The Emperor

by Norman, John;

  “May I speak?” asked Nika.

  “Of course,” said Aesilesius.

  “The city roils,” said Nika. “The bodies of two barbarian kings, Abrogastes, the Far-Grasper, he of the Drisriaks, of the Aatii, and Ortog, he of the Ortungen, a dissident tribe of the Aatii, have been found outside the walls, near the carnariums. The bodies are half eaten by dogs, and pierced with many arrows, of the fashion of the Otungs.”

  “A most grisly discovery,” said Aesilesius, shuddering, “regardless of the nature of the victims.”

  “Surely Master understands the import of such a thing,” said Nika.

  “Abrogastes was the father of the two barbarians to whom, by implicit force, my sisters were espoused,” said Aesilesius.

  “Yes, Master,” said Nika, “but consider what this means.”

  “That Otungs are barbarians, violent and cruel, capable of heinous acts,” said Aesilesius. “Doubtless this horror was perpetrated on the command of the beast now occupying the throne, to rid himself of rivals.”

  “I do not think so,” said Nika. “It ill comports with Otungs I have known.”

  “What else then?” asked Aesilesius.

  “I do not know,” said Nika. “The city trembles.”

  “Over the demise of two barbarians?” asked Aesilesius.

  “Two kings,” said Nika. “Surely Master apprehends the danger.”

  “I know little of what occurs outside the palace, save what you tell me,” said Aesilesius. “And within the palace they seldom speak before me, thinking I will not understand, fearing I will be disturbed.”

  “Abrogastes was a mighty king,” said Nika. “And Ortog, his son, has pledged followers. One does not lightly kill a king.”

  “They were barbarians,” said Aesilesius.

  “Abrogastes was king of the Drisriaks, high tribe of the Aatii,” said Nika. “He disappeared some weeks ago, mysteriously. Speculation abounded. Naturally suspicion fell upon Otungs. The Otungs, or Otungen, is the largest of the five tribes of the Vandalii, blood enemies for generations of the Aatii.”

  “I know something of this,” said Aesilesius.

  “The Aatii have threatened the empire, on a hundred worlds,” said Nika. “Otungs were recruited to supplement the imperial forces, to resist the Aatii. Thus, Otungs were armed and trained.”

  “With the result,” said Aesilesius, bitterly, “that there is now an Otung on the throne.”

  “But,” said Nika, earnestly, “the empire has been stable, the Aatii, uncertain, held back, have been quiescent.”

  “That is known to me,” said Aesilesius.

  “There has been truce, if not peace,” said Nika. “Fields are plowed, trade takes place, men no longer fear to regard the sky.”

  “A quietude purchased illegitimately, at the cost of a usurpation,” said Aesilesius.

  “A quietude now in jeopardy,” said Nika. “It is believed that Otungs murdered the two kings of the Aatii, and cast their bodies away, in grievous insult, to be the feasting of dogs and birds.”

  “You fear war,” said Aesilesius.

  “It is rumored,” said Nika, “that Ingeld, prince of the Drisriaks, even now, filled with sorrow, and outrage, speeds to Tenguthaxichai, to foment war, a war to the death with Otungs. This war will be fought in the skies, and on the lands, of Telnaria. Telnar itself could be burned to the ground. Thousands could die.”

  “This could end the time of the Otungs in Telnaria,” said Aesilesius.

  “Quite possibly, Master,” said Nika, “but do not look to your restoration. Rather, when the fires die and the ashes cool, fear a Drisriak on the throne, one covered with blood and filled with anger, one who may well be far less tolerant and merciful than the supplanted Otung, one who may well wish, as a matter of political expediency, to exterminate all potential aspirants or claimants to the throne.”

  “Then it will be the end,” said Aesilesius, “Telnar destroyed, the empire riven, a collapse into barbarism, the loss of law, the rise of brute savagery, the rise of bandits, carving out kingdoms for themselves, claiming crowns.”

  “I fear for Master,” said Nika.

  “You must be protected,” said Aesilesius. “When they come for me with the bowstring or knife, you must be gone. I will have you sent away.”

  “Do not do so, Master,” wept Nika. “I would die with you, at your feet, where I belong.”

  “Surely not,” said Aesilesius.

  “I would,” she wept.

  “Why?” he asked.

  She put down her head, sobbing. “Do not make me speak,” she begged, “lest you, in fury, outraged and scornful, slay me with your own hands.”

  “I could not do that,” he said.

  She looked up at him, wonderingly.

  “You may ask me why,” he said.

  “I dare not do so,” she said. “I am a slave.”

  “You fear for me?” he asked.

  “Very much so, Master,” she said.

  “Few would,” he said.

  “Perhaps more than you know,” she said.

  “I am an embarrassment to many,” he said.

  “Not to me,” she said.

  “I am a pathetic monstrosity,” he said, “a freak, a stain on a royal line, a reproach to the dignity and majesty of the empire.”

  “You are none of these things, truly,” she said.

  He then reached down, and drew her up, beside him. She shook in his arms, sobbing. He held her tenderly, comforting her.

  “No, no,” she whispered suddenly, frightened, and then squirmed from his arms to kneel beside the couch. There she put her head down, gently, against his left knee.

  “As you will,” he said, “sweet Nika.”

  They remained so, for some time.

  Then Aesilesius began to speak, slowly, thoughtfully, choosing his words carefully. “Much must be sacrificed if the empire is to be saved. If two kings have been killed, viciously, wantonly, and without provocation, at the instigation of the Otung usurper, he arrogantly deeming himself Ottonius, the First, war may ensue. Indeed, it is likely. Even now, it seems a prince of the Drisriaks prepares to rouse his tribe and the Aatii nation, and doubtless their allied tribes, as well, to a war of vengeance upon the Otungs and the Otung regime, a war which may destroy Telnar and shake the empire. Could this catastrophe be averted? Is there some small act which, like crushing a dragon in its tiny shell before it hatches, feeds and grows, and spreads its wings and its sheet of fire over lands, like snuffing out a flicker of flame before it consumes forests and harvests, like devising a cure for a rushing, foreseen plague, a small act, perhaps easily performed, which might alter a looming path of history, which might turn aside floods of destruction, which might save the lives and properties, and futures, of populations? If so, were there such an act, small and easily performed, who could refrain from it? Who, in conscience, able, rightly placed and equipped, could refuse to perform that act, even at the cost of his own life, and particularly if that life were not worth living, if it were a life of futility and shame, a life which might possibly be redeemed and justified by such an act?”

  “Master?” asked Nika, looking up.

  “It is unlikely that war, if desired, can be prevented,” said Aesilesius. “If men want their war they will have it. Have they not always behaved so? But a war often has a pretext. What if one were to remove that pretext? Might one then prevent the war? It is unlikely, but it is possible. Should one not then attempt such a thing? At the least, in such a case, motivations might be honestly unmasked, and faced.”

  “I grow uneasy, Master,” said Nika.

  “The Aatii want vengeance,” said Aesilesius. “They want the blood of the Otung.”

  “Do not speak so, Master,” said Nika. “I am frightened.”

  “I can give them their vengeance,”
said Aesilesius. “I can give them the blood of the Otung.”

  “No, no, Master!” said Nika.

  Aesilesius stood up and went to the side of the room, and opened a chest. From beneath folded cloths he drew forth a knife.”

  “I stole this from the kitchen,” he said.

  “Do not, Master!” cried Nika.

  He placed the knife in his belt.

  Nika leapt up, and sped toward the door of the chamber, to pull at it, but Aesilesius, with the agility of a forest panther, interposed himself between her and the door.

  “So you are a spy for the Otung,” said Aesilesius.

  “No, Master!” she cried. “It is you, you I fear for.”

  “You would save the Otung?” he said.

  “Yes, yes,” she said, “and in saving him, I would save you.”

  Aesilesius took her by the arm and drew her to the side of the couch. There he snapped a manacle about her ankle.

  “You will not interfere,” he said.

  She went to the floor, sitting, sobbing, trying to thrust the manacle from her ankle. “Do not injure yourself,” said Aesilesius. “Your ankle is pretty.”

  “Release me,” she begged.

  “The manacle is secure,” he said, “the chain is heavy, the ring to which the chain is attached is sturdy.”

  “Please!” she wept.

  “You will remain where you are,” he said, “—slave.”

  “I shall scream!” she said.

  “You will not be heard,” he said. “This room is designed to contain sound, such as the screams of fear, the tantrums and cries, of a distressed, retarded child.”

  “Do not attempt what you contemplate!” begged Nika.

  “We shall wait, some hours,” said Aesilesius. “I wish to be sure the Otung is asleep.”

  “No, Master, please, no, Master!” wept Nika.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  “The emperor does not join us,” said Rurik, Tenth Consul of Larial VII, of the Larial Farnichi.

  “Again,” observed Tuvo Ausonius, once a civil servant on Miton.

  It was late evening in one of the private dining chambers in the palace. About the table were three men other than Rurik and Tuvo Ausonius; Iaachus, Arbiter of Protocol in the palace at Telnar, adviser to the emperor; Julian, he of the noble Aureliani, a naval officer; and Titus Gelinus, rhetor and attorney, envoy of the palace to the senate, and of the senate to the palace.

  “He keeps much to his quarters of late,” said Julian.

  “How then is this night different?” asked Rurik.

  “It is not,” said Iaachus.

  The dinner, well prepared and well served, was sedate. The men commonly spoke quietly.

  Each was attended, as was often the case, by a personal slave. Though no free women were present, the slaves, though bare-armed and barefoot, were discreetly gowned, in palace slave livery. The neck of each was encircled by her collar.

  “Wine,” said Julian, and a lovely blonde, her hair dangling behind her, in two long braids, in the Alemanni fashion, rose to her feet, to fetch the decanter of kana on the nearby serving table. She was Gerune, a daughter of Abrogastes, who had joined her brother, Ortog, in his secession from the Drisriaks, to form his own tribe. After the decimation of the Ortungen, she had been given to Julian, then a tender of pigs, on Tenguthaxichai.

  She served her master silently, and then withdrew, to kneel with the other slaves. The slave of Iaachus was brown-haired Elena, once a lady-in-waiting to the empress mother. Rurik’s slave was Cornhair, once the Lady Publennia, of the Larial Calasalii, a family competitive with, and opposed to, in armed conflict, the Larial Farnichi. The slave of Tuvo Ausonius was dark-haired Sesella, once a stewardess on the line, Wings Between Worlds. She had been purchased for him on the “Summer World,” that named for an imperial palace occasionally visited by the imperial family during Telnar’s winter. The last of the five slaves was Pig. She belonged to Titus Gelinus, and had once been Lady Gia Alexia, of the Telnar Darsai.

  The slaves were not, on these thoughtful, sober occasions, the men meeting to discuss serious matters, put to the pleasure of their masters. They would not be, following, or preceding, dessert, cast over the cushions of upholstered chairs, dragged beneath the table, or placed upon it, nor commanded to the carpets, to serve as the slaves they were. They looked at one another. They were not free women. Their eyes were moist with tears. In their bodies restlessness arose, refusing to be put aside or ignored. Slaves have needs, insistent, pressing, demanding, sometimes piteous, merciless needs. It is the way they are. Men had seen fit to make them so.

  “Perhaps,” said Iaachus, “the slaves might now be dismissed.”

  A soft moan escaped Sesella.

  “Later,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  Rurik slapped his hands together, sharply. “Leave us,” he said.

  The five slaves quickly rose to their feet and, heads down, withdrew.

  “Ingeld is on his way to Tenguthaxichai,” said Julian.

  “Where is Abrogastes?” asked Titus Gelinus.

  “I do not know,” said Julian.

  “Surely the emperor has not done away with him,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  “He should have,” said Rurik. “Abrogastes is a fearful enemy, to the empire, to the Larial Farnichi, to the Otungs, to the Vandalii, as a whole.”

  “If the emperor wished to do away with Abrogastes,” said Julian, “he might easily have done so by letting him perish in the fourth basement of the house of Dardanis.”

  “How fares the house of Dardanis?” asked Tuvo Ausonius.

  “It has not been razed,” said Titus Gelinus.

  “Nor should it be,” said Julian.

  “Things must seem normal,” said Rurik.

  “Where is Ortog?” asked Titus Gelinus.

  “He barges on the Turning Serpent,” said Rurik, “downstream, to rally the remnants of the Ortungs in the delta towns.”

  “Lawless, bandit towns,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  “And thus appropriate to the remnants of the Ortungen,” said Iaachus.

  “At least,” said Titus Gelinus, “the identity of the enemy is now clearly established, unmistakably, proven beyond any doubt.”

  “There was little doubt before,” said Rurik. “Who had most to gain from the detention or destruction of Abrogastes?”

  “Clearly Ingeld,” said Julian, “heir to the high seat of the Drisriaks, the loving and loyal son.”

  “Yes, Ingeld,” said Rurik, “abetted by some wealthy, ambitious, well-placed, powerful, favor-seeking ally, with its own interests and objectives.”

  “It could only be Sidonicus, the ministrant and exarch,” said Iaachus.

  “But now,” said Titus Gelinus, “overwhelming suspicions, broadly entertained, are replaced with indisputable evidence. The two former bodyguards, once arena killers, Boris and Andak, now men of the emperor, were literally present at a meeting of Timon Safarius Rhodius with Ingeld, the exarch, Sidonicus, and his deputy, Fulvius.”

  “Why then does the emperor not arrest the exarch and his deputy?” asked Tuvo Ausonius.

  “The earth would open,” said Rurik. “Stones would be shaken from buildings. Telnar would burn.”

  “We have our proof now,” said Titus Gelinus. “But it is only our proof. It is private proof, not public proof. Allegations need only be denied, doubtless with dismay, tears, astonishment, and outrage. Who would take the word of monsters, of arena killers, over that of the irreproachable, sacrosanct exarch of Telnar? Indeed, who would dare touch even the hem of that purple robe?”

  “I do not understand one thing,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  “Then you understand nothing,” said Titus Gelinus.

  “Please do not jest,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  “If there is only one thing you do
not understand,” said Titus Gelinus, “you are very fortunate.”

  “I dare not match wits with a rhetor,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  “Dear Gelinus,” said Julian, “you are not now in a court, examining a confused, bewildered witness, winning plaudits from an amused crowd.”

  “Forgive me,” said Titus Gelinus. “I fear it is a matter of habit. I meant no harm.”

  “Nor any good either,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  “Very good,” Titus Gelinus. “Two targets struck, mine and yours, in but a single moment.”

  “May Orak, father of the gods, preserve us from two rhetors at the same table,” said Rurik.

  “Dear Tuvo,” said Julian, “please proceed.”

  “I may do so?” asked Tuvo Ausonius.

  “Please do so,” said Titus Gelinus.

  “As I understand these things,” said Tuvo Ausonius, “Corelius, a former officer on the freighter, Narcona, participated traitorously in the silencing of the batteries of Telnar, allowing the success of the raid by Abrogastes which resulted in the abduction of the princesses, Viviana and Alacida. He was then given refuge and shelter by Abrogastes, but later betrayed Abrogastes into the keeping of Sidonicus. He later let himself be seen by a seeking, vengeful Ortog, the son of Abrogastes, in order to lead him into a trap, which, in the view of the conspirators, who wished to make a captive of Ortog, as well as his father, was a trap well sprung. However, Ortog had intentionally let himself be apprehended in order that imperial forces might track his movements and thus be led to the location of Abrogastes. This utilization of one trap to spring a greater trap, an enclosing trap, was successful. This led to the events in the fourth basement of the house of the merchant, Dardanis.”

  “What is it you do not understand?” asked Rurik.

  “The man, Corelius,” said Tuvo Ausonius, “seems to have been importantly involved in these matters, indeed, as a primary participant. Yet, as I understand it, he disappeared shortly after the entrapment of Ortog. He was not, I gather, in the fourth basement of the house of Dardanis at the time of the freeing of Abrogastes and Ortog.”

  “That is true,” said Julian.

  “Where was he?” asked Tuvo Ausonius.