“Of course, I can be there,” he says, cutting me off. “Is there some reason you’re worried?”
“I'm afraid of his reaction to what I have to say, but you and your sword in the room might keep him in check. Can you be there in half an hour’s time?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. Here, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this.” He hands me the camera. It’s lighter than I thought it would be. I have no idea how the machine works and, to tell the truth, I feel wary of it. My only hope is that I can see the thing sold and the money passed on to Altair’s children, but for now I take the contraption to my office and set it on Maxinia’s table before settling at my desk to gather my thoughts—and my courage—before Eury arrives.
Iolalus appears on time dressed in full vigile regalia—a shining helmet that leaves his face exposed except where a metal plate protects his nose, hardened leather chest armor embossed with Portaceae’s peacock symbol, stiff leg guards tied over knee-high leather boots, and a short sword in a scabbard at his waist. Despite his youth and my knowing his true gentle character, he makes an imposing figure.
The image of him as a fighter is erased when a childlike expression crosses his face at the sight of the camera.
“How does it work?” Iolalus asks as he presses a few buttons on the contraption.
“These electrical machines are beyond me. You should probably just leave it. Gods know what it might—” From the corner of my eye I see someone crossing the courtyard. A grating feeling like fingernails being dragged over my insides burns through my stomach. “He’s here. Stand somewhere.” Iolalus rushes over to stand at attention behind my desk.
Without even bothering to knock, Eury thrusts open my office door and swaggers as if imitating one of the peacocks in the courtyard. The moment he catches sight of Iolalus he stops in mid-step. The falter lasts only a moment before he flops into the chair placed in front of my desk. I take my seat. My legs jitter under the desk, but I keep my face neutral.
“What is this all about?”
“To begin with, you still haven’t posted the funds you promised into the treasury. And yet—” I continue despite his attempt to interrupt. “And yet, your household expenditures appear to show an increase.”
I push a paper toward him. He glances at it and his lips flutter as he struggles for an excuse.
“Those are private numbers.”
“You are the Solon. You serve the people of Portaceae. Your numbers are their numbers.”
Eury lets out a haughty scoff. “If the money is gone, what can you do?”
“The law says many things can be done. The Herenes have not employed them in the past because we foolishly believed your never-ending promises. But it’s getting to a breaking point. The Arean invasion has already taken all of the Nemea District. They could be to Portaceae City in a matter of days. And your recent stunt with Stavros will no doubt have the Athenians barking at our door. We can't handle a two-pronged attack without money for weapons, fortifications, soldiers.” I pound my index finger into the paper with each of the final three words. “You could lose this polis because of your failure to act. You're more concerned with sending your cousins on silly missions than helping Portaceae.”
“You worry for nothing,” Eury says. “The Athenians aren't made for battle. They'll flee at the sight of our vigiles.”
“Vigiles? What vigiles? We now have the thinnest line of vigiles stretched across Portaceae in this polis’s history. We can barely patrol Portaceae’s outer regions because you can’t afford to pay for more men. Most have already left to serve in other poli and I don’t blame them. Men, no matter how dedicated, will only work so long without pay. Even if the Athenians could be taken with the forces we have, what about the Areans? They won’t cower with the army we have left to show them. They’ll laugh.”
“Drum up volunteers, then. People should be proud to serve the polis. If not we’ll force them into service.” He leans back, crosses his arms over his chest, and flicks a worried look up at Iolalus.
“A ragtag bunch of half-trained conscripts? That’s your solution to a force of men trained by Ares, the god of war himself?” I pause letting some of my fury dispel. Ranting will not carry my next message with the gravity it needs. “Eury, I've asked you to meet with me and for this man to serve as witness because I am charging you with neglect of the polis.”
I thought he would immediately begin shouting, cursing, spewing out denials, but his face stays blank. A neglect charge hasn't been issued for over three hundred years. After Osteria split into the twelve poli, the first Solon of Portaceae was a well-loved general who settled first Portaceae City and then established the entire polis. General Alexander constructed much of the infrastructure and buildings that stood strong until the past thirty years. He instituted our educational system and established the roles of the governors in the districts of the polis. After building a temple in her honor, he attracted Hera to the polis making it the strongest in Osteria second only to Zeus's polis of Seattica.
Alexander’s son became Solon after him and ruled just as wisely and built up the city and its walls. But when his grandson took power, the boy hadn't the military or political training to be a good ruler. His mother had indulged him and insisted on making life easy for him, which created a weak man and horrible leader. He hosted lavish drinking parties with only Osteria’s elite on the guest list, elected whores to his council, and eventually left the ruling to them when he decided he’d rather drink his way through the Illamos Valley than solve his polis’s problems. Portaceae was in near ruins after only three years of his rule.
The people were horrified at his behavior and begged the Herenes to intervene. The head priestess conferred with Hera and together they created the law that stated if a ruler neglected his duties to the polis, the Herenes could seize power until they elected the next leader.
With the new law on their side, the Herenes kicked Alexander’s grandson out of Portaceae, took control long enough to stabilize the polis and then held their election. The man who sits before me staring blankly at my face is the direct descendent of the Solon chosen at that election. Eury now has a choice: He can take charge and rule as a Solon should, or be replaced in accordance to the law.
He continues to sit there, staring at me.
“You do know what the law of neglect is, don't you?” I ask.
He narrows his eyes and sends the chair toppling over as he thrusts himself out of it.
“You dare threaten me?” He pounds his fist onto the desk. Iolalus moves in closer.
“It's not a threat,” I say as calmly as I can. My legs had gone still, but with Eury’s outburst they start trembling again. “You have a choice to fund this polis with the money and forces it needs to build, maintain, and protect itself or I will seek your replacement.”
“I'll see you dead before you do any such thing. And I will personally see you don’t die a virgin.” Eury’s raging face slackens with shock at his own words. His eyes dart to Iolalus, but the Solon seems to see no point in covering his outburst. He steps back and trips over the legs of his chair. Giving the thing a final kick for its insult, he stomps to the door and slams it behind him without another word.
Iolalus lets out a heavy sigh.
“You could have warned me,” he says with a smile. “I would have brought a bigger sword if I knew that was the card you were going to play.”
My hands shake, but a wash of relief floods over me. I’ve issued the charge without backing down.
“He needed to know I was serious.”
“You'll need protection from now on. Myself or Herc—”
Before I’m able to protest that I can't allow myself to be alone with Herc no matter how appealing the idea seems, I notice a blinking eye of red on the camera.
“What's it doing?” I ask warily. Iolalus and I step cautiously over to the machine and peer into its single large eye.
“I think it's been filming.”
28
> EURY
I rage my way out of the Herene complex sending peacocks and pea gravel scattering in my wake. An old woman with a rake glares at me as if trying to frighten me with her haggy eyes, but as I near her, she huddles down and feigns interest in something at her feet. After hurling myself into the carriage, I yank the door out of Baruch’s grasp and slam it shut. He stares at me through the window.
“Home. Now,” I command.
I need Adneta. I need a drink. I need away from the unbelievable nerve of the head priestess. My cheeks burn and I can’t still myself from the agitated anger coursing through me. How dare she threaten me? Pulling up some old law that no one has used in centuries is as low as making up new rules in a game when things aren’t going to your liking. I call to Baruch to drive faster to push some air through the stuffy confines of the carriage.
The pace makes for a harsh ride but brings us pulling up to the courtyard in little time. In no mood to wait for Baruch, I hurl the door open, command he put the carriage away, and march into the courtyard.
The sight of my love lingering by the fountain is like the sun driving away the black weight of storm clouds. I can tell her my problems. She may not have a solution, but she will listen.
And perhaps comfort.
Dressed in a pink gauzy gown with a red corset that pulls in at just the right places and pushes her up in even better places, Adneta strolls around the courtyard tossing pebbles into the fountain as she makes her circuit. Her easy manner, her calm, even the way pieces of her hair escape from her coif and brush against her neck make me feel as if every burden has vanished from my shoulders. I tiptoe behind her and clutch her around the waist. She wriggles out of my grasp and pushes her lip into a pout that might have been seductive if not for the Hera-like scorn in her eyes. Brick by brick, I feel the heft of my bad mood returning.
“Nothing, you've given me nothing for—” she counts on her fingers, “—sixteen days now. You promised me the bull, now it belongs to everyone. I thought the horses would be for me, but you killed them.”
“They were too dangerous for you, my love. Most wives would appreciate their husband protecting them from harm.” I pull her back to me and whisper in her ear. “I give you my love. I give you the pleasure of being with the most powerful man in Portaceae. Now, give me something, please.” I relax my hold to lean back and take in her beauty, but she backs away putting herself just out of my reach.
“You don't have power,” she accuses. “Hera has the power. It's silly, why do you, why do we need Hera? It's so old-fashioned. I mean who are The Twelve. What's their point? The kingdoms don’t need them. Perhaps if you had Hera’s power—” she trails off coyly as she steps in closer. I grab her to me, nuzzling my face into her breasts.
“We think so much alike, my love. Now, a gift for me?” I reach between her legs. Again she steps back. Her blasphemy is driving me mad with desire.
“Not without a gift. Something golden, I think, or some true show of power. After all, what power do you really have if you’re always bowing low to Hera and her laws? Always having to rush off to the Herenes? That little priestess has more power than you.” Her tone changes from wanton to taunting. My desire still flames, but something smolders just under it. “Until you can do more, you have nothing to give me, so why should I give anything to you?”
This is enough. I truly have had enough. My face burns so hot I feel as if I’m once again in the heat of the carriage. I've had enough of women telling me what I want and what I can or cannot do.
I lunge for Adneta, grabbing her by her hair and throwing her to the ground.
“I'll give you a demonstration of power.”
She scrambles back. Her hair falling from its careful coif and her wide, frightened eyes give her a wild look that only stirs me more. I drop down on her, shifting my tunic, and tearing her dress aside in one deft motion. I pin her down as her corset digs into my ribs. With my cock a finger's width from entering her, I pause. “Do you believe I have power now, wife?”
“Yes,” she whimpers. Black rivulets flow down her cheeks as tears ruin her mascara.
“Then gift or not you will give what's owed me from a wife, what I need as a man, or I will take it from you however, whenever, and wherever I like. Understood?”
She nods. Her eyes are still moons of fear and her chest heaves. The gasps and the corset have her breasts on the verge of spilling out. Gods, the power I feel. I mean to stop myself. She is my wife, after all. My love. But the sense of power, the insatiable need, and the day’s frustrations take hold of all sense. I drive myself into her and she screams. The thrill of it, the strength I have over her is too much and after only two strokes I’m over the edge.
Afterward, I remain on top of her as she cries and pummels my shoulders as well as she can with my body still pinning her to the ground. As the throbbing pleasure fades, guilt settles in. I place butterfly-light kisses across her face trying to erase the tears.
“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” My tears are now mingled with hers and the sting of salt bites into my tongue. “I'm sorry,” I say again feebly.
I rifle through my head trying to come up with how I can make up for what I’d done to her. Golden she had said. Something golden. Another peacock? No, she won't be mollified with something she has already grown bored with. Jewelry? No, she needs something more than a bauble. The map in my study dances in my head as the belt of my tunic pinches against my belly.
“A belt.” The words blurt out and startle Adneta. I kiss her cheek. “A golden belt. I'll get it for you.”
“I don't want it,” she says through a sob that carries a hint of curiosity.
“I bet you do,” I coo as I move my kisses to her forehead. “It's the only one of its kind and belongs to a powerful woman. If you had it, it would show our power.” I prop myself on my elbow and look at her with an amused, amicable grin. “My dear, would you like the golden belt of the Amazonian queen?”
Her eyes widen. Not in fear this time, but in delighted surprise. The belt is famous throughout Osteria. It has only ever been worn by the powerful queens of Amazonia, passing from one to the next over the centuries. Taking it will display to all of Osteria the strength of Portaceae. A coy smile restores Adneta's face to beauty despite the red puffiness around her eyes.
“I might enjoy that.”
She wraps her legs around mine, kneads my ass with her hands, and begins kissing me with an exploring tongue. My excitement rises again within her until the crunching of feet against gravel jerks my attention away. Baruch hovers over us, glaring at the sight.
“I heard screams. I thought there might be trouble.”
My stiffness fizzles away and I push myself off my wife to stand. I brush my tunic to tidy it then hold my hand out to help Adneta up, but Baruch has already assisted my wife to her feet.
“Baruch, I feel like riding. Will you come with me to get my horse saddled?” Adneta asks.
It brings a smile to my face to see her spirits are still up after the terrible thing I've done. Baruch gives a solemn nod and offers his arm. She slides hers in and they head out of the courtyard together.
“Enjoy yourself, my love.”
She glances back with a wry smile.
“I plan to.”
After Adneta leaves I have every intention of scouring the collection books I keep in the house to find out what I can about the gods. Adneta has watered the seed of an idea that had already been lying dormant in my head. Why do I need Hera? Without her, I could do as I pleased, create new laws, be the true ruler of the polis. The gods must have weaknesses. With their spats and jealousies, they prove themselves to be imperfect often enough. I know if there’s a way to find that weakness, I can use Herc to route it out. Unfortunately, although my library is filled with hundreds of books inherited from my grandfather, my interest in studying these tomes stands in complete opposition to my passion for Adneta.
I pace my study, looking out the window with each pass to catch a glim
pse of Adneta on her stallion, but she never comes into view. After several trips I force myself to sit down with a book, but have no idea what it is I’m looking for. Too restless to stay in the room and having no desire to climb back into the stifling carriage, I order my guards to join me on a trip back into the city. Certainly, a stroll around the agora will clear my head and afterward I can settle down to my studies.
The trip proves to be a horrible idea. What I find is enough to make me wonder if Adneta was right. Do I truly have no power?
A disease has spread over Portaceae City’s walls and shops despite my express command to contain it. A pestilence of my cousins fouls shop windows with hand-sketched posters of their valor and deeds. Wooden figures carved to look like them infest vendors' stalls. Plaguing the streets are placards coated in words of their bravery, words of their cunning, words of their heroism, and words of how it’s a shame one of them isn't Solon. Although I’ve heard rumors that one small section of the city is boycotting anything related to Herc, even going so far as to ban him from their shops, it appears most of the city has fallen victim to the contagion that is my cousin.
Of course, the shopkeepers try to stand in front of the signs and posters, vendors bow their heads as they offer congratulations on my brilliance for choosing two such fine men to represent Portaceae. But as soon as I’m a few paces beyond them, snorts of laughter slap my ears. Once away from this place, I will order the guards back into the city to eradicate the agora of its illness.
After much effort I find a stall with nothing offensive in it—necklaces, bracelets, the chains women weave through their hair. If only Adneta could satisfy herself with these trinkets. But I suppose her exquisite tastes go hand in hand with her exquisite bed skills. As I examine the wares, I hear someone calling my name. I tense and am ready to signal my guards into action until I realize the voice carries no threat.
“Eury, Your Excellency,” the shrill voice continues to call until it’s right up on me.
The Trials of Hercules: Book One of The Osteria Chronicles Page 28
