by Tony Roberts
“Trivial matter, Fokis? I’m glad you used that term to describe your calling.” Astiras smiled emptily for a moment, something which un-nerved Vacan somewhat. “Technically I am the law maker,” he mocked the lawyer’s words. “You are correct! I am the law maker, not you,” he pointed at Vacan, “or you,” he swung his finger on another lawyer standing to Vacan’s left, “or you!” he jabbed the air in the direction of a third. “You merely administer what laws I make. You do not take it into your own hands! You are not head of state; you do not lead this empire, so do not presume to create laws that divert money from the people into your pockets at the expense of the imperial treasury!”
“Sire, I assure you….”
“Silence, you blood sucking pimp!” Astiras roared. Silence descended again on the chamber as the echoes of the emperor’s outburst faded high up in the beams of the chamber. “I repeal all the laws that have been made in connection with rents and fees over the past five years. The people cannot afford to live, let alone create the wealth this city and empire needs in order to survive. You are too greedy and selfish to understand that you are strangling the empire for your own gratification.”
“The Fokis family are very powerful, you majesty,” Vacan said evenly, but there was a hint of a threat behind it.
Astiras slowly walked down the steps. People to left and right stepped back, intimidated. Astiras walked right up to Vacan and stopped, a matter of a hand-span from him. “A Fokis has declared Lodria independent, has it not? Are your family traitors? If they refuse to acknowledge my rule then they will be driven out of my realm and anyone who resists will be put to the sword. What have you got to stop my soldiers coming to your estates and taking what I demand? You have no soldiers. What will you use, the law? What good is the law,” he asked, as he stepped back and placed the tip of his sword against Vacan’s throat, “when the sword is against your throats? What good is your money when the tribes of Tybar come and take your possessions because there are no soldiers there to stop them? What good is your privileged position when your daughters and wives are forced to lie down and satisfy a company of Tybar soldiers and you are forced to kneel and watch with your hands bound behind your back?” he shouted to the audience, but staring at the swallowing Vacan.
“You think I exaggerate?” he went on, removing the sword from the lawyer’s throat. “Well I can tell you that’s what happened to the inhabitants of Imakum when it fell five years ago. I was there, and was lucky to get out alive! Some of my men here saw the same. We were unable to hold onto the city because we were outnumbered and had little in the way of supplies. And why?” he swung round and returned to the dais. “Why? Because the nobility and priests and lawyers had stolen the money from the treasury! And what happened after the defeat? We had the High Cleric here…” he corrected himself. “The former High Cleric of Kastan here, I apologise, preaching from his Temple that the army was at fault for being godless and degenerate!” He stared at the flinching priest. “I ought to have you hanged from the eastern gatehouse you back stabbing thief!”
He reached down and pulled Burnas up with one hand, clenched in his robes. “You say I am evil? You hypocrite. You sanctimonious two-faced lying, stealing hypocrite!” He threw the man off the dais and he tumbled down to lie at the bottom, staring up in fear at the emperor. “There is evil!” he pointed at Burnas. “And I banish evil from Kastan as of today! Take him away, and hold him under arrest until I decide what to do with him!”
Two of the palace guards advanced and pulled the stunned priest up and dragged him off. Astiras placed the tip of his sword back on the ground. “Now, lawyers, you will once more work for the empire instead of against it. We are in a state of war, against the rebellions in Bragal and Lodria. The disadvantageous peace treaties of the last five years are a disgrace to Kastania and we must work together to overturn these. Anyone who disagrees is a traitor and will be dealt with accordingly.”
The assembly, suitably cowed, didn’t raise as much as a mutter of protest.
____
As night fell Astiras walked into the family room, a place of refuge from the official chambers and rooms of functionality. It was small but nicely decorated and had a rich rug that lay from wall to wall and nicely cushioned chairs with wormspun covers. He threw himself into one of these chairs and nodded to the servant hovering close by with a drinks tray. He took a glass of spring water and sipped it appreciatively. All that talking and shouting had dried his throat. Isbel and Amne were there, seated, having been in deep discussion when he’d come in, and Argan and Istan were playing with some cloth puppets in a corner, watched carefully by Rousa.
“Well?” Astiras asked, throwing a leg over the arm of his chair and slumping deeply into the cushions.
“Well, what?” Isbel answered.
“Did you think I did a reasonably good job of putting them in their place?”
“Oh, yes, and you made an army of enemies at the same time. What were you thinking of, Astiras? We’ll have to watch our backs now!”
“Of course; but emperors and their families always have to, didn’t you know, Isbel? And you, Amne, is being a princess what you hoped it to be?”
Amne shook her head. “Why do we have to antagonise those people? Couldn’t you be nice to them, father? We do need them, don’t we?”
“We need people in their positions, but not necessarily those particular people,” Astiras replied. “We need civil servants to collect taxes and run the palace, to maintain the roads and buildings, to oversee the supplies to the army, to supply diplomats and run our spy networks. The list of tasks goes on but they’re the most important ones I can think of at the moment. We need priests.”
“So why turn on that man Burnas? He’s the High Cleric!” Amne was still shocked at his treatment in the throne room. “Who will oversee the imperial marriages if he’s banned and no other High Cleric is appointed in his place?”
“Thinking of getting married already, Amne?” her father said teasingly.
“Astiras!” Isbel scolded him. “There’s no need for that!”
“Alright, I apologise Amne. Good question. Any priest can conduct the marriage; it’s just that in the past because it’s an imperial wedding the senior priest does it, and that’s always happened to be the High Cleric. It’s a tradition, not a law.”
“I think your father wanted to show everyone he was nobody’s puppet.” Isbel held Amne’s hand. “He better not get the same ideas here.” She gave her husband a level stare. Astiras inclined his head, smiling in a half mocking manner.
“Jorqel should be here,” Amne said, wanting to change the subject. She never liked the undercurrents between her parents. She still didn’t quite know what attracted them to one another.
“Jorqel is busy doing my business,” Astiras said heavily. “As will you, my dear, in a few sevendays.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Astiras,” Isbel said. “Whatever possessed you to think of sending our daughter to Mazag alone!”
“She’s not going alone,” Astiras growled testily. “She’ll have members of the diplomatic corps and bodyguards as well as a maidservant or two to go with her. She’ll have ambassadorial status and so will be respected where she goes, even in Mazag.”
“But journeying through Bragal? That’s lawless country full of bandits!”
“Oh for goodness sake, Isbel. She’ll travel with my army as far as Zofela and go on to Mazag afterwards while I put the fortress under siege. The Bragalese rebels will be too busy trying to sting me at Zofela to worry about her. Anyway, from what I hear the Mazag are busy patrolling the south of Bragal already; they’re clearly planning to incorporate it into their kingdom before long. So I’ll have to train up a new army and go within a season before the winter sets in. Travelling through Bragal in winter’s no joke with an army and its supplies.”
“I say it’s too dangerous, Astiras. I want you to reconsider the decision. Send one of the palace diplomats instead.”
“Negotiations by a beautiful young princess are more likely to succeed than if you use one of the palace ogres. Have you seen the diplomats here? A line-up of chargers’ backsides.”
Amne put her hand to her mouth but the crinkling of her eyes betrayed her amusement. Astiras winked at her. Isbel threw her hands up in exasperation. “Well why don’t you send Argan or Istan as well? I’m sure a small child will melt those stone-hearted Mazagians.”
“Istan could be sent and we would threaten to keep him there with them unless they gave in to our demands,” Astiras said lightly.
“Astiras!” Isbel shouted.
The emperor grinned and drained the rest of his water. “Sorry, dear. You haven’t got your humorous head on tonight.”
“And you’ve got your insufferable one on! You need to go to the practice yard and get that energy out of your system. I don’t fancy sharing a room with you if you’re going to be in this sort of mood.”
“You don’t normally say that, dear,” Astiras touched his forehead in a mock salute. “I can browbeat priests, the nobility and lawyers, but my wife is another matter altogether.”
“Just you try,” Isbel wagged her finger at her husband.
“Can’t be bothered,” Astiras slumped even more into his chair, assuming an almost horizontal position. “I’m too tired. It’s been a busy day. Have you had any further pleasantries with the Palace Guard Captain, Mercos, Amne?”
“Astiras…” Isbel began.
“I’m asking if that amphibian has bothered our daughter again, dear,” Astiras said, exerting a great deal of patience. “If he tried once he may try again.”
“No, father. He’s kept clear of me.”
“Good. I’m thinking of replacing him. Even I get the jitters around him. Isbel darling, is there anyone you have in mind? Someone reliable, loyal to our family, pretty good with a blade, and not inclined to fondling maidens?”
Amne blushed and put her head down. Isbel compressed her lips and sent him a look that ought to have shrivelled him on the spot. “I don’t know what’s got into you, Astiras. As a matter of fact I may have someone in mind. A young man from the Taboz family. Know them?”
Astiras screwed his face up. “Taboz? Oh yes, you mean the landowners from east of here? Most of their land is around the port of Kalkos, isn’t it?”
“Yes. One of their sons is serving in the garrison here. He got posted last year as soon as he got his captaincy.”
“Paid for by his family, I suppose,” Astiras said.
“Yes, but he’s not like those useless fops you’re thinking of. Why don’t you ask to see him? Make you own mind up about him.” Isbel smiled sweetly at him.
Astiras grimaced, then nodded. “Pepil, what’s my schedule for tomorrow?”
The major domo stepped forward, parchment already unrolling. He examined the inked squiggles written upon it. “After breakfast a meeting with Frendicus’ office, sorting out the tax regime. Pre-lunch, throne room audience with the various nobility requesting imperial favours or action in connection with their properties etcetera etcetera. After lunch you have an appointment with the office of public works to see which public buildings require maintenance. Pre-dinner a number of requests for nobility engagements; daughters wishing to marry into other families – including your own, your majesty.”
“What?” Astiras twisted in his seat and stared up at the major domo. “There are requests to marry Jorqel?”
“Well it would hardly be Argan or Istan over there, would it, dear?” Isbel could be caustic, Astiras decided.
“I’m afraid, ma’am, there are one or two….” Pepil looked apologetically at Isbel.
“What?” she sat up straight and looked across at the two children playing innocently in the corner. “They’re only four and one!”
“I’m afraid we’ve had a flood of marriage requests from noble families already, and I expect more to come from other parts of the empire once news of your successful ascent to the throne reaches them, your majesty.” Pepil leaned back, drawing himself up to his full height. He looked as disapproving as Isbel felt.
“This won’t do!” Isbel exclaimed. “Astiras, you must announce tomorrow an end to this!”
“What, and alienate those noble families I haven’t already today?” Astiras frowned. He clicked his fingers at the drinks servant. “Ale.” The servant bowed and glided off.
“But to ask for the hand of a one year old is simply not right!”
“What’s the socially acceptable age? Twelve?” Astiras asked out loud. He got a few nods in reply. “Right, I’ll make some kind of proclamation tomorrow to that effect. Pepil, do me a draft speech, can you?”
“Of course, your majesty.” Pepil was obsequiousness itself.
“They’re trying to jump on the imperial line,” Isbel commented. “A new family with children. There hasn’t been that for a while, has there? Well as their mother I have a duty to protect them! Jorqel can handle those requests sent his way, but Amne here and the boys are a different matter.”
“Mother!” Amne protested indignantly, “I’m twenty!”
“And the empire’s number one eligible woman,” Isbel replied. “You’ll be flooded with marriage requests. You won’t be able to cope….” Isbel looked at her husband. “Perhaps sending Amne to Mazag may not be such a bad idea after all.”
Astiras grinned and looked smug. Too damned smug, Isbel thought.
CHAPTER FIVE
The city of Kastan was old, very old; built on an even older town seven centuries ago, it had grown as the new capital of the empire after the constant menaces from the west had compelled the emperors in those days to shift the capital westwards, thus ensuring the dangers to the empire could be addressed more quickly and the imperial army had less distance to travel should danger rear its head. The disadvantage was to the eastern half, and the people there had never forgotten this ‘insult’. A civil war had erupted, splitting the old empire in two. Each half had insisted it were the true empire. Each continued on its way, separate and parallel, until the east had imploded two centuries after the split and vanished. This had left the west to continue as the Kastanian Empire, the lone survivor of the former mighty one.
Kastan had become a glittering jewel, a capital of a mighty empire, the centre of trade and commerce, the seat of rich and opulent emperors. But the centuries had seen highs and lows, and the empire had gradually shrunk from an extent that covered much of the known world to now only five provinces. With this contraction the wealth had gradually dribbled away and the riches had been slowly stolen by other kingdoms. But Kastan was still envied, desired and wanted by its neighbours. Visitors to the city walked around gazing in admiration at its public buildings, built in a time when the Empire had the wealth to construct them. This ensured that belief around the known world that Kastan was still a rich glittering gem at the centre of the world. All wanted to be first to possess it. Previously only those who ran the empire knew of the precarious state of things, and they kept this truth from everyone, even themselves. Not so now, not since Astiras had come to power and revealed to everyone the true state of the empire.
The city was enclosed within a high wall and divided into quarters. Some quarters were richer than others, and in one such richer quarter a meeting was taking place. The few guests who arrived by carriage kept their cloaks tight around their heads, lest they be seen and reported to the authorities. They did not wish that.
The house belonged to the Duras family, a rich and noble family that had provided emperors in the past. Many members had held positions of power in the provinces, positions that had allowed them to divert much revenue meant for the treasury into their pockets. It was said that the Duras family were richer than the imperial treasury these days. It was not hard to believe.
Vitlis Duras was head of the family, and he had called the meeting, using contacts and messengers, so that if one be intercepted he was above any implication. Unlike the emperor, he was not averse to disp
laying his wealth, and it was on show in his home, displaying to the visitors that he was a man of substance, of bearing. Gold cups and plates adorned shelves and paintings of haughty and imperious figures hung from picture rails set high in the passageways and around the rooms. In the rooms the furniture was of a superior quality. One or two could be said to have come from cities lost to the Tybar tribes recently, but just how these had been smuggled out was something not to be discussed.
The visitors were helped off with their cloaks in the hallway and were shown to the meeting room, a library, the windows covered in thick curtains so they were all hidden from prying eyes. Servants provided them with drinks and then left, leaving them to discuss with their master those matters which did not concern them. Better they did not hear.
“Thank you for coming here tonight,” Vitlis began solemnly. He stood with his back to the huge fireplace, the fire unlit as it was warm enough at this time of year. The wintertime would be a different matter altogether. “I have called this meeting to discuss with each of you the serious matter of the new emperor and his avowed policies. Policies which I know all of you have reasons to oppose.”
He sat down in his favourite chair, a worn looking leather backed armchair with dark wood rests. Carved hunting feline heads stood on the edges of the arm rests, and hunting felines’ feet at the bottom of each leg. His five guests did likewise, finding a seat closest to where they were. They arranged the seats so they were looking at one another. Vitlis acknowledged the presence of Vacan Fokis, a member of a rival family. Because of this they rarely spoke to one another; but this evening they had a common cause, and any enmity they might have felt towards one another was put aside. Temporarily, at least. Next to Vacan was seated a senior priest, a florid, brown haired man with a long sharp nose and receding chin. “My thanks for attending, Cleric Dinosi. I’m sure it is a difficult time for your temple.”
