by S E Turner
'Not much further, men. Do it for your Emperor.'
The instructions from the physician ignited them into action, and they hauled with every last drop of energy that they had. They ascended the stairs slowly, carefully, and desperately, heaving, groaning and panting with every step along the corridor. The Emperor worsened. At last they entered the wide, bright royal apartments and the huge wooden doors opened to the regal bed chamber. Solid mahogany posts with pure gold inlays supported the mammoth bed. Yellow and crimson tapestries concealed the crisp, white bed linen underneath, and an oval window threw a dusty myriad of summer rays over the giant family portraits. The Emperor winced in the light. The curtains were drawn at once, sending the dust particles in all directions; the room instantly became sombre and dull, and the faces stared out of their frames in solemn disapproval. Gnaeus stumbled, weak with fatigue. He was laid out on the bed while the physician took out bottles and herbs and plant remedies from his bag.
'Send someone to get foxgloves and feed it to the patients. I am not sure if they will work at this stage, but it's worth a go.'
'I will go now,' said the General. He turned slowly and gripped his side. He stifled a bolt of pain that shot through his stomach and made him retch.
'Are you all right?' threw a concerned Meric.
'I will be. Take care of the Emperor. There is someone I have to see first.'
The General edged his way along the corridor, holding on to the wall as he went. Several times, he collapsed, but hauled himself up again. He coughed and spluttered. A guard came out to help him. 'I'm fine. Go and get the foxglove like the physician said and give it to those that need it.'
'All right, Master. If you are sure.'
The General nodded and the guard limped off. He continued to drag himself along the landing as the wall supported him. The pain was intense again; he gripped his side and bit down on his bottom lip. 'No more dancing for a while,' he grimaced. 'I must tell Skyrah what is going on.'
The route to her room took him ages. His muscles would not respond to the urgent messages his brain was sending. Gripping on for dear life, each frustrated, slow, awkward step took him that bit closer to her. At last he stood outside the room. It was locked.
'Thank the gods she is safe,' he said. He reached for the key. He fumbled and trembled. He dropped it on the floor. 'Damn it, man. Get a grip.' He seethed between his teeth. He rocked forward and reached to his full extent, and with clammy fingers retrieved the key. His shaking touch tried to find the lock. His dilating eyes tried to focus. They wouldn't work together. He shook his head and concentrated. So very close. He wiped the sweat from his brow and tried again. At last the key went in and he moved it anticlockwise. The movement flipped the catch with a soft click. The lock freed itself and he opened the door.
'Skyrah, it's me. Are you all right?'
There was no answer.
'Skyrah, where are you?'
The glistening jewels on a brand new gown caught his eye. He staggered over to the bed. He saw a sleeping figure wearing it.
'Wake up, Skyrah.'
His voice was gentle.
The figure remained still and quiet. He squinted his eyes and tried to focus. He couldn't see very well. He got closer to the unmoving frame.
'Skyrah.'
There was still no life. He slid his arms underneath the body and lifted it up. He smelt the hair, and he breathed in the aroma of its neck. His arms spread out wide as he recoiled in horror. The body fell back into its dent on the bed.
'Who are you? What have you done with my Skyrah?'
He touched the cold hand. He picked at the limp hair.
'What have you done with her?' he screamed at the body. 'Tell me now! Tell me. Where is she?' A piercing cry echoed round the room, out of the door, and into the corridor. It filtered into the room where the Emperor lay dying.
A fragile finger pointed to an impressive oak chest. Meric stood up to follow the appendage and touched a drawer. The Emperor blinked once. The drawer was sensitively opened where a red lacquered box and a richly embroidered red pouch was retrieved. Again, Meric sought a sign that he was following the correct procedure as he took ownership of the treasures. He held the pouch carefully, its heavy circular shape settled comfortably in his hand. The long ornate box was trimmed in gold with the Emperor's seal pressed into the lid and a delicately curved leverage was clasped securely to conceal the contents. The box and the pouch were taken to the Emperor. Gnaeus had very little time left and summoned Meric closer. The physician leaned into the lifeless man who could barely whisper now. With a long, broken sentence, he gave his final orders: 'Give these to Domitrius for me. He will need them.' The Emperor sunk deeper into the bed and let out his last breath.
Meric sat forlorn for a while, immersed in prayers and his own thoughts. He then passed his hand over the deceased Ruler's face and closed the frozen eyes. Two guards had already flown to help Corbulo in his frantic state of mind. The other two were instructed to stay with the Emperor.
Inside Skyrah's room, they found Corbulo on the floor with his head in his hands. The curtains were ripped from their poles. The wardrobe doors were torn from their hinges, the beautiful dresses had been shredded and discarded in rage. The dressing table drawers and their contents were emptied and scattered all over the floor. Precious porcelain, broken cups, saucers, plates and bowls lay in pieces around him. He didn't look up once. His knees were drawn up to his chest and his back was pressed up hard against a wall. 'Go and check the dormitories,' he ordered. 'And take that imposter with you… and burn it.'
Chapter Twenty-Six
The group had reached the main entrance and slipped through easily without the regular posting of a palace guard. They clattered through the approach road and stopped briefly as they looked out at a land of freedom beyond the city walls. Before them lay the Empire of Ataxata, silent and brooding under the heat of the sun. The air still hung heavily over the royal borough, and the town seemed even hotter with its warmed masonry walls and even hotter flag stones. In the distance, a number of carrion birds drifted overhead, lured by the smell of death and the easy pickings of decay. The shackles on Lyall's neck rose and he shuddered as he thought of the hungry flock. With everyone together now, Namir led the boys through the ghost of a town. Few stalls remained opened, and those stragglers that still littered the streets were engrossed in the news of the recent malady at the palace.
Out of the town, they opened up into a canter. Skyrah urged her horse forward past the farms and open fields of wheat and barley. The same lads who had fled the scene earlier were now busy putting up stakes and flags as a possible warning to those entering the royal borough. The shutters in the cottages were being closed. Protective shards of wheat were being secured to doors. Other than the grooms, no evidence of life abounded.
When she reached level ground, she discarded her cap, shook the reins, and her horse leaped forward. She crouched down and looked straight between the stallion's ears and thundered across the plain. Behind her the boys kept pace, shrieking wildly and excitedly.
'You go, girl. You have earned this freedom!'
She wanted to create as much distance between them and their captors as she could, for eight long months in brutal conditions was enough to test the resolve of the bravest soul, so she galloped across the land with the wind in her face and her hair streaming behind like billowing waves of taffeta silk.
She reined back to a canter and laughed out loud from the exhilaration of the gallop. Or was it the run for liberty? Her feelings were mixed. The boys caught up and whooped alongside her as they too relished in their new-found freedom. Entering the eaves of a forest, she slowed to a stop, breathed in the air, and slid off her mount's back as he came to a halt. She lifted the drooping muzzle with both hands, laid her cheek on the animal’s nose, and then she tucked the stallions head under her arm in a gesture of affection. 'Thank you,' she whispered. 'Thank you for getting me away so quickly. I think I shall name you Meteor. '
The horse tossed his head up and down as if to acknowledge her embrace and his new name.
'Shall we rest here a while?' she called out.
'I think that's a good idea, Skyrah. We don't want to exhaust the horses too much,' agreed Lyall. 'My mount has got a bit more weight to carry as well.' He looked at Wyn hanging on in front of him.
'Yes, it's tricky galloping with sleepy boys,' said Dainn, reining his horse to a stop.
The herd rattled their bridles and chains, and they tossed their heads and swished their tails in excitement. They too seemed to enjoy the race.
'I'm sure there is a stream close by, if my memory serves me right,' said Ronu.
'Let's go and check,' chipped in Clebe.
'I'll come, too,' said Bagwa.
'I'll help with the younger boys.'
Skyrah carefully lifted the youngsters down and settled them by a tree. She would go off to gather for a meal and make a temporary bed for herself and the youngsters soon. The lower branches of the pine tree were the driest and the easiest to get to, and there was plenty of dry tinder around. She would look for a firestone and flint to get a small fire going later. There would be plenty of roots and greens around the forest, plus a gourmet of herbs and leaves, and she still had her cakes. They would be safe for the young boys to have. Help them sleep better, as well, ahead of the long ride the next day.
'Good thing I kept the dagger, ' said Lyall. 'We will need this tonight. '
'Yes, and I have one, too. I retrieved it from the arena earlier.'
They shared a smile together.
'You don't know how many times I sat looking up at the palace,' he continued, smoothing the soft muzzle of his mount and feeling safe at last.
'I did too, Lyall. Every day I looked out from my prison.'
'Did he hurt you? Did that bastard do anything, because if he did, I swear I'll...' His voice trailed off as Skyrah interrupted him.
'He didn't hurt me, Lyall. I swear.' she stroked Meteor.
'So, what did he want you for?' asked Namir, coming into the conversation after settling his horse.
'To dance,' she said truthfully.
'What?' the brothers said in unison.
'That's all I did. I danced with him. He gave me fancy clothes and lovely jewellery. I had a very nice room. But I was a prisoner there. I went out of the room three times a week, only for an hour or two, sometimes even less, and I had to be escorted by him on each occasion. But it gave me the time that I needed to perfect my plan.'
'Oh, my,' groaned Lyall. 'We were all slaves in one way or another.'
'They're monsters! I'm going to kill them all,' murmured Siri as he rested by a tree with Zeno.
'We will, Siri. We will destroy them all,' crowed Lyall reassuringly.
'And we will, because now we are free and can summon an army and get our revenge,' cheered Norg. 'It feels so good to be out here in the fresh air. I feel revived and strong again and can take on anyone now.' He breathed in the scent of the forest and lifted his face to the sky.
'I have something of interest to show everyone, though.'
But Norg's moment of bliss and Skyrah's attempt to share the details of her map were interrupted by a loud shriek from behind.
'We have found water. Come quickly.' It was Clebe staggering back up an incline, dripping wet from head to foot. 'It's clear and cool and clean. Come, bring the horses.'
'Show us later Skyrah and tell us how you massacred an army all by yourself. We all want to know.' Namir's excited voice trailed behind him as he ran down the hill.
She smiled proudly. There would be plenty of time to show them the diagram and tell the tale of her successful escape. She untethered Meteor, and with the rest of the boys, led the herd down the sloping path. They heard the noise first, the laughing and shouting, the splashing and excitement, the playfulness of unleashed young men. Brutality and cruelty had invaded their tortured souls for too long now, so this amount of frivolity was good to see. Meteor edged away nervously as a barrage of water came his way. 'Steady boy,' she stroked his muzzle. 'It's only Dainn and Bagwa having a water fight.'
As she guided the horse to the cool inviting ripples, the others followed his lead and drank from the stream. The boys threw off their clothes and ran in. Nothing could stop them submerging themselves and throwing the free-flowing water at each other now. Skyrah watched them and smiled, then she started to snigger through her nose. It was the funniest sight she had ever seen—eighteen young men in their underpants playing in the water like children. She laughed until she collapsed against a tree, holding on to her stomach. She couldn't stop. Her laughter became infectious, and the boys started having spasms of laughter with her. It made them feel so good. It was so easy. They hadn't laughed like that for months.
'Hey, there's a fish,' called out Lyall amongst the raucous behaviour, and he speared it with his dagger.
'And another,' yelled Namir. He skilfully caught the weapon that Skyrah had thrown.
'There's loads,' cried all the boys, scrambling together to secure a feast.
Skyrah went back to the camp, dug a hole, and lined it with rocks. She made a fire with her firestone and flint and left it to heat up for a while. She then searched up and down the water's edge for the right combination of greens and herbs and added them to the stone oven. She collected a concoction of coltsfoot for its salty taste, nettles for a tangy flavour, pigweed, and wild sorrel. The stones sizzled perfectly with the wet fish on them when they arrived. She piled on the pine leaves and pine nuts, then a layer of smaller stones, and finally covered it all with dirt. The lads put their clothes back on, settled the horses, and returned to the makeshift dining area .
'Food fit for a king,' said Lyall, smelling the aromatic meal, and taking his seat next to her.
'And a queen.' She laughed back, nudging him.
'Reminds me of the Clan,' said Namir.
'Reminds me of freedom,' echoed Ronu.
'To home,' called out Skyrah as she passed round the cooked fish to the boys.
'To Skyrah, our saviour,' they all cried out together.'
'Now tell us, Skyrah. How did you do it?'
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Meric decided to leave the lacquered box and pouch till later. The General would have to view the deceased Emperor; then get sworn declarations from the witnesses that he died from his afflictions. Later, he would have to make the final decision about the Emperor's funeral arrangements. For now, the Emperor would lay in the State Room. It was cool and dark enough in there. Besides, Corbulo was in no condition to do anything so important at the moment. He would approach him about those things on the morrow. Instead, the physician went down into the scullery to start his investigations because the only way to get this much poison into a palace household could only have come from the kitchens, so that's where he made for.
By now, the palace was like a morgue: cold, dark and inert. The kitchen was empty, devoid of any pulse. The dead and nearly dead had been taken outside in a hurry. No one had survived this.
Carcasses of unprepared meat were seared and strewn over the worktops, paralysed vegetables waiting to be severed remained in their rows. Ageing feathered fowl and different sized rabbits dangled from bound legs in the pantry, awaiting the chef's knife. The air was clotted with trapped heat, and the smell of burnt embers engulfed the room.
He sidestepped the spilled pans and broken crockery scattered all over the floor. Drawers were pulled out and cutlery was abandoned. Somewhere in the room echoed the sound of dripping, but he couldn't make out the source. He trod his path carefully through the chaos and turned things up-right where he could. He wandered about, lifting things up and smelling them, rubbing his fingers over surfaces and analysing the aroma. He had a nose for toxins and deadly assassins. He would soon know what caused this mass extinction.
He opened the lid of the cauldron and peered inside but reeled back with the waft of steam that tried to choke him. He gagged with the smell. He grabbed a
cloth and pulled it off its heat source. It clattered to the floor with a din that could raise the dead and rolled over the flag stones, cooling itself down. He watched and waited as it writhed around on the stone floor, eventually putting out a leather-covered toe to slow it down. It came to a standstill and he craned into its core. The remains of the breakfast dish were stuck like glue to the base of its massive container and acted like a compost bed to its parasite. He flicked something out of his pocket, reached in, and pulled the deadly assassin out with the handkerchief. He blew on it and wiped away the debris with dextrous fingers. It was still hot. He spread it out on the kitchen table. He recognised the distinctive shape of the white snakeroot. Its small snowflake heads would have gone unnoticed in a cauldron of oats and water. Wicked and powerful, a plant so poisonous, it could kill a human who had drunk the milk of a goat fed on the stuff.
On closer inspection, Meric noticed something else. Imbedded in the gruel was the limp remains of hemlock—small, white, lacy umbels which would be so cleverly disguised in the grains, and as so expertly intended, would also have gone unnoticed. This deadly stalker affected the lungs so acutely it would eventually cause suffocation by drowning—a very slow and agonising death, indeed.
He was intrigued, and almost in awe of the perpetrator's knowledge. Not many would know how to administer this. Certainly no one at the palace would be privy to such information. It was only the apothecarist or physician who would know such things. His mind was in a quandary as he went over to the cauldron to investigate further. The contents had evaporated away to nothing but a thimble-full but enough to expose the other killer—aconitum, the beautiful purple flower known as Wolfsbane and Leopardsbane, the queen of all poisons. He had the culprits and how they were administered, now he had to find the culprit and why they did it. He made his way back to the gallery and knocked on the door.
