The Emperor

by Norman, John;

“If it arrives,” said Julian. “I find it unlikely that Otungs on Tangara will surrender their lands, their women and children, their world, to Heruls.”

  “Perhaps they will not do so,” said Otto.

  “Then indeed,” said Tuvo Ausonius, “all is lost. It is only a matter of time.”

  “What of the slaves?” asked Titus Gelinus.

  “They will be safe,” said Otto, “even if our friends from the streets would kill even dogs and filchen in the palace. Slaves are valuable loot, precious possessions. Even the most ill-disposed of enemies is unlikely to neglect available loot.”

  “I trust so,” said Iaachus.

  “So, Arbiter,” said Otto, “you think it will be tomorrow, or the next day, that our fellow citizens, with their knives and sticks, their axes and flaming brands, their cries, screams, and enthusiasms, will turn to the palace?”

  “That is my estimate,” said Iaachus. “Tonight I expect them to be engaged in their festival of fire, so stimulating to the looting soul.”

  “How long,” asked Otto, “would you expect the palace to resist incursion?”

  “Not long,” said Iaachus. “But the throne room, from long ago, was built to be a keep. It is our hope.”

  “For how long?” asked Otto.

  “Attacked by picks and axes, by hammers, by chisels and wedges, day and night, gouged and scratched away bit by bit, say, four days.”

  “Help could never arrive within that time,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  “Let us add a day or two, in which we expend our cartridges, say, from the roof or a balcony,” said Julian.

  “Still not enough,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  “Far from enough,” said Iaachus.

  “Would you care to be provided with lethal tablets?” asked Otto.

  “Not really,” said Iaachus.

  “The likely alternative,” said Otto, “is to die fighting.”

  “I am not an enthusiast for dooms,” said Iaachus, “but amongst them, I suspect that is one of the least despicable.”

  “I no longer hear the bells,” said Tuvo Ausonius, lifting his head.

  “They have stopped ringing,” said Julian, he of the Aureliani.

  “Then things have indeed begun,” said Iaachus.

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  “Smoke rises from the city,” said Julian.

  “From the Varl district,” said Titus Gelinus.

  “Little compared to two nights ago,” said Iaachus.

  “Should the palace not be stormed by now?” asked Titus Gelinus, a crossbow cradled in his arms.

  “Our fellow citizens are engaged elsewhere,” said Julian.

  “I am pleased I am not elsewhere,” said Iaachus. He carried a Telnarian pistol, secured from the Arbiter’s office. Julian wore such a pistol holstered at his right hip. Between them they possessed six cartridges. One such cartridge could shatter a wall; two, judiciously placed, could bring down a floor.

  Above the great gate of the palace, before high-windowed rooms of state, there was a balcony from which, commonly on state occasions, civil holidays, and such, appearances might be made and announcements transmitted to the public. From this balcony there had been announced victories and the acquirings of worlds. From it had been announced royal births and the recoveries from illnesses of members of the royal family. On it had appeared generals and emperors. Four times, though years ago, on his birthday, a child emperor, Aesilesius, bundled and propped up, had been exhibited to an awed public. Of late, for years, he had been concealed from the public. Most Telnarians were unaware of the seeming nature of Aesilesius. Many regarded him as merely reclusive, or disdainfully solitary, given to books and music. To many he was little more than a name. Rumors, of course, abounded. Still, on the whole, his seeming frailties and weaknesses, his hideous debilities and shocking infirmities, were unknown to the public. Certainly such things had been concealed as much as possible. Many Telnarians suspected he had died or had been quietly done away with in the palace, on the accession of Ottonius, the First, the Otung emperor. It was on this balcony that, on the morning of the third day, beginning from the ringing of the bells, that four men had gathered, Iaachus, the Arbiter of Protocol, of the imperial palace; Titus Gelinus, a rhetor and attorney, double liaison between the senate and the throne; Tuvo Ausonius, a former high-ranking civil servant posted on Miton, a “same world,” like Terennia; and a cousin of Aesilesius, a lieutenant in the imperial navy, Julian, of the Aureliani.

  “It is too quiet,” said Julian.

  “Do not be impatient,” said Iaachus. “Rejoice, we may have a day more to live.”

  “The plaza is empty,” said Tuvo Ausonius, looking over the wall of the balcony, at the broad expanse of the tiles and fountains stretching out from below, the stately building of the senate, and other public buildings, to the left.

  “We hear nothing from Rurik,” said Titus Gelinus.

  “We hear nothing from anywhere,” said Tuvo Ausonius, bitterly.

  “He holds the dock district,” said Julian. “He holds the warehouses, the shipping. He controls the great artery of the Turning Serpent.”

  “He may have fled,” said Titus Gelinus.

  “Would you have fled?” asked Julian.

  “No,” said Titus Gelinus.

  “Nor would any man of honor,” said Julian, “and Rurik, Tenth Consul of Larial VII, scion of the Larial Farnichi, is a man of honor.”

  “Still we have heard nothing,” said Titus Gelinus.

  “Perhaps there is nothing to hear,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  “If there were, the bell would have sounded,” said Julian.

  Lest this allusion be obscure, it might be mentioned that Iaachus, at the behest of Otto, anticipating a possible need for communication, had arranged a code with Rurik. There are many ways of arranging signals, of course, hoisted flags, blasts on horns, flashes of light on mirrors, fires covered and uncovered, and so on. The arrangement in place, alluded to above, had to do with a bell, the sound of which was controlled. The bell in question lacks a clapper, and is sounded, as many bells in Telnarian history, by being struck from the outside by a large, wielded hammer. This arrangement both allows for different tones and lengths of tones, depending on where and how the bell is struck. Otto was familiar with this sort of thing from his childhood in a village located at the foot of the pass leading up to the festung of Sim Giadini, a festung of Emanationist Brothers, which festung had later been destroyed in a Telnarian air strike. A double arrangement of signals had been put in place; the first arrangement dealt with very simple signals, connected with such things as fires, attacks, stresses, arrivals, and such; the second arrangement, devised by Iaachus, was correlated with the Telnarian alphabet, in which particular tones and lengths of tones were correlated with individual letters. In this fashion, particular words and sentences could be transmitted.

  “What of the servitors?” asked Tuvo Ausonius.

  “The last have fled,” said Iaachus, “released by the emperor.”

  “Have the great doors been sealed?” asked Tuvo Ausonius.

  “Yes,” said Iaachus.

  “I do not understand why the palace has not yet been stormed,” said Titus Gelinus.

  “Nor do I,” said Iaachus.

  “How fare the slaves?” asked Titus Gelinus.

  “You fear for Pig?” asked Julian.

  “For others, as well,” said Titus Gelinus, defensively. Who would be so embarrassed as to manifest concern for a slave? Still, as has often been noted, many men would risk fortunes and their very lives to possess them, and many would die for them.

  “They are well enough,” said Julian, “one supposes.”

  “Are they informed?” asked Titus Gelinus.

  “Certainly not,” said Julian. “They are slaves.”

  “But surely they suspect
the desperateness of the situation,” said Titus Gelinus.

  “Doubtless,” said Julian. “Consider the alterations of routine, the rationing of food and water, the smell of smoke, the disappearance of servitors, the absence of familiar guards, such things.”

  “I have not seen the emperor today,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  “Nor I,” said Titus Gelinus.

  “Where is he?” asked Tuvo Ausonius, uneasily.

  “I do not know,” said Iaachus.

  “I am afraid,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  “Do not speak your fear,” said Julian.

  “It need not be spoken,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  “One understands the concern of our friend, Ausonius,” said Iaachus. “At one time, I, too, might have shared such concerns, but I now do not do so.”

  “Nor I,” said Julian, “but it is easy to understand how many might. He is emperor. He might easily have arranged a convenient egress from predicaments even more dire than ours, if such could exist. Orders are issued, a path is smoothed, a ship awaits, and the departure is effected, discreetly, gracefully.”

  “Where is he?” asked Tuvo Ausonius.

  “I am sure I do not know,” said Julian.

  “Perhaps he is dead,” said Tuvo Ausonius. “Perhaps he has taken a lethal tablet.”

  “It is not the Otung way,” said Julian.

  “Perhaps he has fled,” said Tuvo Ausonius, in a whisper.

  “It is not the Otung way,” said Julian.

  “Surely not all Otungs follow the way of the Otungs,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  “True,” said Julian.

  “You are sure of him?” asked Tuvo Ausonius.

  “Yes,” said Julian, “even from the forests of Varna.”

  “Where is he?” asked Tuvo Ausonius.

  “I do not know,” said Julian.

  “Friend Ausonius’ fears may be warranted,” said Iaachus. “The emperor may be dead. He would not desert us, but why is he not here? Several times in the past I attempted to contact him late at night or early in the morning, on matters of palace business, sometimes urgent business, and his chamber was empty. He was abroad, incognito, in the city. It is easy to suppose he left the palace in such a way last night and fell afoul of rioters, assassins, arsonists, or looters.”

  “Well supposed,” said a great voice, “and several such, much to their regret, fell afoul of me.”

  “Otto!” cried Julian, joyfully, and rushed to embrace the massive figure of the somber-clad Otung. Soot besmirched the Otung’s features, and his cloak reeked of smoke. “Ottonius!” wept Iaachus, pressing forward. “The emperor!” cried Titus Gelinus and Tuvo Ausonius, both hurrying to greet their friend and sovereign.

  In the joy of this impromptu reunion the group which had been on the balcony failed to note a bedraggled figure, in torn garments, its upper body bound with ropes, and its wrists crossed and bound before its body, which was cast to the floor of the balcony.

  Once the Otung had managed to break free of the embraces of his friends, he reached down and, seizing the figure by its hair, as though it might have been no more than a female slave, pulled it up to its knees.

  “Corelius!” cried Iaachus.

  “The traitor and informer,” said Julian.

  “He to whom Rurik delivered a mighty treasure,” said Titus Gelinus.

  “I do not understand this,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  “I found him in the city,” said Otto. “A crowd was preparing to tear him to pieces, alive. I intervened, with a sword, and the war cry of the Otungs, “Blood Upon Steel,” cut several fellows away from him, and gestured wildly, meaningfully, behind me, shouting, “Forward, men!” and the crowd panicked and broke apart, its tatters fleeing from the street. I then gathered in this piece of meat, dragged it into the darkness, bound it, and brought it back with me.”

  “Better you had left it to the crowd,” said Julian.

  “Perhaps an emperor has erred,” said Iaachus.

  “Few are without flaws,” said Otto.

  “You should not have risked your life for a worthless filch,” said Iaachus.

  “Why did you save him?” asked Julian.

  “His end would have been unjust,” said Otto. “And it is the duty of an emperor to uphold justice.”

  “I do not understand,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  “Many are the crimes for which this handsome, cowardly, traitorous filch might be well punished,” said Otto, “but not that with which he was charged.”

  “The crowd would kill him?” asked Tuvo Ausonius.

  “Yes,” said Otto.

  “What was his crime?” asked Titus Gelinus.

  “Wealth had been found in his possession,” said Otto.

  “I do not understand,” said Titus Gelinus.

  “His crime was to be rich,” said Otto.

  “Is that a crime?” asked Titus Gelinus, rhetor and attorney.

  “To some,” said Otto.

  “But surely he had caused the crowd no harm,” said Titus Gelinus.

  “That seems to be irrelevant in such matters,” said Otto.

  “Where is the treasure,” asked Titus Gelinus, “the small, weighty chest of gold?”

  “It purchased us some time,” said Otto. “Had our friend, Corelius, availed himself of the proffered safe-conduct to a destination of his choice, he would now be elsewhere and rich instead of a prisoner and a pauper, in great peril of his life. And we might well be dead. But, as I expected he would, trusting no one, doubting good faith and honor, seeing others in terms of himself, he refused that offer.”

  “There is much here I do not understand,” said Iaachus.

  “What of the treasure, what of the treasure?” said Titus Gelinus.

  “Speak,” said Otto to Corelius.

  But Corelius seemed too terrified to speak.

  Otto then, his hand fastened in the blond hair of the kneeling figure, shook its head, and it cried out in misery, and Otto then, by the hair, flung it to the floor of the balcony. “Speak,” said Otto.

  “I had the gold,” said Corelius, gasping and cringing, half prone. “But how could I spend it? I was starving. I had gold, and was one of the wealthiest men in the empire, but I had not a crust of bread. I tried to convert one of the coins into silver at a bank, and did so, but I was somehow marked, and followed. Men set upon me and stole the chest. Its contents were soon discovered. There was rejoicing and drunkenness, followed by murder. I fled, as they began to fall out, even more, amongst themselves. Others, suspecting loot, like sharks smelling blood, as though from nowhere, appeared. Then, as I understand it, several of the strongest barricaded themselves in a sturdy house, which was soon assailed by others. Some were taken into the house, to assist in its defense, whilst many others laid siege to the dwelling. I myself was recognized by one or more of the original group, who had been refused entrance to the house. I was seized, and held prisoner for days, and abused and tortured, that I might reveal the whereabouts of even more gold, about which I could know nothing. I was not believed. Where there was so much gold, there should be more gold, and more, and more, and so on. Then bells began to ring, and the streets to fill with looting crowds. Then my captors, finally convinced I knew no more, and could be of no value to them, put me out before looters, proclaiming me a scion of the wealthy in the city, one of the hated rich. When the mob was to set upon me, eager and jubilant, with their bare hands, their knives, their sharpened sticks, their hammers and tongs, their fish hooks, needles, and awls, a mighty figure thrust itself amongst them, howling of war, thrusting and slashing with a blade the motion of which one could scarcely follow. It was the emperor, as I learned. And thus it was that you find me now at your feet, a prisoner.”

  “Give him to Ortog or Abrogastes,” said Julian.

  “No, no!” begged Corelius
.

  “I shall complete the story,” said Otto. “I and my prisoner must negotiate dangerous streets, sometimes lonely and deserted, sometimes raucous and crowded, sometimes bright with flame and sometimes dark with smoke, to return to the palace. Too, we must elude scattered remnants of the crowd, remnants pursuing us, now aware of my ruse, that of calling out as though upon imminent and ready aid. Sometimes we made our way through the ashes and broken, charred wood of ravaged districts, sometimes between burning buildings. Twice we encountered impediments, once three men, once four. These regretted the success of their pursuit. Sometimes we passed amongst riotous crowds, achieving anonymity by mingling with these. Once we took refuge in a crowded tavern, for who would look for fugitives in such a public place? It was in the tavern that we learned news which bodes ill for us.”

  “What news?” asked Iaachus.

  “The siege of the sturdy house was done,” said Otto.

  “Speak,” said Iaachus.

  “Stout poles and metal railings, wrested free, had been used as prods and battering rams. Hammers struck at walls. Men leaped to the roof from adjoining buildings, tore shingles away, pried up boards, and cast stones on defenders. Bundles of flaming straw were thrust through windows. Oil was cast on walls and ignited. Assailants, by means of ropes, tied to rafters, lowered themselves within the dwelling, few reaching the floor alive, succumbing to the blows of axes, the thrust of knives. Soon, in smoke and flames, the portal splintered and ajar, men rushing inward to be the first to obtain gold, attackers and defenders were mixed, attackers falling upon attackers, and defenders upon defenders. Men waded in blood and fire. Those who could seized a coin, or a handful of coins, and rushed, seared, coughing, and choking into the street, where they were seized, thrown to the pavement, and robbed, by men who, as often or not, were themselves soon robbed. The building was afire and the timbers of the roof collapsed. Screams rent the neighborhood. Vessels of water were sought, to be put upon the flames. Some, impatient, mad with greed, trod into the fire, daring its menace, and several perished thereby, some so wild that they did not realize they were afire. Some fled like torches into the street.”