Empire of Avarice

by Tony Roberts

  “Frendicus?” Astiras turned to the financier.

  “We have no existing trade agreements with anyone. Mazag won’t send anyone through Bragal as long as the insurrection is going on, and Venn is concentrating on building up its new bases on Cratia and in Kral. Perhaps they will be open to a trade agreement in a short while.” Frendicus sighed. “Nothing from the Tybar, of course. They aren’t interested in trade; they take.”

  “And we have the regions lost to civil war,” Sereth added. “Lodria, Epros and Romos to name but three.”

  “Lodria will be pacified before long,” Astiras predicted. “My son is there with the army. We will declare officially that it is our intention to return Lodria to the empire and that those who oppose such a move are traitors.”

  Vosgaris nodded. “And Bragal?”

  “We should be more cautious towards Bragal,” Sereth said. “Lodria is Kastanian through and through, but the Bragal people are not Kastanian.”

  “What difference does that make, counsel?” Astiras asked.

  “Other nations may accuse us of suppressing a foreign people. A foreign people moreover who have made huge efforts in obtaining independence from us.”

  “Bragal has been Kastanian since the empire was founded seven hundred years ago out of the chaos of the old empire breaking in two, and before that it was part of the old empire for another three hundred. A thousand years!” Astiras glared at the council member.

  “Things change, sire,” Sereth smiled easily. “The Bragal people were not there a thousand years ago; they migrated from the south west into the region.”

  “So what?” Astiras snapped. “They want to live there – fine! But they don’t come here and then want to take it for themselves! They can go elsewhere.”

  “It’s their home now, sire,” Sereth pointed out.

  “And they can live there, as I said,” Astiras replied, “and live as freely as they like, provided,” he jabbed a finger into the tabletop, “that they pay their taxes to us and respect our right to continue to rule that region! I will not stand for any part of our empire being invaded by a foreign people who then demand that those parts they settle in no longer form part of it!”

  “It’s happened to the west; the Tybar now control much of what was the empire,” Sereth said mildly.

  “And we will take it back in time!” Astiras shouted. “We just haven’t got the military strength to tackle both at the same time! Once Bragal is subdued then we can turn on the Tybar.”

  “If this is your avowed policy, sire, then it is essential we secure alliances and trade deals with the east,” Sereth said.

  “Princess Amne here is shortly to travel to Mazag to seek such an agreement, Counsel, rest assured. I am not going to subject this empire to a war we cannot win,” Astiras promised.

  Sereth turned his attention to Amne, sitting quietly on the other side of Astrias. His look was initially of surprise. “I was under the impression we had a corps of trained diplomats in the palace, sire.”

  “Meaning my daughter is incapable of the task, Counsel?” Isbel beat Astiras to the response. Astiras shut his mouth and smiled at his wife.

  “No, sire,” Sereth hastily retreated. “My apologies, and to you, Princess,” he bowed solemnly. “But I would counsel against placing me at the head of an army to invade Bragal; there would be far more experienced and – ah – worldly-wise people to handle the dark dealings of a diplomatic mission. No disrespect to Princess Amne here, but such a young, and may I say, beautiful woman, is surely not experienced enough to travel such a long and dangerous journey and then to secure a treaty advantageous to the empire?”

  Astiras didn’t know whether to smack the man in the mouth or not.

  Isbel smiled widely, however. She sensed her husband’s outrage; it was almost visible as it rattled through his clothing outwards. “Counsel Sereth, my daughter is not travelling alone. She is taking Counsel Theros with her as senior advisor. You are familiar with him?”

  “Ah, yes, a much valued man well versed in the intricacies of diplomacy. With a man such as he with her, then I am more confident the treaty can be obtained.” He nodded at Amne.

  “As for Venn, we will have to wait and see their reaction to us securing Bragal. I’m sure they have cast an envious eye on it for their own.” Astiras growled deeply. “They have moved into those regions we used to own in the east, and it won’t be long before they are knocking on our door.”

  “They are fully embroiled in their own pacification war with Kral, your majesty,” Vosgaris said. “My father recently returned from a trip to Rhan and spoke to members of the Venn military there.”

  “Indeed?” Astiras almost pounced on the young officer. “And did he say much of the Venn military there?”

  “Not much, but I could ask him further, sire.”

  “Do that. Tell me, how are you settling in?”

  Vosgaris smiled. “Very nicely thank you. The guard have not complained much of the change in commander, but I suspect they talk in the barracks.”

  “Inevitable, Vosgaris.” Astiras studied the list of subjects on the parchment in front of him. “We were talking of trade. There’s another possible problem there. Piracy. The ships travelling from Zipria to Kastan have to come a long way by sea, and piracy takes a toll as well as the weather. We want to make sure the ships are safe. Thoughts, anyone?”

  “Where do these pirates operate from, sire?” Pepil asked.

  “Everywhere not under imperial or other kingdom controlled territory, so it would appear,” Astiras said. “And possibly even lands controlled by the Tybar and Venn, with their tacit approval.”

  “We need the navy to be rebuilt, in that case,” Pepil said. “There has been no move to keep repaired or improve the navy in the past few years.”

  “There has been no funding available,” Frendicus commented.

  “Who is the most senior naval commander now?” Sereth enquired.

  Astiras had the grace to look abashed. “I haven’t had the opportunity to find out. To be honest, the matter hasn’t even entered my mind. I don’t know even if we have a navy, and if so, if they’re loyal!”

  Isbel tutted. Pepil came to the emperor’s assistance. “An Admiral Fotis. Currently at sea, so I believe, in the Sea of Balq. We do have another fleet, patrolling the seas close to Zipria, but that’s it. Four ships.”

  “Four.” Astiras’ shock was evident to all. “Four? Four ships – the empire has – just – four – ships in total?”

  “Yes, sire.” Pepil looked at the emperor helplessly. “But the shipbuilders are still around. It’s just they don’t have any orders to build any more military ships, so they pass the time building private vessels for merchants and other rich patrons.”

  There was a short silence. The dismay at the state of the navy was clear. Finally Astiras looked at Pepil. “Arrange for a message to be sent to Admiral Fotis; he needs to be based here and take part in the Council sessions. I don’t know when he’s due back but he must put into port somewhere.”

  “I’ll send word to all the ports of the empire. He will have put to sea under your predecessor, sire, so the news you are emperor will surely bring him sailing back to Kastan in no time.”

  “We’ll see. Anyone have any further suggestions on how to raise new funds for the treasury?”

  Sereth drew in a deep breath. Somehow Astiras guessed it would be he who would be the first to speak. “Sire, if you wish to make savings, then I would caution on overspending on the military. Even though we need a strong army to defend our borders, we cannot throw everything into building up a large army if there is no infrastructure behind it to keep it going. It would need supplying, equipping and administering, and if no funds are spent on these, then it is pointless having an army.”

  “I’m well aware of that, Counsel. What funds that do exist are being diverted as we speak to repairing the roads in Bathenia and Pelponia, and to improving those in Frasia.” Astiras stood up and addressed all th
ose present. “Roads are the lifeline of the empire and have been neglected too long; they are in a shocking state. I have used them in the recent past and I was appalled at how bad they were. We need to move the army quickly to any place threatened, and to enable the smooth transit of trade through our lands. The upkeep of the roads is essential to that. In addition to this, I have ordered the rebuilding of the port of Kalkos in Makania province, and for a clearance of arable land on Zipria. We need good crops and that island can supply us with plenty.”

  Sereth nodded in agreement.

  Frendicus spoke next. “Sire, we used to have a busy trade of textiles in the province of Bathenia and in Frasia here, but these have, like most things, withered in recent years. There was a fair amount of duty raised on these for export.”

  Astiras looked interested. “Investigate the possibility of reviving it. We’ll need a merchant we can trust to run the business, not one in the pockets of our rivals. They’d make sure they benefitted at our expense.”

  “The Fokis are involved in textiles,” Pepil commented.

  “Pah! Those traitors,” Astiras growled. “Give Vosgaris here the location of their business warehouses and he can raid them and see if they’re trading; if they are, seize the stock. They are paying no taxes, if I recall Frendicus’ documents accurately.”

  “That is true,” Frendicus agreed. “They say they are no longer using the premises as the demand for textiles died out.”

  “And I’m a Mazag’s uncle,” Astiras commented. Some of those present smiled.

  The conversation moved to the next subject, and then the next. Isbel remained silent most of the time but was interested to see who was for or against what. One of the most contentious subjects was the fate of the High Priest, Gaurel. Both Frendicus and Pepil spoke up on his behalf, putting forward the case that the populace needed a spiritual leader to focus their beliefs and that banishing Gaurel could provoke riots. Astiras was all for sending him to Niake, and it was agreed to send him there where some temples had recently been destroyed in fires following the riots and many had turned away from the rest. Gaurel was needed to restore faith and to oversee the rebuilding of those shrines destroyed. Astiras would make a public announcement that was why Gaurel was leaving Kastan.

  As time was moving on and lunch approaching, it was agreed to adjourn the Council and to meet again in three days’ time.

  Isbel made a sign to Astiras to remain behind for a moment. When the others had gone and the guards in the chamber waved outside, Isbel held his hand. “Having that Counsel Sereth here is a mixed blessing, don’t you think?”

  “Big mouth and opinionated, if you ask me, my love. I nearly hit him a couple of times.”

  “I know. You must learn to control your temper better.”

  “Bah! I’m a soldier, not a politician. Besides, I’m shortly to leave Kastan with Teduskis’ new army.”

  “How soon?” Isbel couldn’t hide her dismay.

  “Twenty days or so. Teduskis tells me the new units will be trained sufficiently to be able to leave the city. We’ll train them some more en route to Bragal.”

  “Oh, how I wish you weren’t going! That means Amne will be leaving too! With Jorqel in Lodria I’ll be so lonely in this huge palace.”

  Astiras held her hands. “You’ll be fine. I’ll write every day. I’ll ask Amne to do the same. I’ll miss the boys growing up, though.”

  “How long will you be?”

  “I don’t know, but I can’t see the campaign being that short. The Bragal people are a stubborn lot. And sieges tend to take time. I’ve no idea how much supplies they’ve got in Zofela, but once it’s fallen I’ll summon you to join me there.”

  “But who’ll run matters here?”

  “I’ll run the empire from Zofela. I’ll need to stay there a while to sort things out. It’s a right mess in Bragal. We can keep the core of the administration here, but things can be run from anywhere.”

  Isbel sighed. Was this the life of an empress? If so, it was so different from that which she had hoped for before they had acted to take the throne. She feared for the future of the family.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Slenna was built on a headland jutting into the Aester Sea. The land fell towards the sea in a series of rolling hills, and where the sea met the land it was broken up into promontories and headlands of varying size. Slenna stood at the mouth of the Mendar River, a wooden walled town with a small wooden circular keep towards the sea end. The approach along the rutted mud road passed through farmland and this supplied Slenna. People fled at the approach of Jorqel’s army and the gates were slammed firmly shut before any of the imperial force came near.

  The ramparts bristled with flags, pennants and spear points and the arriving force stopped out of bow shot range to study the defences. Jorqel slid off his mount and walked stiffly up to the last rise alongside a now abandoned farmhouse and tugged off his gauntlets. It was cool and rain was in the air. Here the weather often came in from the sea, much of the time full of moisture.

  “Well at least we won’t go hungry or die of thirst,” Jorqel commented to Gavan who had stepped up alongside the prince. The chargers were already cropping the lush grass that grew in abundance on the roadside.

  “But we’ll need shelter, sire.”

  “Use those,” Jorqel waved at the farmhouses. “If their occupants return, then we keep them here and they don’t send any produce to the town. If they don’t surrender we’ll starve them out.”

  “What’s out to sea there, sire, beyond the town?”

  Jorqel craned his neck and saw a couple of ships rolling on the waves, approaching the town. There was no harbour, the town itself being built on a rocky shore. The port that served Slenna, Efsia, lay to the north on the other side of yet another headland. A road ran from the town across where the imperial army was deploying and into the distance. “I trust they are not going to bring supplies to Slenna, or that will complicate matters.”

  “Me too, sire.”

  “Well,” Jorqel sighed heavily, “time to do what’s necessary. Get me a white parley flag.”

  Gavan fetched the white flag, now stained and slightly greyed with age. It had been often produced in Bragal and the frequent washes had aged it prematurely. He held the flag on a short pole and nodded. The prince led him out from the shelter of the farmhouses and onto the flat ground before Slenna. They were clearly in sight with the parley flag fluttering in the air, and an answering parley flag was run up from the gatehouse, a twin-towered spiked construction heavily manned and covered. Archers could be seen with arrows nocked, ready to loose on command. Jorqel disliked this aspect of warfare, but rules were rules and such was expected of him, particularly now he was prince.

  He halted thirty paces from the gates, not wanting to be told when to stop. He had to maintain the advantage. “I am Prince Jorqel of the House of Koros, son of Emperor Astiras of Kastania. I hereby declare you in rebellion against the empire. You are to surrender this town to me and to swear an oath of fealty to me, the emperor and the empire.”

  A man stood up straight on the ramparts. He was dressed in grey and white and beneath the surcoat was a set of shiny armour. “I am Duke of Lodria, Alfan Fokis, and I do not swear fealty to anyone. We have rejected the rule of the corrupt empire of Kastania and no longer wish to be ruled by people who care not for this region.”

  “So you say, Alfan Fokis of Slenna,” Jorqel retorted. He was damned if he was going to address him by any fictitious rank. “And how long do you think you would resist the advance of the Tybar without the empire to rely on?”

  “The empire cannot fight against the Tybar as it is run by those who wish only to enrich themselves at the expense of the empire. You represent an old, doomed order that has no place in the world anymore. Accept the inevitable and surrender your lands to whoever wishes to take them.”

  Jorqel sneered. “We shall see, traitor. How long do you think your sorry force I see quaking in their boots alongside you
can hold out against us? We are all veterans of the Bragal War; your puny army will be eaten for breakfast!”

  “Insult us all you like; it will be you who gives up first. We can remain here safe for a year or so. Can you stay where you are, in the open, for that long?”

  “We will, if that is what it takes, traitor. We have water and food, and a wide area to forage. Nothing will enter your gate and nothing will leave. You will be eating dung by the time we finish with you.” Jorqel curtly waved Gavan to follow him back to the imperial lines. “I want to know what ships those are out there in the bay. They can’t dock here, they must be on their way to Efsia. Send a party down to the port, seize it and impound whatever cargo they have if they are intended for Slenna.”

  “Sire,” Gavan acknowledged. They reached the imperial camp, being set up around the farms, and Jorqel chose the biggest one as his headquarters. The soldiers whooped with delight when they caught sight of the various fowl and herd animals in the barns and pens. As the looting began Jorqel shouted at them to stop. “I want an inventory of everything before you take them. And then you will pay for whatever you take – this is not plunder. This is to feed us through the coming winter, so they will be rationed properly.”

  The company captains set about the task with relish, screaming orders and slapping the more reluctant members until all were obeying orders. Jorqel sighed and sat heavily in a chair in the main living chamber of the big farmhouse. He hated sieges. Why the stupid rebels didn’t give up was beyond him. They were on their own and isolated with no allies. It may take time but Slenna would fall eventually, and the longer it took the more bad tempered the men would be.

  Gavan took ten of the bodyguard with him and rode to the port of Efsia. It wasn’t a very big place, being a village set in a wide bay against a backdrop of hills rising inland. The shore had been built on with jetties and wharves, and warehouses lined the docks. Whatever the village had been before the docks had been built, it was now there just to serve the trading fleets that came and went.

  People stopped and stared in surprise as the eleven horsemen thundered down the one street wide enough to accommodate them, fluttering the imperial banner as they did so. Gavan clattered off the stone cobbled street onto the wooden jetty and brought his charger to a halt, positioning himself sideways across the wharf, blocking anyone who may try to pass.