The Emperor

by Norman, John;

  “What do you intend to do with me?” asked Ortog.

  “We could fight,” said Otto.

  “I know your skills,” said Ortog. “It would be an easy way to commit murder.”

  “I am not a murderer,” said Otto.

  “You kill easily,” said Ortog.

  “The two things are not the same,” said Otto.

  “My fate?” asked Ortog.

  “Do not belittle your skills,” said Otto.

  “My fate?” repeated Ortog.

  “You have, as I understand it,” said Otto, “engaged in the craft of a river pirate.”

  “I needed gold,” said Ortog, “to gather and arm my followers, that the banner of the Ortungs be once more unfurled.”

  “You have captured and enslaved, and sold, women of the empire,” said Otto.

  “Of course,” said Ortog, “women are property, spoils, and loot, and they all belong in the collar. Their greatest happiness is to be owned, to find themselves helpless, subject to the whip, on a man’s chain.”

  “True,” said Otto.

  “My fate?” asked Ortog.

  “You stand boldly,” said Otto. “Do you not fear your fate?”

  “No,” said Ortog.

  “Yet,” said Otto, “there are mines to be worked, galleys to be rowed, quarries from which stone is to be removed.”

  “Where is Abrogastes?” asked Ortog.

  “It is said,” said Otto, “he is on Tenguthaxichai.”

  “He is not on Tenguthaxichai,” said Ortog.

  “I suspected not,” said Otto.

  “I think he is in Telnar,” said Ortog.

  “I think you are right,” said Otto.

  “That is why I came to Telnar,” said Ortog.

  “Of course,” said Otto. “And why do you think I wished to contact you, and bring you to the palace?”

  “We are allies?” asked Ortog.

  “For the time,” said Otto.

  “Abrogastes is your enemy,” said Ortog.

  “Is he not yours, as well?” asked Otto.

  “Yes,” said Ortog, “but he is also my father.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Lady Gia Alexia, trembling, seated before her mirror, dabbed the perfumed swab ever so gently to the sides of her throat. One must be subtle, one must be refined. She then, satisfied with what her mirror revealed to her, lifted her veil, diaphanous enough to suggest what it feigned to conceal, opaque enough to deny the final satisfaction it seemed to offer, and fastened it in place, its silken yellow against the light blue hood, with two silver pins. She then rose up, and stepped back, admiring the silken yellow sheathing which, cunningly drawn about her, flattered a figure whose striking contours, those of thighs, hips, waist, and bosom, were in little need of flattery. A large, but light silken cloak, blue in color, like the hood, was about her shoulders, secured with a golden clasp. The silken cloak, with its dimensions, could be cast back, casually, or, as one wished, might be adjusted, opened or closed, swept a bit to the side or back, in such a way as to permit or deny access to the ensemble within, and the delights it did so much to suggest, and so little to obscure. Cloaks, like fans, can be used to tease, taunt, and flirt. The values of clothing, like those of speech, manners, and gestures, far transcends the boundaries of utilitarian considerations. A cloak, for example, may speak as nimbly and fluently as a fan. Bundled about one, held tightly and modestly, one can hide, head down, apparently timidly, shyly, within it; thrown back, and spread, it can frame one with an attractive, portable vista should the background afford nothing better, such as a garden, a meadow, an aspect of columns, a vine-covered wall, or such; much depends, of course, on the man one might wish to intrigue. A beach may do for one fellow, and a library might do as well, or better, for another. It is well known that an identical object may appear quite differently against a different background or in a different context. One sees with more than the eye. Is it not easy to see what one wishes to see, hear what one wishes to hear, and believe what one wishes to believe? In any event, imagination may enhance vision, and speculation compete with fact. Truth may not need to hide, but it frequently does.

  The Lady Gia Alexia, as might be supposed, was much startled and muchly taken aback by the seemingly inexplicable transformation in the fortunes of the rhetor and advocate, Titus Gelinus. From a squalid nadir of exclusion and shame, from a plummeting fall into disgrace and destitution, he had, it seemed, overnight, sprung to a pinnacle of acclaim and success. It was his eloquence, it seemed, which had convinced a wavering senate to celebrate the accession of Ottonius, the First, thus stabilizing a new, possibly dubious, possibly precarious regime. Indeed, his work had been so overwhelmingly persuasive that the enraptured senate had even urged three days of holiday, to which request the emperor had graciously assented.

  Needless to say, the startled Lady Gia Alexia, muchly distraught, fearing she had misstepped grievously, had immediately set about repairing any possible damages which might have somehow jeopardized her relationship with the rhetor. She must express her concern that he might have misunderstood or misinterpreted her behavior. Surely he could not have done so. What a mistake that would have been! How tragic that would have been! She hoped she had not given him any cause to doubt her admiration, interest, friendship, and devotion, or, to speak sensitively, the overwhelming physical attraction she felt for him, which she, as a free woman, had, in prescribed propriety, struggled so to conceal. How keenly she had lamented his misfortunes. Had she not felt them as she would her own, were they so grievous? She could explain all. Might he not permit her to explain her former feigned indifference to his difficulties? Could he not understand that it was all a pretense, no more than a foolish free woman’s test to determine the sincerity of a swain’s fervor, a facade he was to sweep aside, a wall he was meant to climb, a veil he was to remove, a subterfuge through which he was to see? She wished to clarify all that might be misunderstood or obscure. He was not to doubt her unwavering devotion. She must be given an opportunity to see him, to speak with him. Do not let her be tormented, fearing she may have been misunderstood. How terrible that would be! She must see him; she must speak with him. All could be made clear.

  It had been several days, better than a month, since Telnar had been shocked to learn of the restitution of the fortunes of Titus Gelinus. Not only had he been rescued from a particularly dreadful cloud of obloquy, the result, it seemed, of outrageous misinformation, but had been elevated to an envoyship, one so important as that of palace envoy to the senate. Clearly he stood high in the favor of the emperor. Former friends now renewed their calls and invitations. Clients who had recently eschewed his company now again lingered at his door. Banks again welcomed his business and merchants once more solicited his custom. Too, commensurate with his restored popularity, he was again muchly sought in the courts, countless litigants competing for his services. Judges even rearranged their schedules that they might hear his cases. Too, it seems that many free women now recollected his charms, and his house was once more the recipient of numerous delicate missives attesting their interest.

  Among the latter missives were surely those of the Lady Gia Alexia.

  She had written several notes which, if received, were unanswered. Soon her efforts had become desperate and persistent. The notes had become ever more frequent and urgent. She found this seeming neglect alarming. She was aware, of course, as an intelligent woman, of the signs of male infatuation. Surely they are not difficult to discern. Had not Titus Gelinus exhibited them helplessly, even pathetically? In the Lycon district, she had laid her snare, baited it well, and snapped it shut, deliciously, triumphantly. The large, handsome beast, and his position, wealth, and prospects, she was sure, were then hers. Much might have proceeded expeditiously from that point on had it not been for the seeming downfall of Titus Gelinus, following the sitting of the senate. She castigated
herself for her lack of patience. If only she had anticipated his return to favor! Had she pretended loyalty to him in his adversity, and had he been simple enough to accept it as genuine, how advantageous would be her position at present! But, alas, she had not only dissociated herself from him, long refusing to answer his notes and declining to accept his calls, but had finally, for her pleasure, and as a sop to her disappointed vanity, allowed him into her presence, to make clear to him what he had lost, and her contempt for him, and, beyond this, unfortunately, she had been gratified to torment him, by a provocative garment and a seductive attitude, these contradicted by veiling, thus managing at one stroke to both arouse and frustrate him, to stimulate him and make simultaneously clear to him the inaccessibility of the fruits she chose to suggest. It was now obvious to her that her behavior had been tragically inept, quite possibly rendering the resumption of her earlier designs impractical. Yet, she was certain that the former interest and attention of the rhetor had been more than authentic. He had suffered, torn by desire and need. She was sure of that. Thus, she had retained the hope that his passion might be renewed. Might not ashes, stirred, reveal obstinate, still-­glowing coals? And might not former flames, given the application of a suitable tinder, rage again?

  Thus, when her last note, after all this time, had been answered, her apprehensions had been set much at rest. She had not been forgotten. She was no longer being ignored. Reconciliation was possible. Relieved and elated, she had clutched that brief, polite note, inviting her to call, as she might have clutched the key to a chest of treasure which, in a sense, she took it to be. She had little doubt that she could explain away any misapprehensions he might entertain having to do with her previous words or actions. She required only the opportunity to do so. His desire for her, still afire she was now sure, would lead him to accept any construction of the past she might choose to foist upon him. Indeed she could manage matters in such a way, she was sure, that he would regard himself as having been at fault, and she as having been the innocent victim of his misunderstanding. He wanted her. She was sure of that. She would have him, then, on any terms she might wish. It is easy to believe what one wishes to believe; desire can pave the road to a multitude of destinations.

  The Lady Gia Alexia stood back, regarding herself in the mirror, the blue hood and cloak, the yellow veil and the cunning sheathing. “Excellent,” she thought, “sensuous, yet refined, seductive, yet tasteful. One shows little, and suggests much. Beware, noble Gelinus. I am formidable. You will soon be mine.” She would have preferred, of course, that the rhetor had called upon her, but, currently, that would be unseemly. He was a man of position and wealth, even the palace’s envoy to the senate, and she was only of the Darsai, of Telnar, a recognized family, but not of the highest honestori. But who knew how high in the social strata of Telnar a lovely, clever girl might ascend?

  It was her plan, in any event, to waste no time, but, rather, to hire a cart and driver, and have herself conveyed promptly, discreetly, to the residence of the rhetor.

  As she turned about, and prepared to leave the apartment, a knock, polite but firm, was heard from the door.

  “Who is there?” she inquired, annoyed, for her mind was on important things. “Servitors,” she was told, “come to convey the Lady Gia Alexia, of the Darsai, of Telnar, to the house of Titus Gelinus.”

  “Excellent,” she thought. “He cannot come himself, but he sends for me! He is eager, accommodating.”

  “You have a cart?” she inquired, through the door.

  “Surely,” was the response.

  She undid the door, and confronted two individuals, in the livery of the palace. This, in itself, was impressive to her, and an indication of the new importance of Titus Gelinus, that he might have access to the palace staff. He could now draw on such resources, as he held an imperial post, that of envoy to the senate.

  “Please enter, sirs,” she said.

  The two servitors entered the apartment, and stood to the side.

  “How thoughtful of the noble Titus Gelinus,” she said, “to send a cart for me.”

  This overture, apparently idle and conversational, received no response, and so the Lady Gia Alexia thought it best to proceed. “I suppose you are often applied to these errands,” she said, “that you frequently supply the noble Gelinus with such services.” Who, curious, suspicious, and jealous, would not be interested in such things?

  “No, Lady,” said one of the men, he presumably senior of the two.

  “‘No’?” she said.

  “No, Lady,” he said. “The charge we undertake here is not only unusual, but, to the best of my knowledge, unprecedented.”

  This response much pleased the Lady Gia Alexia.

  Indeed, she was thrilled.

  “I am alone, I am unique, I am special?” she asked.

  “It seems so, Lady,” he responded.

  “These are men,” thought the Lady Gia Alexia. “They are servitors, lackeys of a sort, but men. I shall enjoy this. I shall test my powers. I shall watch.” “A moment, sirs,” she said. She then turned, and withdrew to the mirror, where she surveyed herself, appraisingly. She adjusted her hood and veil, dallied with the clasp of the cloak, looked down, pressing her small feet deeper into the matching yellow slippers, turned a bit, lifting the yellow sheathing, to inspect a well-turned ankle, and then, carefully, drew down, turned, and tightened the yellow sheathing. She also, as was her intent, used this opportunity to inform herself, in the mirror, of the first reactions of the servitors, while they would not be likely to consider themselves observed. To her annoyance and disappointment, however, it seemed her display had been mostly for naught, as their attention, for the most part, had seemed to be directed elsewhere. “Lackeys,” she thought. “Bumpkins, boors, dolts!”

  “I am ready,” she said, turning away from the mirror, facing back, toward the center of the room.

  “We must make one stop,” said the foremost of the two servitors, “before we convey you to the house of Titus Gelinus.”

  “Very well,” she said.

  “You are the Lady Gia Alexia, of the Darsai, of Telnar, are you not?” asked the foremost of the two servitors.

  “Certainly,” said the Lady Gia Alexia. “Let us leave, at once.”

  “You must do one thing first,” he said.

  “What?” said the Lady Gia Alexia.

  “Remove your clothing,” he said, “instantly, completely.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “May I introduce Ortog, king of the Ortungen,” said Otto.

  Iaachus, Arbiter of Protocol; Julian of the Aureliani; Rurik, Tenth Consul of Larial VII; and Tuvo Ausonius, once a civil servant on Miton, rose to their feet.

  “I thought the Ortungen were no more,” said Rurik.

  “Here is their king,” said Otto.

  “Should he not be in chains?” asked Iaachus, uneasily.

  “I think not,” said Otto.

  “But he is Aatii, our foe,” said Iaachus.

  “Alemanni,” said Ortog.

  “Would you care to chain him?” asked Otto.

  “No,” said Iaachus, quickly.

  This meeting did not appear on the agenda of the emperor. Some meetings, it seems, escape the notice of official schedules.

  “Ortog,” said Otto, “is apprised of the actions of his father, Abrogastes, often called the Far-Grasper, in particular, the surprise raid on Telnar, which raid succeeded in the abduction of the princesses, Viviana and Alacida, and his plan to use the princesses, wedded to two of his sons, Ingeld and Hrothgar, in such a way as to eventually intrude Alemanni blood into the imperial line of succession.”

  “The plan,” said Rurik, “is daring and brilliant.”

  “It is the plan of Abrogastes,” said Otto.

  “What I do not understand,” said Ortog, “is how such a raid succeeded.”


  “Treachery,” said Otto. “The raid was not opposed. Telnar’s defensive batteries, capable of burning fleets out of the sky, remained silent. The high command of the batteries was suborned, that command consisting of three men, Phidias, once the captain of the freighter, Narcona, and two of his former officers, Corelius and Lysis. These three traitors accompanied Abrogastes and his royal prisoners, the princesses, to Tenguthaxichai.”

  “The nuptials of the princesses and the two sons of Abrogastes, as you probably know,” said Rurik to Ortog, “were celebrated in Telnar, in a ceremony presided over by the exarch of Telnar, a man named Sidonicus.”

  “Abrogastes, contrary to expectation,” said Julian, “was not present at the ceremony.”

  “It was supposed,” said Otto, “he remained on Tenguthaxichai.”

  “He is not on Tenguthaxichai,” said Ortog.

  “Where then is he?” asked Tuvo Ausonius.

  “Ortog and I,” said Otto, “suspect he is in Telnar.”

  “Presumably he would have accompanied Ingeld, Hrothgar, and the princesses to Telnar,” said Ortog, “if only to see that all went well.”

  “But he seems,” said Otto, “to have disappeared.”

  “King Ortog,” said Iaachus, “as you know your father, and have a sense of his thinking, what variety of nuptials would your father have favored?”

  “It would be of no interest to my father,” said Ortog. “The payment of a bride price would do, provided it was public, recognized, and took place in Telnar, the capital of the empire.”

  “He had no particular preference,” asked Iaachus, “no favored sect, faith, or service?”

  “My father,” said Ortog, “believes in what he can see, feel, and hear. He scoffs at the thousands of faiths, each competing to be more absurd than the other. He sees no more reason to believe in invisible gods than invisible torodonts or garn pigs.”

  “Then,” said Iaachus, “I believe I can explain the disappearance of your father.”