Empire of Avarice

by Tony Roberts

  “She’ll have to learn there are ways here in the palace. Running around the wilds of Bragal and Mazag is one thing, but now she’s back here there are different rules to follow.”

  They arrived and Lalaas knocked on the door. Amne’s voice could be heard beyond, inviting them in. Vosgaris followed Lalaas in and recognised the chamber; he’d been in there a few times before, checking the room, during the absence of the princess. Now it was occupied it seemed a foreign and alien place. Full of – women’s stuff. Vosgaris felt uncomfortable.

  “Ah, Captain,” Amne said, standing up. She was now dressed in a deep blue dress with a wide cut front plunging down to a point just below the level of her armpits. Her ample chest was on show, but a very large silver necklace adorned with blue gem stones hung down halfway between her throat and her cleavage which helped distract the eye. Almost.

  The dress was gathered in at the waist and accentuated her figure before flowing out in pleats over her hips and down to her ankles. Small silver shoes enclosed her feet. Her fingernails had been tinted blue to match her dress. Her hair was still being addressed and was hidden underneath a large net. On the dresser next to her Vosgaris could see large silver earrings. No doubt a matching pair to the necklace. Amne had no make-up on her face as yet but the two maidservants were preparing it in jars. Vosgaris cleared his throat. “Your highness?”

  “I need to speak to you. Lalaas, thank you. You may wait outside.”

  Lalaas bowed, gave Amne a brief look which she chose to ignore, and shut the door behind him. She looked at the two servants. “Please wait in my bathroom for the moment.”

  The two maidservants left. Amne smiled at a clearly apprehensive Vosgaris. “Captain. I understand your family know the Pelgion?”

  “We do know them. Sometimes we have met socially.”

  “So. What is Evas like? Is he handsome? Is he an honourable man? Is he kind or cruel? Tall? Short? Please, tell me what you know of him.”

  Vosgaris thought for a moment. “Well, ma’am, I’m not entirely sure that my opinion and feelings about him would be necessarily those of yours. Handsome? I’m afraid I wouldn’t know if he were handsome or not. I don’t look at men in that way, ma’am.”

  Amne giggled, her breasts shaking. Vosgaris, despite himself, looked down. Amne caught the look. “Now, Captain, look into my eyes, not down there.”

  Vosgaris coloured. “Sorry, ma’am!”

  Amne smiled. “You are a wicked man, Captain. First my step-mother, now me. You really must learn to look away from our – womanly charms.”

  “I-I…”

  “Captain,” Amne wiggled her forefinger at him, “I notice things. You notice things, things any palace guard captain should with regard to security issues. A woman notices what men do around other women. Especially young and handsome men.”

  “Ma’am… I meant no disrespect...” Vosgaris was drowning and he knew it.

  Amne tutted. “I’ve noticed your affection for my step-mother; don’t try to fool me. I’m not a child.”

  “No, ma’am, that you are not.” The words were out before he could stop them.

  Amne looked down at her chest, and smiled openly. “Why, Captain, you are naughty! I ought to have you punished for such insolence. But I won’t. I need friends in the palace. I think you would be a very helpful friend.” She walked up to the sweating captain. She was very close to him, her eyes looking into his. Very big, blue eyes. “Captain, you will be my friend, won’t you?”

  “Ahhh…y-yes, m-ma’am.”

  Amne smiled, her eyes lowering for a moment, then she turned and swayed back to her stool. “So, Captain. Help me. Evas Pelgion. Your honest assessment?”

  Vosgaris pulled his tunic collar out. It was damned hot in this room. “Religious. Very. The gods dominate his thoughts. He’s slightly younger than us. Not what I would consider a good looking man, but you may like his looks. Tough face. Very serious. But he is known to be quite loyal to the Koros. Or at least to the position of emperor.”

  “Hmmm… I see. Very well. Thank you, Captain.”

  “Ah, ma’am,” Vosgaris hesitated.

  “Yes, Captain?” Amne waited, a half smile on her face.

  “You won’t mention to anyone my – thoughts – towards the empress, will you? Please, ma’am?”

  Amne smiled and walked towards him, stopping a mere handspan from him. She ran her finger down his chest, and looked into his eyes. “Why would I do that to a friend, Captain? You help me in this palace, and my silence is guaranteed.” She parted her lips and looked at him, and Vosgaris almost lost his grip on his will. He almost kissed her. But somehow he remained still, although the blood was pounding through his head. He felt incredibly dizzy. “I think we have an agreement, Captain?”

  “Ma’am,” Vosgaris gasped, nodding slightly.

  Amne smiled and lightly touched his lips with her finger. “Remember what I am and who I am, Captain,” Amne said in a low, husky voice. “Behave yourself. Now you may go. Thank you.”

  Vosgaris left, sweating again. By the gods – between Isbel and Amne he felt helpless. What was it about them both? Position? Power? Or just the fact that each of them, in their own ways, were fantastically attractive women? He had to go lie down somewhere. He didn’t feel that well.

  Amne recalled her two maidservants. Her hair had to be finished. But she felt pleased with herself. She had snared the young palace guard captain. As long as she had that hold over him he would do as he was told. It was a start. Men were easier to bind to you than women, but she would need female allies too if she were to succeed in any struggle against the empress. Vosgaris would be torn between the two in any battle of wills, but Amne was confident her hold would be the decisive factor.

  Another searing burst of pain dampened her mood for a moment. Then it was gone again. Damn it to the pit of fire. Just what she needed before meeting her future husband!

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Argan was excited. He was going to be able to eat in the big banqueting hall. He’d never been in there. It was one of those rooms that always seemed locked. His mother had told him on many occasions it was because there was no need to use it and to keep it in use was too expensive. Argan didn’t understand why this was so but it was something to do with needing to repair it if it was used all the time. Why it needed repairs he didn’t know.

  Up to now there hadn’t been lots of diners for any of their meals and the smaller dining chamber had always been used by the Koros. But tonight was different. Argan could feel it in the atmosphere. He didn’t know why everyone was trying to be on their best behaviour but they were. Everyone was dressed in their best clothes, even the guards who had bits of tree stuck in their helmets. They looked silly.

  Argan was seated in a room next to the banqueting hall. They had to wait there until everyone who was coming to the meal had arrived, then they would all go in at once. He sat looking up at the tall adults walking around, talking in quiet voices or looking a little scared. Argan was confused by this. Surely if important guests arrived they would be happy? Especially if these people were here to marry Amne. Or one of them was to marry Amne, anyway. Argan put his hand to his mouth to hide the smile. Everyone marrying Amne would be silly.

  He wondered if Amne would have to go away once she married. He didn’t want her to go; she had just come back and he wanted to talk to her lots and lots about Bragal and the countryside. He’d never seen any of it. Were there monsters out there?

  Vosgaris was standing next to him, silently. He looked tired. He hadn’t said much and seemed a bit upset about something. Argan hoped he wasn’t feeling poorly. Poor Vosgaris, always running round making sure everything was alright. Mother was hard on him, always being cross with the captain. It wasn’t fair. One day maybe he’d tell mother off for being such a rotten cross-face. When he was big and grown up he’d tell off lots of people if they were being rotten and unfair. He’d put them right.

  The only person there who was spoiling it
was Fantor-Face Istan. He was sulking again and looking at Argan in that horrible way, like he wanted Argan to go away. Mother had kept the two apart and had forced Istan to sit in a small chair on the opposite side of the huge fireplace, and he was sitting next to his mother. Argan hoped Istan would feel poorly and not be able to eat tonight. If he did come he probably would eat everything, including the grown-up’s food. Then Istan would be as big as a fantor. What a horrible sight that would be! He wouldn’t be able to get out of the doorway. Argan put his hand to his mouth again.

  Isbel shot Argan a severe look. What was the boy thinking about now? He broke down into secret giggles and smiled at the most inopportune times. He would have to learn to compose himself better if he were ever to become a popular prince. She was feeling very stressed; Amne had not yet turned up and the Pelgions were due at any time.

  It wouldn’t look good for Amne to delay matters. She may have to send a guard to find out what the woman was doing. Its one thing putting on make-up, another thing entirely making a full scale painting of the event.

  Pepil and Frendicus stood by the window, peering through the gap in the thick lined curtains. Those two often spoke at length and it un-nerved Isbel. She was always worrying about a palace conspiracy. Pepil was outwardly loyal but she knew he would switch sides if it suited him. He was as trustworthy as a poison slitherer.

  Just then the door opened and in came Amne. The men bowed and stepped back, and a hush came over the room. Argan looked at his sister. Her hair was all funny. It was curled! How did that happen? It was also up in a tall shape and a band sat in it. Curls hung down by her ears and a few dropped to her neck. Big dangly earrings caught the candlelight and Argan wondered if her ears would stretch with the weight. They looked heavy.

  Vosgaris looked away and concentrated on the doorway where Lalaas remained, looking awkward and out of place. Even he had smartened up, but his long wavy hair was still unkempt, even with a small ribbon there to tie some of it back. Vosgaris’ hair was short, all the better to wear his helm. He deliberately looked away from Amne who was, quite simply, breathtaking. If Elas Pelgion wasn’t taken by her, then he was either a corpse or a eunuch. His gaze caught the empress looking at him and he glanced away hurriedly, but knew she was making sure he was not looking at either her or the princess. It was difficult. Particularly as he was head of the palace security. How was he to make sure their persons were safe without watching them? He would have to hold a meeting with the empress the following day to clear the matter up.

  Pepil was called over to the door and listened for a moment, then nodded and came over to the empress. He whispered in her ear. Isbel nodded and stood. “Please follow me to the banqueting hall; our guests have arrived.”

  Amne felt her stomach turn over. She was as nervous as a new-born feline but was doing her utmost to hide it. She smiled at everyone and asked how they were; in truth, she was genuinely interested in asking them as she hadn’t seen many of those present for a long time, and wished badly to catch up with the gossip, but time seemed to have vanished. It was all going far too fast. But the morrow would be different. She would spend it with those close to her.

  She was allowed to follow the empress, Argan and Istan close behind. Vosgaris was in between them and Lalaas alongside her. She caught a glance between the two men and thought she detected a frisson of unfriendliness. Was that good or bad? Rivalry between two people could be exploited, but how and to what purpose? She would have to speak to both and find out what it was that they didn’t like about the other.

  The banqueting hall was only three doors down the corridor and they filed in, the various servants forming almost a guard of honour. Everything was smart and clean, and candles’ reflections shone in polished metal surfaces. The huge banqueting table ran almost the length of the hall, and was covered in a white cloth – or many white cloths. Amne couldn’t see how one cloth could be so long. Two chairs sat at either end and dozens ran down either side. It looked like all would be occupied, given the number of people either already there or filing into the chamber.

  At either end were dressers packed with knives, spoons and other eating utensils, plates, wooden trenchers, cloths, bowls, cups, goblets and scores of other vessels and items connected with the process of eating or feasting. The imperial party then stood and welcomed each guest who was called out by Pepil. Argan found this particularly boring and saw that Istan was already seated. Perhaps they felt Fantor-Face wasn’t important enough to welcome everyone. That made him feel better. Lots of bowing and he couldn’t remember all their names. Lastly came the Pelgion family. Argan was itching to get to his place by then and didn’t take too good a look at the three. As soon as the last bow had been performed he looked to his mother who nodded and indicated he was to walk past her to his chair. Isbel went to the nearest chair at the end and a servant pulled it out so she could take her place, and another did the same for the chair alongside her for Amne.

  Vosgaris guided Argan round past Amne to the next place while Istan was shown the chair opposite him. Argan saw a cushion was already there and smiled. Someone had been clever. He was glad he was next to Amne and that Fantor-Face was a long way from him. Not even the greedy Istan would be able to reach his plate from the other side of the table! He looked to his right and saw that the man Lalaas was going to sit next to him. How interesting. He had heard that Lalaas was a great warrior and had saved Amne’s life, but his mother didn’t seem to like Lalaas that much. A bit like Vosgaris. Maybe mother didn’t like men. But she liked father. It was all very confusing.

  Pepil strutted along the hall and cast a critical eye on the whole scene. Next to Lalaas a tall man took up his place, a man with a stern face, piercing eyes and short, brown hair. Opposite him two others took up their places, a man and woman, the man looking like an older version of the stern-faced individual. Amne was looking at the stern-faced man intently.

  When all were at their places, Isbel nodded and sat. Everyone followed suit. Napkins were sought out and located, and a mass fiddling and fumbling took place as the diners opened them and placed them on their laps. Argan watched everyone around him and tried to copy them. The napkin was large, stiff and covered his entire lap!

  “Welcome to the House of Pelgion,” Isbel began solemnly.

  “Thank you, your majesty,” the older of the two men replied, bowing low. “Both my wife,” he indicated the woman next to him, “and my son, Elas,” he extended his palm out to the man sat next to Lalaas, are honoured to be here.”

  Elas bowed and regarded Amne who was still looking at him. “Your majesties,” he said in a deep voice.

  Amne considered him. Not handsome but rugged. He may age well like a good wine. Good deep voice, but very serious looking. Tall and strong looking which was good.

  Isbel bowed back. “May I say this is a very auspicious day for the House of Koros, too. My daughter and sons are delighted to meet you.”

  Elas coolly regarded Amne. He didn’t alter his expression one bit. “Princess, Princes.”

  Amne held his gaze. She wasn’t going to show him she was timid. If he wanted a stay-at-home simpering adoring wife, then he’d best know sooner rather than later that she was not that sort. Elas said nothing more, but his eyes seemed to show a slight disapproval before he looked across at his parents. His mother and father were all nervous smiles and best behaviour. A lot was riding on their son being accepted by the Princess. A close union with the ruling House of Kastania was everything a noble family could wish for, and their hearts were in their mouths.

  The first course arrived, carried in by servants. Isbel had hired extra hands for the evening’s event over the past few days. They hadn’t normally this number of people in the palace but there was no way they could cater for the seventy or so sat at the table this night with the staff they had. Pepil and Frendicus had wrangled over how many they could or should have; Pepil had asked for more and Frendicus had fought a vicious rearguard action, trying everything he had in his
armoury to restrict the costs.

  What they had eventually agreed on was a compromise which, in most cases of compromises, had satisfied nobody. Isbel had made it clear to both that neither of their wishes were realistic for different reasons. Hence this evening Pepil was stalking around the room, glaring at the hired help, trying to impose his will upon them to work that bit extra hard, while Frendicus was biting his lip and willing the diners to devour their meal in extra quick time so they could usher out the servants as fast as possible, thus reducing the wage bill. Indigestion was not an issue; the time cost was and it was a race between ulcers and eating as fast as one could.

  The first course was a thick broth made of Frasian aliums, a strong tasting pungent mixture, spiced with pepper. Bread was available in piles at strategic places around the table and Argan was looking at a tower just out of his reach. It was so frustrating and nobody seemed to realise his predicament. He could hardly lean onto the table top – it was such bad manners! Even Fantor-Face had bread and was doing his usual impossible trick of proving his mouth was bigger than it looked. Argan was convinced Istan never tasted what went into his mouth but gulped it all down like some sea-avians he’d read about.

  Amne came to his rescue. She smiled and placed a nice thick brown slice by his hand. Argan looked up and smiled. Amne winked at him. Argan felt a rush of warmth for Amne. He was so glad she was back! He ate his bread slowly, breaking it into bits and dropping it into the broth. He caught Istan’s face and made a show of eating without rushing. Istan scowled. Argan grinned, then poked his tongue out briefly.

  Istan’s face went red. He began to rise out of his chair but Isbel pointed her finger into the boy’s face and gave him such a stern look that Istan subsided. He looked fit to burst. Argan saw his mother glaring at him, too. He looked down and concentrated on his tasty broth, pleased he’d annoyed Fantor-Face. He looked up quickly at Amne who was clearly amused. That made him feel even better.