The Emperor

by Norman, John;

  This brings us to the present, and the immediate events which precipitated the aforementioned coup. The raid of Abrogastes will be recalled, that issuing in the abduction of the boy emperor’s sisters, Viviana and Alacida.

  Citizens of the empire, in their complacency and arrogance, while fearing barbarians as fierce and mighty, as bold and ruthless, as might be ravening beasts, commonly look down upon them as rude, simple, artless folk. Citizens, nursed in, and protected by, the precincts of civilization, are seldom adequately apprised of the dark selections, natural, social, and cultural, whose knives have shaped and carved out barbarian peoples. Barbarian peoples do not lack culture; it is only that their culture is different. These selections favor not only raw aptitudes and attitudes, as those of the empire might suppose, but intelligence and thought, planning and foresight. Many a woman of the empire, for example, enslaved by a barbarian, has discovered that the severe, uncompromising beast who now owns her, and so thoroughly masters her, is likely to be wiser and shrewder, far more intelligent and less easy to fool, than the males to whom her former freedom had accustomed her. There is no doubt that Abrogastes, for example, was bold, and fierce, but he, no more than the vi-cat, would not attack prey he had not scouted. He who would attack is well advised to study his enemy. One assumes the enemy is intelligent; one attempts to be more intelligent.

  Consider now the following.

  A weakly held throne is a throne in jeopardy.

  Many may be the paths to a throne, and these paths are not mutually exclusive. But beware the fruit which would seem too easily picked. Paths may be narrow, steep, and treacherous. The path to victory may lead to defeat. It could be no accident that the empire has endured for thousands of years. There are many paths. Choose your path with care. Poisons and daggers, insurrections and civil wars, may lead to thrones; but alliances and adoptions, births and deaths, too, may lead to thrones. Some paths may be less dangerous than others, less costly to tread. A path of peace and law is not obviously inferior to one of ships, men, and blood. It is highly likely that Abrogastes had apprised himself of the empire’s rules of succession. Indeed, it is likely that he was more familiar with them than many a courtier or herald.

  There is no doubt that Atalana, the empress mother, was the most powerful woman in the empire, as she, though subject to the varying influences of others, ruled, in effect, through her son, the boy emperor, Aesilesius. On the other hand, it was not she, but Aesilesius, who was emperor. The throne, in Telnarian tradition, and in the pandect of Telnar, is to be occupied by a male, the oldest son of the reigning emperor being the first heir to the throne, followed, in turn, by the younger sons. Then would come male grandchildren, and so on. Next in line would be brothers and nephews of the reigning emperor, followed by male first cousins, second cousins, and such. Indeed, Julian himself was a second cousin of the emperor, and, thus, was in the line of succession, however remotely. Needless to say, in the history of the empire, tradition and law tend to be most prominent, and most righteously stressed, by the party it might favor. Certainly such things have been overlooked, or abrogated, on numerous occasions. Laws, innocent of the sword’s backing, can be conveniently suspended, ignored, revoked, or changed. Indeed, on several occasions, an emperor has seen to the crowning of an empress, whose authority and power is then, during his lifetime, second only to his own. The simple fact of possession counts for much. Scions of a number of families, over millennia, had seized the throne, commonly in consequence of civil wars, and instituted new lines of succession. Law does not always command the sword; it may as often be the sword’s servant. How often it is that passion fosters perception, that desire generates belief; that will precedes reason, that justification follows deed!

  The boy, Aesilesius, seems an unlikely occupant of the throne. Might he not be easily disposed of, or swept aside?

  Let the union of Viviana with Ingeld, or that of Alacida with Hrothgar, now produce one or more sons. Such issue, then, being nephews of the childless emperor, would be in line for the throne.

  There are, as was noted, many paths to a throne.

  There was, however, one grievous, unanticipated flaw in the cunning plan of Abrogastes, a flaw which he, even in his profound understanding of intrigue and steel, had not foreseen, the possibility of its preemption by others, a treacherous son and an individual whose form of power was at that time foreign to his understanding, treasonous Ingeld and ambitious Sidonicus, the exarch of Telnar.

  Sidonicus, on the grounds that the invisible, alleged to exist, was more important than the visible, the koos superior to the body, and such, claimed the superiority of the temple to the palace, the superiority of faith, his particular version of the controversial, and often obscure, teachings of Floon, to law, the state, and such. As the mind controls the body so, too, the temple should control the palace. For example, he will claim that no emperor can be legitimately enthroned without being crowned by the exarch of Telnar. What incredible power thus redounds to the exarch! Further, the empire is to foster a particular faith, and obey the will of the god Karch, taken now to be the one and only god, the will of Karch being conveyed by the ministrants of Karch, in particular, the exarch of Telnar. As there was one emperor, so, too, there would be one exarch of Telnar, and as the koos was superior to the body, so, too, the exarch would be superior to the emperor. Domination was the ambition of Sidonicus, domination through the mind, through superstition and lies, through belief and invention, through terror and guilt. It was not merely that his faith was to become the one and only recipient of offerings, exchanging its imaginary benefits for tangible assets, a spectacular triumph of economic fraud, but, ideally, it was to creep into, and infect, all thought, all phases of life.

  “So the princesses withdrew?” said Iaachus.

  “In consternation,” repeated Rurik.

  “What of the noble grooms, Ingeld and Hrothgar?” pressed Iaachus.

  “Ingeld is dark and deep,” said Rurik. “He will act.”

  “And Hrothgar?” asked Iaachus.

  “Affairs of state mean little to him,” said Julian, “one way or another. He takes the wind as it blows, the rain as it falls. He thinks of little but bror and falcons, horses and slaves.”

  “He is a lusty fellow,” said Rurik. “He was on the brink, I fear, when interrupted, of making himself known to the fair Alacida.”

  “In the carriage itself?” asked Tuvo Ausonius.

  “Yes,” said Rurik. “Are you surprised?”

  “Alacida is a princess, not a slave,” said Tuvo, aghast.

  “The city is secure?” said Julian.

  “Major streets, the senate house, the palace,” said Rurik.

  In accord with the plan of the coup, assembly had been prohibited, martial law proclaimed, and a curfew imposed.

  “The city guard?” asked Iaachus.

  “It offered no resistance, as anticipated,” said Rurik. “It is few in number and poorly armed.”

  The forces enacting the coup were threefold, and numbered in the hundreds. The first party, and the smallest, consisted of several officers, and contingents of their men, recruited from the imperial navy, loyal to Julian. Second, there were the men of Rurik, who had been garrisoned in an enclave near Telnar, a small private army of sorts, drawn from the large private forces of the Larial Farnichi, the great merchant family, whose original house had been founded on Larial VII. Lastly, the largest of the three groups, were Otungs, hair-cropped and beard-shaven, in the uniforms of imperial auxiliaries.

  “The announcement was made of a new order, of right, propriety, and justice, that the empire is restored, that law is upheld,” said Iaachus.

  “Of course,” said Rurik.

  “We may be unable to hold the city indefinitely,” said Julian.

  “The city itself will have much to say about that,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  “Games will be held,” said I
aachus, “bread distributed.”

  “Still I am apprehensive,” said Tuvo Ausonius. “For days the city prepared for the nuptials of the princesses with the two sons of Abrogastes. Little else was spoken of. Perfumes anointed columns and thresholds. Alleys were washed, facades painted. Banners and ribbons bedecked the streets. Flowers were imported, even from Inez IV. Musicians played, and choirs sang. Guests arrived, from a hundred worlds. Gifts flowed in, as well, even from barbarian worlds. Then, in a most impressive ceremony, in the high temple itself, lasting hours, the nuptials were performed, by the noble exarch, Sidonicus himself.”

  “I did not see it,” said Iaachus. “Doubtless it was impressive.”

  “It is dangerous to deprive people of their holidays, their festivals,” said Tuvo.

  “But,” said Iaachus, Arbiter of Protocol, “we have not done so. They have had their holiday.”

  “What has transpired here, in Telnar, cannot long be kept secret,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  “Nor need it be,” said Iaachus. “What occurs in one room in a palace may not be of much concern in another room. What occurs in one city may not be of much interest in another. Many times the throne has changed its occupant and the empire, persisting, has scarcely noted it. A rock drops into the water; do not expect the ocean to tremble.”

  “What of the emperor?” asked Tuvo Ausonius.

  “You mean, of course, what of the former occupant of the throne,” said Julian, “he, the boy, young Aesilesius?”

  “As you wish,” said Tuvo Ausonius, uncertainly.

  “He is content,” said Julian. “He has a toy.”

  “The doors of the senate have been closed,” said Rurik.

  “They will remain closed, until we have need of the senate,” said Iaachus.

  “I trust the curfew will be enforced,” said Julian.

  “There will be Otungs in the streets,” said Rurik.

  “It was necessary to act,” said Julian. “The empress mother was taking instruction from the exarch of Telnar himself. She is old and frail, easily flattered, easily confused, easily subject to influence. The exarch’s power waxes. Soon she might be smudged with the sacred oil from one or another of the holy pools of Zirus. Would she not then become but another tool of sleek, pompous, clever Sidonicus? And Ingeld and Hrothgar loom, spouses of the princesses Viviana and Alacida. In time new heirs are spawned. How ascendant then become the Alemanni, their agents, their blood then within the palace itself! Soon the emperor is killed, thrust aside, forced to abdicate. It was necessary to act. It was necessary to protect the throne.”

  “I trust,” said Iaachus, glancing at the throne and its occupant, “that the throne is protected.”

  “There is something I do not understand,” said Julian. “The plan of Abrogastes was shrewd and daring, abducting the princesses and somehow, presumably on Tenguthaxichai, influencing them to accept the suits of Ingeld and Hrothgar, who knows what means were employed, but what has all this to do with the exarch of Telnar, and recourse to his solemnization of such unions? Does this not seem to concede unusual power, or prestige, to the exarch? It is difficult to see the hand of Abrogastes in this.”

  “I do not think the hand of Abrogastes is in the matter, at all,” said Iaachus. “I see Sidonicus and Ingeld here. Surely it was some agent of Sidonicus who transmitted the stolen medallion and chain to Ingeld.”

  “Where is Abrogastes?” asked Julian.

  “He was not listed amongst the honored guests invited to the nuptials,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  “Is that not strange?” asked Julian.

  “Perhaps he returned to a barbarian world,” said Rurik, “perhaps Tenguthaxichai.”

  “Why?” asked Julian.

  “Perhaps his work was done,” said Rurik. “Perhaps he feared assassination in Telnar.”

  “I wonder where he may be,” said Julian.

  “We do not know,” said Rurik.

  “Men such as Abrogastes do not simply disappear,” said Iaachus.

  “I wonder,” said Julian.

  “The next move, if it be made—,” said Iaachus.

  “It will be,” said Julian.

  “—will not be ours,” said Iaachus.

  “Whose?” asked Tuvo Ausonius.

  “That of Ingeld,” said Rurik.

  “Or that of Sidonicus,” said Iaachus.

  “How so?” asked Rurik. “Sidonicus is a man of peace. Ministrants of Karch do not even bear arms. Too, there are the very teachings of Floon, an inoffensive, loving Ogg, presumably insane, praising snakes and insects, wandering about, blessing flowers, trees, and rocks.”

  “One need not bear arms if others will bear them for you,” said Iaachus. “Indeed, is that not the shrewdest, safest way to bear arms, letting others take your risks and face your dangers, letting others loose your arrows and fire your pistols, while you remain to the side, wrapped in holiness, perhaps even publicly deploring the violence you have been at pains to instigate?”

  “How is it possible?” asked Rurik.

  “Seeds planted, words spoken, agents dispatched, hints released, like bats, sermons preached, prayers uttered,” said Iaachus, “and riots are raised, and men bearing torches rush into the streets.”

  “But the teachings of Floon?” protested Rurik.

  “What have they to do with Floonianism?” asked Iaachus.

  “In mobs there is power,” said Julian.

  “And anonymity and license,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  “The dogs of war, snarling and howling, lurk within many hearts,” said Iaachus. “They beg only to be released.”

  “We must wait,” said Rurik.

  “I fear so,” said Julian.

  “Might we not seize Ingeld and Hrothgar?” asked Tuvo Ausonius.

  “That would precipitate open war,” said Iaachus.

  “Then Sidonicus?” said Rurik.

  “The empire would be in flames,” said Iaachus.

  “Then we wait,” said Rurik.

  “But surely,” said Iaachus, “we may wait pleasantly.”

  “‘Pleasantly’?” asked Julian.

  “Wine is at hand,” said Iaachus.

  The tolling of a distant bell was heard, its peals taken up by others about the city.

  “The curfew,” said Rurik.

  “A decanter awaits, of ruby kana,” said Iaachus, “and a light collation, as well. Do not fear to drink or eat with the Arbiter of Protocol. He shall partake first.”

  “And perhaps earlier, of an antidote,” said Julian.

  “That is possible,” said Iaachus.

  “You are implicated in these matters, as well as we,” said Julian.

  “What better foundation for trust could there be?” smiled Iaachus.

  “True,” said Julian.

  “Muchly so,” said bearded Rurik.

  Iaachus, Arbiter of Protocol, then turned about, smiling, and clapped his hands, sharply.

  A door opened, to the side, and a lovely gray-eyed, brown-haired slave entered, bare-armed and barefoot, closely collared, in a long gown, belted with a belly chain, from which dangled two small cuffs, suitable for her slender wrists. This arrangement not only belts the slave’s gown in, snugly, accentuating her figure, but allows the slave’s hands, if one wishes, to be fastened before her body, or behind her back. Too, such an accouterment symbolizes, as well, that she who wears it is a slave. She bore a tray on which reposed a decanter of kana, and five small glasses. She placed the tray on a nearby table, slightly to the side. She then, without speaking, returned to the room to the side, and, shortly thereafter, returned, bearing another tray, which she placed similarly, on which was arranged finger bowls and napkins, and a variety of crisp breads, fruits, and cheeses.

  “Only one slave serves?” inquired Rurik.

  “Let us
trust,” said Iaachus, “that one slave is not too many.”

  “I see,” said Rurik.

  “Who knows of what might be spoken in this room, this evening,” said Iaachus.

  Rurik watched the slave, carefully filling the tiny glasses.

  “Do you like my slave?” asked Iaachus.

  “Yours, not a palace slave?” asked Rurik.

  “Yes, mine,” said Iaachus.

  “I recall now,” said Rurik.

  “It is sometimes difficult to note slaves,” said Iaachus. “Well trained, they are unobtrusive.”

  “She has served us before,” said Rurik.

  “Yes,” said the Arbiter of Protocol.

  “Very nice,” said Rurik.

  “Perhaps seventy-five darins,” speculated Julian.

  The slave kept her head down.

  “I call her ‘Elena’,” said Iaachus. “She was once a lady-in-­waiting to the empress mother.”

  “Incredible,” said Rurik.

  “I gather she was displeasing,” said Julian.

  “A slight smile, at an ill-chosen time,” said Iaachus.

  “I see,” said Julian.

  “I saw no point in having her bound and cast into a carnarium, outside the city,” said Iaachus, “so I decided to keep her. Perhaps you can suspect why.”

  “Yes,” said Rurik.

  “It is an excellent kana,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  “I trust,” said Julian, “it contains no subtle, tasteless additive.”

  “Some poisons,” said Iaachus, “actually improve the taste of a kana.”

  “Not a kana as fine as this,” said Rurik.

  “No,” said Iaachus.

  “Slave,” said Julian.

  “Master?” she said, addressed, frightened.

  “Do you think you would bring seventy-five darins on the block?” he asked.

  “No, Master,” she said, “not nearly so much.”

  “Would you like to be sold, Elena?” asked Iaachus.

  “No, Master!” she said, hastily. She turned white. She was obviously frightened, terribly frightened. “Do not sell me, Master!” she whispered, terribly distraught, beggingly.