by Tony Roberts
“I understand you are willing to undertake a hazardous task on the empire’s behalf? You do know it is a dangerous assignment, don’t you?”
Vasila nodded. “My brother here, Vosgaris, told me. I am to be disguised as a man?”
Astiras grinned. “Something you do not mind, I take it?”
She giggled. “It’d be fun, sire.”
“Then we shall have to make you look like a man. Your hair will be shaved, you will be given suitable attire. Your name…..”
“Vazil, your highness?” Vosgaris suggested. “The male form of her name?”
“Why not? So – now to your disguise. A merchant, or trader, perhaps?”
Vasila pursed her lips. “I’ve always had a wish to be a priest.”
“A priest?” Teduskis queried. “But that would mean you’d have to know plenty about the deity and the other gods!”
“Not if it’s their god – Sonor, is it? They only tolerate the one. There are priests a-plenty in Rhan – I should know, I’ve seen them!” she said. “What’s one more amongst dozens? They come from all over, professing their intention to convert the heretics and infidels to the one true god,” she said, mimicking a priest’s tone. “I cannot pass myself off as a trader or merchant, and my features are too feminine for most male occupations – but a priest is often covered in robes and a headdress. I should be able to hide my true identity that way.”
The men looked to one another, and Vosgaris shrugged. Teduskis chuckled. “You know, I think it might work!”
Astiras slowly nodded his acceptance. “Then from this moment on you are working for me, Vazil,” he said with emphasis on the name. “You shall receive a down payment from Frendicus in the treasury office along the corridor, and the balance of your fee upon successful return here.”
Vasila – or Vazil as she would now be known – smiled and bowed low.
Astiras flicked a finger at Teduskis. “Teduskis here will arrange the travel to the border, but once there you’ll be on your own, I’m afraid. Your brother, Captain Vosgaris, will give you a few words of advice and items you may find useful. Please understand that this is an important task I ask of you. We know that the destruction of their armouries won’t stop their preparations, but it will buy us some time and that is all I ask.”
Vazil nodded. “You can count on me. What about father? He’d be furious if he found out!”
“I’ll take care of that,” Vosgaris said. “I’ll merely tell him you’ve gone off on another of your impulses and will be returning whenever you feel the time is right.”
Vazil giggled. “He must be tired of me doing that!”
“Perhaps,” Astiras said, “but it is the perfect cover for your disappearance. Now, Vazil, off to have your hair cut. I think we can find you suitable robes in the meantime. Dismissed.”
They all bowed or curtseyed, and Vosgaris jabbed his sister in the arm. “Bow, you’re no longer a woman.”
Chastened, Vazil did as she was bidden, and they filed out, leaving Astiras and Pepil alone in the chamber.
“You think she can do it, sire?” Pepil inquired.
“Who knows?” Astiras replied thoughtfully, “I’m grasping for any help we can get at the present time, and one volunteer is worth ten conscripts.”
“Indeed, sire. Now, down to today’s schedule….”
Astiras groaned and sat back, waiting to hear the tiresome list of visitors and appointments he had to endure. He hoped to the gods that Isbel would soon be arriving; this administration was driving him mad.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
It had been seven days since the wedding, and things had settled down in Slenna at last. The guests had departed, returning back to their respective homes, and the detritus left by the celebrations had been cleared away and disposed of. Once again, Slenna was just a provincial capital with neat, tidy streets and brand new walls.
Jorqel had shown Sannia the office he normally worked from and the ledgers that listed everything of importance from farms to tax, from households to rent and from tolls to costs of current and future projects. Sannia was interested in the total income flowing into the Slenna treasury. It seemed that most of the funding was coming from taxes from farms, while the estate taxes were lower than she had expected.
It took a little pressure and questioning before Jorqel admitted that he had done a deal the previous year with some of the nobility in return for a supply of food to Slenna and free wood to build the new walls. Sannia then understood how it had been possible to fund the new projects so readily. Jorqel assured her that the deal had been only for one year and that the new tax period would see a rise in income from the large estates along the coastal plains of the province.
Jorqel also pointed out the places that he had posted soldiers, not only in Slenna and Efsia, but also in small wooden relay posts along the roads, to act both as a security force and as a means to collect any tolls that were enforceable. The roads needed repairing so a road toll had been levied to partly raise the necessary money to pay for the gangs of workmen digging up the road, packing in new foundations and laying the new surface. It was a quick fix and not one intended to last too long, but enough to bring the roads of Lodria into some semblance of standard.
The other items of note was the arrival of ‘guests’. Another pirate vessel had ventured into the Aester, either to search for the lost ship or to attack trade ships sailing from Efsia, Aconia and Galan. Admiral Drakan had intercepted that one, too, and had driven it onto the shore where the local militia had captured the fleeing crew and had brought them to Slenna. Even now, the twenty-three survivors were awaiting their fate in the overcrowded prison underneath the castle.
Leaving Sannia to look over the ledgers in her own time, Jorqel followed Gavan down the stairs to the great hall, and then along a side passage to where the entrance to the dungeons stood. “How’s that girl, what’s her name? Sannia’s handmaiden?” Jorqel asked as they waited for the bolts on the door to be slid back by the guard.
“Fine,” Gavan said neutrally.
“You didn’t waste any time with her, did you? I mean, the wedding was hardly over when you dragged her off to your bed.”
“I didn’t drag her,” Gavan protested softly, “she was as enthusiastic as me!”
“After a few drinks, no doubt,” Jorqel observed mildly.
“You wouldn’t begrudge a little fun on my behalf, would you?” Gavan asked, pushing past the guard as the gate swung open, revealing a cold narrow passage that dropped below the level of the ground. The walls glistened with damp and it was noticeably cooler down in the basement than it had been up top. There were ten barred gates, five on either side of the single passageway, all occupied by people who had been placed in there for breaking the law. Most of them were pirates taken from the wrecked ship.
“Just don’t go getting her pregnant,” Jorqel said, standing by the single wooden table at the far end where the passage widened into some sort of space that might have been loosely called a chamber. “She’s Sannia’s handmaiden and not easily replaceable.”
“Don’t mistake me for some fool, sire,” Gavan grumbled, “we’re careful.”
Jorqel grunted and waved to the jailer to open the first gate. Two guards stood ready, swords drawn, ready to use them if things went awry. In the cell were three men, all lying dispiritedly on the dirty straw covered floor. “You,” the jailer pointed at a lean, long-legged man, “get up.”
“Go boil your balls,” the man said in a surly tone. “I ain’t getting up for nobody.”
The jailer tutted. He was filthy, unshaven, and had a terribly misshapen and broken nose. “The Prince is here to speak to you, so you get up now or else.”
“Prince of what?” the man said. “He ain’t my Prince so he can get lost.”
The jailer waved to the two guards who stepped into the cell and kicked hard at the man, catching him on the leg. Yelping, the man was pulled up and pushed heavily out of the cell. He stumbled to a halt in fro
nt of Jorqel and glared at him.
“You, what is your name?” Jorqel demanded.
“Go and get lost,” the man growled.
In a blur, Jorqel’s hand smashed into the pirate’s face, sending him staggering into the waiting guards. They took him by the arms and forced him into a small chair. His hands and legs were bound and the man sat there, glaring up at Jorqel. “Now, I don’t care who you are or what your origin is; what I want is a full description of the pirate fleet and garrison on Romos. I also want to know who has recently arrived in Romos.”
“Why don’t you lie down and allow yourself to be screwed by a herd of bovines – it’s your level, isn’t it, Koros whelp?” the pirate sneered through swollen lips.
Jorqel’s face went quite still. “You will wish you’d never said that, you honourless traitor. What were you before you deserted the imperial navy? A captain? A deck hand? A deck scrubber? You lost your ship, didn’t you? What sort of man does that? Not one of any substance, that is a fact.”
The pirate sneered and looked away. “You’ll not get anything from me; I’m sworn to secrecy. What are you going to do?” he looked back up at the looming figure of the prince. “Beat me to a pulp? Where’s that going to get you? You’re a fool; you’re all fools. Playing at being top man today, just like the others. Tomorrow you’ll be dead and another lot of power-crazed nobodies will have their one day at the top until they, too. In turn, are toppled. And for what?”
“You misjudge us,” Jorqel said softly. He snapped his fingers to the jailer and pointed at the cell door at the very end. As the jailer shuffled towards the door, keys jangling, Jorqel surveyed the bound man with distaste. “You asked what was it for? I could very well ask you the same question about your little kingdom, but I won’t. Why are we striving to control the empire? Without people like us there would be no order, no law. Oh no doubt you and people like you would cry out against tyranny and abuse and any other absurd accusation that comes to your tiny minds; but the truth is you despise people like my father and I because we can achieve those things you cannot. You are not capable of creating, merely destroying.”
The jailer was now dragging a figure out of the cell, struggling, so Jorqel indicated a guard go help him. The Prince resumed speaking to the pirate. “You and your kind only wish to exist without rules, without law. You are people who wish to live without structure, doing as you please and to the pit of fire with your fellow man. You despise everyone else, either because you can dominate them and therefore they do not earn any respect, or you cannot dominate them and you hate them for being stronger than you. You are shallow, directionless, without an aim in life and therefore you will never achieve anything of note. You can never build anything because you have no structure, and eventually you will fall and be ruled by someone who has.”
“Pretty words, but it’s of no use when you do not have the muscle to back them up.”
Jorqel ignored the pirate’s last words and stared at the dishevelled figure that had been dragged from the cell. Long, unkempt hair, tangled and knotted, it was covered in filth and the once-clean clothes torn and soiled. The face was gaunt and a pair of eyes stared hauntingly out from deep sockets. “I asked you a question, little man, as to who had recently arrived on Romos. Perhaps you would like to meet Lady Kelsi Duras, a guest of mine.”
The pirate stared at the filthy apparition. “You lie,” he said to Jorqel.
Jorqel shook his head. “Tell him, Duras, or has your rest in my home taken away your powers of speech?”
The figure growled and some fire came to the vacant eyes. “Shut up, Koros canine! You will never break a Duras, ever!”
Jorqel smiled and waved the guard and jailer to return her to her cell. “So, you were saying?” he asked the stunned pirate.
“Lord Duras said she was dead!”
“Quite clearly she is alive. Now I’m willing to make a deal. Shall we say an exchange? Lady Duras here for Lord Duras and his sons? I want those men and will not rest until I have them hanging from a rope, you understand?”
The pirate laughed briefly. “A deal? You’ve got no chance! Lord Duras has already grieved for the loss of his wife, and that – thing – you have here isn’t his wife. He won’t see that, anyway! If you release her and send her to Romos they might look more favourably on any deal you might wish to make.”
Jorqel scowled. “Now do you take me for a fool? If they are reunited I have no more hold over those scum. You are to be sent to Romos with a message, and the message is to surrender the Duras or burn. I shall come to Romos and put every last one of you to death, so I swear on the name of my family!”
The pirate laughed again. “Oh, you will, will you? How? You have no navy to speak of; you have no army except the few idiots here, and they’re needed to keep the people from revolting against your foul reign. You’re blustering and bluffing, Koros. You’re a paper idol, with no substance….”
He was interrupted by a full-blown slap across the face. The pirate rode the blow and remained still for a few moments, his tongue feeling the cut on his lip and tasting the blood that welled up from it. Jorqel looked over him. “Do not take me for a weak fool, Captain Krasmik. Yes, I know your name. Krasmik, former First Mate in the imperial navy. What did you do – execute your captain?”
“Does it matter?” Krasmik slurred. “The fact is you cannot invade Romos – you don’t have the military capabilities. We’ll get stronger while you get weaker. With the Duras to help us now we’ll attract his former supporters to our island and soon we’ll strike out and ravage your coasts from Lodria to Pelponia, and there will be nothing you or any of your weakling supporters will be able to do about it.”
“The House of Duras has no supporters left; the Council have declared them all outlaws,” Jorqel replied, his fists balled. “I want you to take a letter from Lady Duras to her husband to prove it is her and that I have her prisoner. That is one letter; the other is to your masters in the pirate hierarchy, informing them to hand over the Duras or you will all feel my wrath. I will say no more to you, filth.” With that he turned and walked off, Gavan falling into step alongside.
As they walked back up towards the stairs, the pirate captain shouted after them. “You’ll be the ones who’ll be sorry! You’re full of hot air and shit!” The rant was cut short by a solid thump and a gasp of pain.
“That sounds as if it hurt,” Gavan commented.
“Shame,” Jorqel grunted. As they were let out up to the lower floor of the castle, Jorqel began ticking off tasks that needed to be done. “Get that witch down there to write to her husband, explain to her she can say what she likes, I don’t really care. All I want is to prove that we have the foul creature here. Also, have a warning letter made up for me to sign to the pirate council or whatever they’re called.”
“Won’t that warn them you’re going to invade, sire?”
Jorqel snorted, emerging from the dark of the castle into the courtyard and he breathed in, glad to be out of the smelly dungeon. “You heard Krasnik; they think we’ve no means to get there, nor spare soldiers to do the task.”
“Well, he’s right, isn’t he?”
“No he’s not, Gavan,” Jorqel laid a hand on his lieutenant’s shoulder. “I will take the mounted archers I’m training up outside with me.”
“What – no infantry support? Sire, are you mad, begging your pardon?”
“I’m not mad, Gavan, I’m prepared to take a risk. We can’t spare any of the soldiers here as they’re needed as a garrison and to make sure the roads are safe, and to provide security in case the Tybar start throwing their weight around. I’m certain they have a spy here amongst us – if I were them I would – so if we send loads of soldiers away they may well take the opportunity to attack.”
Gavan scowled. “So they’ll be aware of us training up the mounted archers.”
“They’d be blind if they didn’t know – but they’ll look down on them. They will still be able to ride rings round our novi
ces. I’m going to use the Romos campaign to train them up – I can’t do it any other way, can I? At least they’ll be more experienced. Also if I’m to blockade Romos I can’t do it with static infantry – with mobile archers I can spread my line thinner and reinforce it quicker. Admiral Fostan is going to be based permanently in Efsia, and he’ll be used to help enforce the blockade.”
“Two ships against – how many?”
“Who said they had many ships?” Jorqel asked obliquely. “You forget, I have a man on the island.”
“Oh, yes, Kiros Louk. You mean….”
“I mean, he’ll be given orders to burn the fleet in the harbour once our plans are formally completed. They’ll be stuck with their fingers up their backsides on land – not what they would prefer.”
“Not bad,” Gavan conceded. “So we’ll need supplies and equipment for the campaign.”
“Indeed. Start stockpiling them, slowly. We don’t want to cause too many alarms yet, do we?”
“Of course not, sire.” Gavan frowned. “But we need to know more of their strength, sire. You were going to get the information out of that Krasmik, weren’t you? If you let him go, then he won’t be able to tell us.”
Jorqel pulled a face. “There are others down there. Arrange for the jailer to have them thoroughly interrogated and all the information gathered will be looked over by me. Krasmik probably knows more than the rest but I want him to go back as a messenger since as a captain he carries more authority and weight to what he’ll tell them.”
Gavan nodded. “Do you think the Duras will surrender?”
“Not in the slightest. I merely wish to antagonise them and spread uncertainty amongst their ranks. There’s a slight chance the pirates will turn over the Duras to me but I doubt it’ll happen. I need to get a message to Kiros Louk. Admiral Fostan will have to sneak in and leave a message on the south shore where I’ve agreed with Kiros to exchange messages.”
“A bit risky, sire.”
“Everything is – but there’s a small cairn close to the beach we’ve identified and messages are left underneath one of the bottom stones. Every thirty days Fostan sends in a small crew by boat at night to check the cairn, and if there’s a message from Kiros, they take it, and leave one if necessary for Kiros to take at his leisure.”