus and Severa looked startled, even a little alarmed, at the roar of approval that greeted them from the crowd. Patronus and Magnus, astute politicians both, were quick to take advantage of the moment, stepping forward to stand on either side of their children and acknowledging the cheers with triumphant smiles and lordly waves.

  The warmth of the people’s reception to the news of this unexpected union brought home to Aulan how unsettled they had been of late. The defeat in Cynothicum and death of a consul followed by the loss of a popular and long-reigning Sanctiff, to say nothing of the celestine murders and the Sacred College’s months-long indecision, was troubling enough to the average patrician who had some understanding of these affairs. But to the plebians, who could do no more than observe the travails of their betters and suffer through them in ignorance as best they could, it must have looked as if the world were going mad.

  To see the two most formidable Houses Martial unite rather than fight must have come as a massive relief to them, a harbinger that the horrible events of the past year would come to an end with the year itself. What a pity that that was so unlikely to be the case, although the addition of Magnus would severely weaken the clausores even as it strengthened the position of his father and the auctares. But it was good to afford them at least one moment of hope. Indeed, an increased popularity with the masses could even be useful in forcing the necessary changes through the always-recalcitrant Senate. If Valerius Magnus could be won over, then who was to say that even the most conservative clausor might not see reason in time?

  Aulan offered his arm to his sister’s lady-in-waiting, and they descended the rostra in the wake of Sextus, Severa, and their fathers. He didn’t recognize her, although she looked vaguely vamiliar and had a Crescentian look to her.

  “What’s your name?” he asked her as well-wishers engulfed the betrothed couple. She was rather pretty, he could see now that her face wasn’t lost in the shadows.

  “Pomponia,” she said shyly, looking down.

  “Pomponia? Your father is Pomponius Mathus? Why, I remember you! You stayed with us in Salventum one summer. Good lord, you’ve grown!”

  She did not look up at him, but she smiled. “Lady Severa looks lovely tonight, don’t you think? And Lord Valerius, he is so very handsome.”

  “Do you think so?” he asked, feeling somewhat deflated. Not that she wasn’t right, damn it all, but he didn’t see that she needed to sound so enthusiastic about it. “Yes, I suppose he is.”

  They reached the bottom of the steps, and now they too were surrounded by the press of clients and allies. All were eager to congratulate Patronus, not so much on the betrothal of his daughter as on the strategic political masterstroke it represented. The patricians in the crowd understood, as the equestrians and common plebians did not, that the balance of power in the Senate had just shifted as dramatically as if an earthquake had shaken the Comitium. But this was not a night to contemplate the consequences—it was a night for celebration.

  House Severus was there in force, of course. Aulan saw his uncle Titus, as well as three of his older cousins, Septimus, Serenus, and Gallus. Pompilius Ferratus, who was some sort of distant relation to the girl on his arm was there, as was the consul provincae, Fulvius Falernus. To his surprise, he also saw that on this First Night the Senate appeared to have put its politics and party rivalries to the side. His father’s most powerful ally, Falconius Metius, was among the first to greet Valerius Magnus, while two of the leading clausores, Cassianus Longinus and Laelius Flamininus, were warmly congratulating Sextus and Severa. Longinus, in particular, was complimenting his sister’s beauty in such a flowerly manner that she appeared to be uncharacteristically blushing.

  Aulan found himself attempting to disengage himself from an effusive and somewhat wine-soaked Crescentian who appeared to have mistaken him for Sextus Valerius or one of the other betrothed young men, as the senator kept praising his nonexistent bride-to-be.

  His father turned to say something to him, then suddenly cried out and clutched at his lower back. He stumbled forward into him and nearly knocked him over.

  Aulan caught Patronus and prevented him from falling, though not without difficulty, as Pomponia was still holding onto his left arm. As he momentarily lost his balance, she instinctively tightened her grip on it.

  “Father, what is it? Are you unwell?” For a moment, Aulan feared his father was having a stroke or perhaps some sort of fit.

  But Patronus hissed from between gritted teeth and cursed under his breath.

  “My back.” He groaned. “In my back. I think I’ve been stabbed!”

  A few of those in the immediate vicinity were just beginning to realize something was wrong and turn toward them. Ferratus was the first to react, and he pushed two senators as well as the consul out of the way as he leaped toward Patronus and caught him about the shoulders. Severus Serenus was also quick to respond, grabbing one of Patronus’s arms and helping Aulan keep him upright.

  “Who was it, Father? Did you see?” Aulan was frantically scanning the crowd, but more and more people were turning toward them, and he didn’t see anyone running away. “Did you see who attacked you?”

  “I didn’t see anything,” his father gasped, wincing as if in pain. “Ferratus, see if there is anything there, will you? In my back! Ah, it burns like fire! I was talking with Flamininus, and then Metius, and then I felt this terrible pain….”

  His suddenly legs gave out.

  Aulan was
able to hold up his dead weight only with the help of Serenus, who wrapped both his arms around his uncle’s chest and held him upright, supported by his armpits.

  Regulus suddenly appeared in front of Aulan with a look of mixed irritation and concern on his face.

  “Father, what’s this I hear about you fainting? Dammit, Aulan, what happened? What’s wrong?”

  “I didn’t see who it was,” his father kept repeating. “I didn’t see anyone. Put me down, damn you all. Put me down, and someone get that bloody dagger out of my back!”

  Between them, Aulan, Serenus, and Ferratus managed to lay Patronus down carefully upon the hard stone of the Comitium. Pomponia, Titus Severus, Valerius Magnus, and Falconius Metius forcibly cleared out some space for him. Any instinctive objections to the actions of the latter two were swiftly rendered mute by the victim’s realization that the the large older man shoving him without warning or apology was a head of a House Martial.

  “Daddy!” he heard Severa screaming. She wasn’t the only one, but it was the only voice he recognized.

  “Get her out of here, Valerius!” Aulan snapped without looking up. “Regulus, find some guards, or at least some clients, and keep Severa safe. And someone find a medicus, right now!”

  “I found the knife, shall I withdraw it?” Ferratus asked him.

  There didn’t seem to be much blood, Aulan was thinking as he flipped the thick wool cloak his father was wearing out of the way. That was good, anyhow. He could see the dagger now, buried almost to the hilt at an upward angle. It looked as if it might have punctured his father’s right kidney. But when he caught a glimpse of the hand that had moved the cloak in the firelight, he saw it was covered with a dark substance that it took him a moment to recognize was blood. Because the Severan cloaks were scarlet, he hadn’t seen how much the wound was bleeding, and to his horror he realized the cloak was already soaked through with his father’s blood.

  He and Ferratus looked at each other.

  “Better leave it in there,” Aulan said finally as he shrugged off his own cloak and pressed it into place it around the jutting knife handle. “There’s a tavern near the other end of the plaza. Let’s carry him there.”

  “You’re going to be all right, Papa,” Regulus assured their father as he bent down to grasp his right leg. Aulan couldn’t see Severa, however, so at least Sextus had listened to him.

  “Of course I’m going to be all right!” Patronus spat, sounding more annoyed than injured. “He only got me once, dammit. I’ve seen men stabbed twenty times and survive. But my God, it bloody burns!”

  Eager hands reached down to help, so many that Patronus seemed almost weightless when Aulan counted to three and they raised him. But they hadn’t gone more than three or four steps when he suddenly began convulsing, and, with a dreadful, subhuman sound, vomited blood all over the legs and feet of Aulan, Ferratus, and the others in the lead. Startled, one or two of those carrying him released him and jumped back, forcing the others to stop as they fought to avoid dropping the stricken man.

  “Put him down!” Aulan shouted. “Put him down gently.” He reached out and turned his father’s face toward him and was aghast at what he saw. His face was drawn in a rictus of pain. Blood covered his chin, and the eyes that had been so keen and conscious only moments ago were vacant and unseeing. Aulan sat back on his heels in despair.

  “What is it? What’s wrong? What’s happening to him?” his brother shouted, sounding terrified.

  “Poison,” Ferratus said, standing over them with his arms folded as a violent spasm caused Patronus to curl into a fetal ball and vomit more blood onto the cold stone. “The bastards put poison on the blade.”

  “But what are you doing?” Regulus protested. “Pick him up again. We can’t let him die!”

  Aulan started to put his hand on his brother’s shoulder, then he stopped himself. There was no need to ruin a third cloak tonight. “We don’t have any choice, Regul. There’s nothing anyone can do. I doubt even God could save him now.”

  A third spasm brought up another spray of blood, but it was smaller and less violent this time.

  “Dammit, Patronus.” Aulan looked up and saw Falconius Metius standing over him, in between Valerius Magnus and Laelius Flamininus. All three men were staring at his dying father. “I swear to you on the honor of my House and yours,” Falconius said, “whoever did this will pay with their lives and the lives of their children!”

  Aulan wished he could summon up a similar sense of rage, but instead he felt nothing except exhaustion. He wanted only to stand up, walk home, go to sleep, and wake up tomorrow to learn that this was nothing but a bad dream. But he couldn’t find the energy to even rise to his feet. So he simply sat there, holding his father’s left hand, feeling it alternately tighten and release as the poison wreaked its deadly havoc on his insides.

  He might have sat there for hours, except a sudden commotion all around him drew him from his impromptu deathwatch. Even Regulus and Ferratus stood up and turned to look at something in the direction of the rostra. He ignored it until he heard a vaguely familiar voice calling his father’s name.

  “Let the histories proclaim, thus passed Aulus Severus Patronus, the Princeps who thought to make himself king!”

  Releasing his father’s hand, Aulan rose to his feet and saw Cassianus Longinus standing astride the platform, flanked by no fewer than thirty of his household guard, each aiming a loaded crossbow at the crowd below them.

  “What have you done, Gaius Cassianus?” Flamininus shouted in anguish. “You have killed Aulus Severus!”

  “Murderer!” he heard a woman shriek.

  “Indeed I have!” Longinus thundered back, holding his right hand aloft for all to see. His palm was stained with Patronus’s blood. “I do not deny it! But I deny the crime. This was no murder—it was an execution for the highest of high treasons!”

  “And these,” Falconius Metius said calmly, gesturing toward the crossbow-bearing slaves. “What is their purpose? Are they executioners too? Who else do you deem guilty here?”

  “Merely a precaution, friend Metius. Have no fear, they are here only to ensure that I live long enough to be tried by the Senate.”

  “Do you really think we’ll believe you’re not going to run to Arretium, to hide behind your legion wintering there?” Magnus shouted, shaking his fist at the killer.

  Longinus smiled and shook his head as if in pity at his former ally. “Are you so blind, Marcus Valerius, that you think I would hide from justice? I welcome it, and when the trumpeter comes to my home to summon me to the Senate and the trial that awaits me, you may be certain I shall be there! Your new ally betrayed you, Magnus. He betrayed all of you, as he betrayed Amorr herself. And I will prove this to the full satisfaction of the Senate and People!”

  The crowd was mostly stunned into silence, less subdued by the thirty deadly bolts aimed at their faces than by the accusations and the unshaken confidence of the assassin. Longinus turned away and headed for the stairs at the rear of the rostra, still shielded by his armed slaves.

  As he did so, Metius stepped forward and pointed his finger at the killer.

  “It is you who are the betrayer, Cassianus Longinus! It is you who have shattered City and the Empire alike and hurled us all into great danger! Do you not understand that Aulus Severus was the one man standing between us and the rebellion of the allies?”

  Longinus seemed to hesitate a moment, then he disappeared into the night with his guards following him two-by-two.

  “Avenge my father!” shouted Regulus as soon as the last armed slave had exited the platform. “Let them pay for his blood with their own! After them!”

  “Stand where you are!” roared Magnus, who had swiftly moved toward the nearer of the two steps and mounted it halfway to block the easiest way to the platform.

  The surging crowd stopped, instinctively obeying the authority in the deep voice of the four-time ex-consul.

  “In the name of the Senate, the Pe
ople, and the princeps senatus,” Magnus said, “I order you to let them go in peace! There will be no more bloodshed this night. Go to your homes. Go to a tavern and drink to the memory of the most noble Severus Patronus. But do not seek vengeance now. In the morning, the consul provincae will call for the assembly of the Senate. And in the afternoon I swear to you that Metius, the consul, and I will go to the house of Cassianus Longinus. The consul’s fascitors will arrest him if he does not respond to the summons as he has promised.”

  “Is Patronus truly dead?” someone from the middle of the crowd shouted.

  Metius glanced at Aulan, who kneeled down again and placed his hand on his father’s back. He could not feel a heartbeat, and he saw that his father’s face was still, though still contorted with pain. He stood and nodded grimly.

  The Falconian pushed his way forward and mounted the rostra’s other steps with the anxious crowd’s eyes upon him.

  “Severus Patronus is dead,” he told them.

  The news was greeted with cries of anger and groans of dismay.

  “What if Longinus isn’t there when you come for him?” demanded Regulus angrily.

  “Severus Regulus,” Metius said, “if Longinus is not true to his word and does not submit himself to the verdict of the Senate, no power on this earth will save him. House Cassianus has but two legions, one retired. House Falconius has four, Valerius three. Your own House has two. If Longinus wants war, then by the Sanctiff and the Immaculate Heart of the City, I swear to you that we will give him war!”

  SEVERA

  The day after the funeral, Patronus’s oldest children gathered in the Quinctiline gardens behind the house. Thousands had come to honor the murdered prince of the Senate, but thousands more stayed home, or worse, walked about the Forum arm-in-arm and took turns reviling him and his supposed treachery. All three consuls and many foreign dignitaries were gracious enough to appear despite the controversy, but most of the patrician clausores and even a few dedicated auctares did not, so deep were feelings running throughout the Senate and the City alike concerning the shocking revelation of Severus Patronus’s intended expansion of his clientele.