by Tony Roberts
Duras snorted with derision. “Bragal is a lost cause; it has cost too many lives and only your family will benefit should you succeed. Could you face your people knowing your family’s wealth was built on the blood and lives of their kinsmen? How many more of your people will you sacrifice to further your own family’s well-being?”
Astiras got to his feet, his face dark with fury. “Don’t you stand there and tell me of building a House’s fortune on the lives of Kastanians, you bare-faced hypocrite! You and your fellow serpents sucked the vitality of Kastania away, withering the army and public services and diverting the monies due to them into the vaults of the Duras and your feckless allies, the Fokis, as well as who knows how many others? A handful of luxury-loving selfish blood-suckers caused the demise of so much and directly led to the loss of so much territory. You and your House are, as far as I’m concerned, directly responsible. As are the Fokis. And the Kanzet.” He cast a baleful look at Lord Kanzet, sat nervously next to Lord Fokis. “In time, all of you will pay for your part in Kastania’s decline. But first Kastania must stand again, and I intend bringing that about. Already we have wrested Lodria from traitorous elements and soon, if the gods allow it, Bragal will follow.”
“And Lodria is a mess!” Duras shouted, jabbing a finger at Astiras. “I have it on good authority that you have torn down the castle there and left Slenna defenceless! Are you mad?”
Astiras laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant laugh. “If it is in a mess, as you say, then direct your scorn at Lord Fokis here; his nephew held it in rebellion for three years, I believe. In that time, according to my son, he siphoned off all tax revenues to the Fokis family estate, and not one coin came to the central Imperial Treasury.” He switched his attention to Lord Fokis, sat with a face as hard as stone to his right, on the other side of the table. “Well, Fokis? Where’s that money? Spent it on cheap street strumpets?”
A few sniggered. Fokis gritted his teeth. “Insulting me is the best you can do, Koros. I’m here to ensure you fall. I care not what you say, or insinuate. Your destruction is all I care about. My nephew is still being mourned. Your son will stand trial for murder.”
“One leech less to suck the lifeblood of Kastania,” Astiras said dismissively. “From what I know of your late nephew he won’t be missed by anyone outside your family. So, Lord Duras, you say we have torn down the castle. You are correct but a new and bigger one is being built. You neglected to say that, didn’t you? You don’t change; you only say half a story to back up your false and scurrilous statements. If you actually spoke the full facts you’d be exposed as a charlatan and liar, but you daren’t. Your family is all lies and falsehoods. We’re spending funds to put right the abuses of the years Kastania suffered under your kind – you, the Fokis, the Kanzet and all the other self-seeking corrupt thieving scum.”
Fokis shot to his feet and banged the table top. “You have no class, Astiras Koros! You’re just a brute of a soldier ill-fitted to the robes of emperor. A bully you were as a general and a bully of an emperor you are today!”
Astiras clenched his fists. He turned to the half-seen figure of Frendicus standing behind the emperor in the shadows. “Tell the Council here of our building programme.”
Frendicus stepped forward into the light. He cleared his throat. “Thanks to funds received from the Imperial Council this half-year, the treasury reported a profit of over four thousand furims for the half year to the end of summer.”
The Council sucked in deep breaths of shock. Even Lord Duras seemed taken aback. Fokis stared incredulously at the taxman, then turned on Astiras. “Four thousand profit? Where in Kastan did you get all that? Stealing from us, no doubt! Thievery from the temples, the merchants, the lawyers!”
“Tax revenues have been up,” Frendicus commented. “We have recently reported the completion of the port of Kalkos, the repair of all roads in Pelponia, a new grain exchange in Niake and a new imperial leather workshop in Kastan City. We are currently sending funds to Kornith and Niake so temples can be built, we are enlarging the port here in Kastan to handle more trade and to build bigger and better ships. In Turslenka we are rebuilding the town hall that was burned down four years ago and not replaced by previous administrations.”
Astiras jabbed a triumphant finger at the three lords opposing him. “There! What works did your puppet emperors ever do? None! The imperial treasury has almost doubled its funds in the three years I’ve been emperor, and apart from a few companies of militiamen the army has not increased one jot. What financial benefits did the last five emperors achieve? None! Apart from securing scandalous underhand agreements with you scheming greedy bloodsuckers to rob the empire of its wealth, of course!”
“I’ve heard enough,” Fokis snapped. “Time we agreed to veto this Tybar treaty. What say you, gentlemen?”
Argan was sitting with his eyes wide. The arguments frightened him; men’s raised voices were scary. His father had a very loud voice but it wasn’t aimed at him, that he knew. He was more afraid of the others standing up and shouting back. He looked at his mother, whom he could just see around the figure of his father, who was leaning forward on his arms that were still planted in the Southern Sea. She was sitting still, her lips compressed, in that way Argan had seen many times before when she was upset. He looked back to where other men were looking at each other, speaking in low voices that he couldn’t hear.
Lord Kanzet tapped his fingers against the map. “If the vote goes against the treaty then we must decide if Koros is fit to continue as emperor. I say we vote against him on both counts.”
Astiras laughed unpleasantly. “With the army behind me? You’re a fool, Kanzet. This isn’t one of your rigged Courts of law. Try to depose me and you’ll be squirming on the end of one of my guards’ volgars. Time they were used in anger, anyway. A gold coin to the first guard who runs that pompous fool through on my command.”
Ten guards snapped into the ‘aggressive’ stance. Kanzet paled and flopped back into his chair. “This is Counsel! Safe ground!”
“Then, Vosgaris, drag him outside and disembowel him in the corridor.”
Vosgaris grinned and stepped forward.
Kanzet shrieked. “Fokis! Duras!”
“What are they going to do?” Astiras asked menacingly. “If you’re going to replace me it’ll only be at the point of a sword. Your words are useless. So is the vote. This isn’t a republic. I’m in charge and what I say goes. I’ll hear your counsel but it is I who make the final decision, not you or your odious comrades. Now, get on with this pointless vote.”
The nobles looked at one another helplessly. “Then what is the point of this vote?” Lord Pelgion, a grey-haired sun-tanned man asked, his arms wide in a pleading manner. “Are we nobles of no use anymore in Kastania?”
“Of course you are,” Astrias replied, staring at him intently. “But you must all know exactly how strong my position is and that I’m determined to pull this empire out of the mess that the Duras-Fokis-Kanzet families and their other allies have made in the recent past. Don’t you all realise that we’re facing extinction? We have to save this empire now, not tomorrow or next year. Now! We have to stop seeking to feather our own nests and put our money into the imperial treasury. Buildings need repairing or new ones erected. Roads and ports have to be built. And, finally, the army has to be built up to resist the wars that will come. All this needs money. Money that can’t go to the nobility’s vaults.”
Pelgion nodded heavily. “Yes, sire, I realise the gravity of our situation. But we noble families must have influence, or you lose the support of the landowners and without that even the army won’t be able to function for long. Where will your money come from? Taxes won’t cover everything.”
“Indeed, Lord Pelgion. Which is why this trade agreement is vital. Listen,” and Astiras turned to all the other men there. “Tybar territories include former imperial provinces. We need the wool they have. The sulphur mines around Imakum will provide trade. In return we sen
d timber, textiles, wheat. This will bring much needed money into imperial coffers. Lords Duras and Fokis, when Bragal falls to our forces, their timber will come to us all. And I mean all. I’m sick to death of the civil wars, and so is everyone else. Yet, I’ve had to fight the Duras and my son the Fokis in the past year. Why? Why do you still persist in keeping alive a war on behalf of people who are in their graves? You lost. Get over it.”
“Never,” Fokis stood up again, straightening his attire. “You may browbeat and fool others into going along with your power-crazed schemes, but I refuse to bow to you. You’re a vulgar, boorish upstart from Bragal and I’ll never accept any soldier as emperor.”
“Then, Fokis, you condemn yourself. You may leave this palace but never return unless you are ready to give me fealty. Your estates have been sequestered. Your possessions belong to the imperial treasury. Your titles have been revoked. Haven’t you learned yet from your past experiences in dealing with us?”
Fokis sneered. “I’ll not rest until you are destroyed. I’ve taken everything of value from my estates. Send your canines to my houses but you’ll find nothing there of any use.”
Lord Duras stood, too. “My son will be instructed to put Makenia to the sword. You’ll lose what puny support you have once all see how feeble your rule is. Then we shall put an emperor of our choice on the throne. Enjoy your last few sevendays as emperor, Koros. You may try to seize my estates, too, but you’ll find nothing of value there. I have anticipated your actions and taken everything. With our estates vacant, who is going to raise the revenues you’re losing from them? It only takes a few more of us here to refuse to hand over revenues from our estates to the treasury, and you’re back to where you were three years ago. We can bring you to your financial knees within a very short time indeed.”
Astiras laughed. “With our lands full to bursting point with nobility displaced from those regions lost to foreign powers? I’ll merely allocate your estates to them.” He looked at Lord Pelgion. “You may have the pick of the Duras estates.” He looked to his right where Vosgaris’ father sat. “Lord Taboz, I’m sure there’s an estate in Frasia that belongs to the Duras you could have.”
Both nobles looked pleased. They locked eyes and nodded. Their vote was clearly decided. Other nobles tried to catch the emperor’s attention. Astiras waved at Frendicus. “My tax collector will have a list of the Duras lands on him. See him after the meeting in his office. I authorise each of you to take one, and I mean one, parcel of the Duras estate.”
Duras looked furious and joined Fokis in walking out, and after a pause, Kanzet followed them. Nobody else got up.
“Well, gentlemen,” Astiras said lightly, “shall we vote? Do I hear any opposition to the treaty as proposed by the Tybar?”
There were no voices of opposition. Astiras beamed and sat down. “Then it is agreed. Thank you, gentlemen. We shall convene a proper Council in a sevenday’s time to agree the funding for the coming year. Thank you for attending at such short notice.”
The meeting broke up. Argan looked at the departing men and wondered whether he should also get up. His father looked down at him. “Argan, you now see the trouble I have to deal with. Those people who were arguing with me – they will cause us all trouble for many years. It may be you will one day have to go to fight them or their sons.”
“Why, father? Why don’t they do what you want them to do?”
Astrias leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment. How to put his words into a form the seven-year-old would understand? Isbel looked over his shoulder, waiting for what her husband would say. The emperor smiled at his son. “Argan, just because I’m emperor, it doesn’t mean everyone will do as I ask or tell them. The same with you; as a prince you would expect people to do as you say, but it doesn’t always turn out like that.”
“Why, father?”
“Because everybody wants something and it doesn’t always match what you want. When it is different people start arguing. You can only win an argument if what you say is sensible and you make the other person see that it is the best, or you force them to do what you want. Remember, Argan, if you force someone to do as you wish and they don’t really want to do it, they won’t like you. That is what has happened with those three families. The Fokis, the Duras and the Kanzet. They do not like what I have done since becoming emperor.”
“Have you hurt them?”
“Sometimes, yes. I haven’t hurt them by hitting them; I’ve hurt their feelings. You know when someone calls you a name?”
Argan nodded.
“Well, remember how that feels? That’s when your feelings are hurt.”
“You called them names?”
Astiras chuckled, and Isbel smiled. “Not really, Argan. I took away their wealth and lands. That hurt them a lot. They were damaging the empire by taking the money that should have gone to other people. We couldn’t pay for a big army to stop our enemies winning battles. So they hate me and all of my family, including you. They want to get rid of us. But I stopped them.”
“Was that why they were shouting a lot?”
“Yes, it was their anger and knowing that they couldn’t have their way. So now they have gone to try to get an army to fight us.”
Argan sucked in his breath. “Oh, are they going to fight you in battle? You’ll beat them, won’t you, father?”
Astrias grinned and ruffled Argan’s hair. “Not yet; I have a war to win in Bragal first, and I’m going back next sevenday. I have to finish that first, but I’ll see if the other nobles can help. We need them. Remember that, Argan; you won’t be able to run an empire alone. It needs help.”
Astiras got up and picked Argan out of his chair and popped him down onto the floor. Argan smiled, liking the physical contact with his father, and hugged his waist. Astrias put one arm round his son and held him against his leg for a moment. “Now you go and remember what you saw and heard today.”
“Yes father.” Argan hugged his mother before bounding up the four steps towards the door. Vosgaris was waiting at the top.
Astrias nodded towards him. “Close the door behind you, Captain. Nobody is to enter without my express permission.”
“Sire,” Vosgaris saluted and ushered Argan out, shutting the door firmly. He looked at the two guards stood there. “No entry, lads. The emperor has that look in his eye again.”
The two guards smirked and exchanged knowing glances.
Isbel faced her husband. “And what now, Astiras Koros?”
Astiras eyed his wife up and down. “Now – I’m going to ravage you.”
“I have an appointment this afternoon!”
“So have I, but that can wait.”
Isbel went to protest but Astrias clamped his mouth on hers and pushed her down onto the table. Isbel struggled for a moment, then knew it was futile. He was much stronger than her and anyway, his hands were beginning to excite her. She slipped her arms round his neck and forgot about whatever appointment it was she was supposed to go to. What was it? She couldn’t recall and anyway, it would be dull and boring – whereas Astrias was anything but that. She pulled him down onto her and he growled in appreciation and began divesting himself of his clothing.
At least the map was being used for something good.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Evas Extonos called a meeting in his office one morning. Demtro and High Priest Burnas had been summoned. Each was surprised at the summons, but both attended. They sat warily in the chairs that had been provided, and waited for the governor to begin.
Evas cleared his throat and interlocked his fingers. “I have received a very lengthy communication from the emperor,” he began. “It has given me very detailed instructions as to what is happening throughout the empire and what my role is to be in the coming year. I must admit it came as a surprise since Kastan City rarely has bothered in the past with this sort of thing. At least in my experience, anyway.”
“The Koros aren’t like past regimes, Governor,” Demtro
said softly, “I keep on telling you that.”
“Yes, yes, so you do,” Extonos said wearily. He looked at the High Priest. “I also am frequently brow-beaten by you, High Priest, about my lack of resolve to fund the rebuilding of the temples in Niake.”
Burnas stirred. “Yes! How long must it be before you see the wisdom of doing so?”
Extonos pushed a papyrus bundle forward, sealed with the imperial symbol, across the desk. “Take it, High Priest.”
Burnas stared at it with some trepidation, as if it were a set of heretical statements by everyone in Niake, but slowly picked it up. The feel of coins was unmistakable. There was also a parchment inside, judging by the feel of it. Burnas felt his stomach turn over. “Funding?”
Extonos nodded. “I applied to the imperial treasury on your behalf last year. Once the completion of the official merchant’s grain exchange was nearing, I looked for the next project and decided that your arguments had to be addressed. Funding from Kastan City to rebuild any temple of your choice. It will be the official temple, and prayers must be said there each day for the Koros.”
Burnas looked at Extonos for a moment, then bent his head as he feverishly opened the package. A bag of coins rested within, and indeed a parchment. He opened the neck of the bag and looked in. Gold furims glittered. He sucked in his breath. The gods had answered his prayers! He slowly opened the parchment, noting the official seal, and read the words. The imperial treasury confirmed the funding and stated how much had been set aside. A total of 400 furims would be coming his way, and the fifty he held was an advance. Each four sevendays another fifty would arrive until all 400 had been passed to him. “The gods be praised,” Burnas breathed. “At last. Now the people of Niake will be able to pray properly to the gods and see that their emperor does indeed believe.”
