by Tony Roberts
Astiras tugged off his gauntlets and threw them onto Thetos’ desk, staring all the while at Vosgaris. “Well, good work. Who?”
Vosgaris told him.
Astiras grunted. “I’ll personally take care of that kivok myself before I continue on the morrow to Pelponia. I’m off to see Kornith and the province, so if you want me to deliver a message to your – ah – relative up there, now’s the time to write. You are off to Zofela to arrest the guilty party there, and to resume your duties. Clear?”
“Sire.”
“Now, Thetos, old friend, where’s your hoarded supply of ale? I’m parched!”
Vosgaris left the two men to it, and wandered back towards his room, feeling a little anti-climactic. There were people in the corridor and he recognised one or two of them. “Is that you, young Prince?”
Argan turned and beamed as he caught sight of Vosgaris. “Vos’gis! It’s wonderful to see you here. How are you? What are those marks on your face?”
“Oh, I’m fine thank you apart from these marks. I had an accident, nothing to worry about. I’ve finished my mission here and have to leave for Zofela almost immediately.”
Argan’s face fell. “Oh, that’s sad – I would have loved to speak with you about how you’ve done. I’m to remain here now until I’m old enough to take up a governorship or generalship. It’s going to be a little difficult away from so many friends – but Kerrin and Amal are here, as are Mr. Sen and Panat, so I’ll have a few friends to enjoy my – ah – banishment.” He grinned.
Vosgaris chuckled. “You’ll like it here, sire. Governor Olskan is a trusted man and you know Metila, of course.”
“Oh yes, where is she? I’d like to introduce Amal here to her.”
“I believe she’s sleeping; she had a tiring evening yesterday and doesn’t want to be disturbed, sire.”
Argan looked even more disappointed. “Is there anything wrong?”
Vosgaris shook his head. “No, no, young prince, we’ve been very busy and with my mission for your father now finished, I have to return to Zofela. Emperor’s commands have to be obeyed, don’t they,” he grinned.
Argan smiled back. Amal stood next to him, her eyes wide. He sighed. “Well, Vos’gis, I’d best not keep you in that case. We’ll have to correspond you know, even if we might be far away from one another. I think we’d better go look over our quarters too, before Mr. Sen and Panat start wondering where we are. Come on, Amal, let’s go. Nice seeing you, Vos’gis.”
The captain bowed and allowed the prince and his servant to walk towards their new room. People were bringing in items and taking others out, and there was a real block in the passageway. Vosgaris thankfully entered his room – for the last time, he mused, and packed the last of his belongings. He wrote a hurried letter to Vazil and tied it with a ribbon. Carrying his pack he called Hendros to join him and the guard appeared, similarly weighed down.
Pausing briefly to speak to the emperor and pass on his message to Vazil, he was formally dismissed with a thank you and a final message from Astiras with express orders not to open it until he was beyond the walls of Turslenka. He saluted and tramped out of the rear exit into the courtyard and picked up his equine at the stables, Hendros doing likewise. A pack animal was roped to Hendros’ animal.
Once they got out of the city, Vosgaris stopped and untied the message and unrolled it. He scanned the words. Explicit and unambiguous. Arrest and keep imprisoned the one at Zofela who was connected to the conspiracy. Astiras would take care of the remainder there in Turslenka before moving onto Pelponia. He drew in a deep breath and looked back at the city. Why was it he felt as if he was being hurriedly shoved out of the way? With an unsettled feeling, he turned his equine and began making his way south towards the Storma Valley, followed by Hendros.
___
Argan felt a little overwhelmed. People were rushing about, a couple shouting orders for things to be placed here and tidied up there. Amal was quickly summoned to help clean up the chamber that was going to be Argan’s for the time he was in Turslenka, and suddenly he was alone, wondering what he should do. Oddly, he now missed his mother, for she would have told him what he should be doing. That was not going to happen here.
He certainly didn’t want to be around the fussing people, causing so much dust and dirt to be thrown up into the air, so he made his way along the corridor and saw Mr. Sen sat in a room full of daylight. “Hello,” Argan said from the doorway, “is this your new quarters?”
“Oh, no, young prince,” Mr. Sen said with a deep sigh, “I’m merely taking refuge here until my room is ready. It’s far too noisy and bothersome to be out there, I can tell you.”
Argan knew what he meant and came in, shutting the door. The noise level dropped at once. He looked over the room. “Very light in here. This could be our new study.”
Mr. Sen looked at the three windows that looked out onto the city square. They were on the ground floor and the light was coming in from a high angle, shafts of sunlight that were almost too bright to look at. The view was not that pleasant, being of railings and the heads of the guards keeping the people away from the residence. “We will need better security here if we are to use this room, sire.”
“How so, Mr. Sen?”
“No bars on these windows – people could get in here and attack you.”
“Why would they want to do that?” Argan asked, surprised.
“Oh, who knows? Madness, evil people, even enemies of the Koros or invading spies and agents. We can’t take the chance of putting your life at risk.”
Argan decided to leave those sort of arrangements to Mr. Sen and the other adults. He sat in a chair, a hard wooden one with a high back, and wriggled. “These aren’t that comfy.”
“No, we’ll get better ones in. Now, let’s pass the time, shall we? I dislike wasting an opportunity to educate you. And by the time we’ve finished,” he added, seeing Argan’s face fall, “it’ll be dinner time. I presume Governor Olskan will have planned to accommodate us all for meal time.”
“Yes, he should do, after all, he is governor and that is part of planning.”
“Indeed, well put, sire. So, I want to hear from you the military and political situation surrounding us.”
“But I’ve told you that…”
“From the perspective of Makenia, not Bragal. You are in a different place now, sire, and so you ought to be able to judge the strategic situation differently depending on where you are. Armies move, and things are never the same from a new location. So, Makenia. To the north?”
Argan drew in a deep breath and looked up at the cobwebbed ceiling. “The Aester Sea, a great expanse of water, bounded by Lodria to the west, Pelponia to the east and the island of Cratia to the north.”
“Ruled by?”
“Lodria is part of the Western Princedom of Kastania, nominally ruled by me, but in the meantime by Prince Jorqel. Pelponia is part of the Eastern Princedom of Kastania, nominally ruled by…” he scowled and had to force the name out through his lips. “Prince Istan, but currently by Emperor Astiras. Cratia is under the rule of the Venn Republic, illegally occupying land that is rightfully Kastanian.”
“Well said, although not to be repeated to foreign dignitaries should you speak to any on that subject.” He raised a finger at Argan who was about to protest. “Diplomacy, young prince, diplomacy. So, Venn. From Makenia’s perspective, what is the stance of Venn?”
“Aggressive. To the east through the Pitan Mountains, the province of Epros, recently conquered by Venn.”
Mr. Sen folded his hands across his ample stomach. “Defence against possible attack?”
Argan pursed his lips. He thought back to the battle he’d seen from the castle of Zofela when his father had fought against the Venn army. “Heavy cavalry, a mass tactic, useless against town or city walls, or spearmen. Venn use crossbows and spearmen. Generally heavier armour than Kastanian troops. Open battle risky unless there are good defences. Turslenka has the militia, no go
od outside the walls, a small number of imperial spearmen and the governor’s bodyguard.”
He looked up at his tutor. “Remain inside the walls and defend Turslenka and await relief from the Army of the East, or the KIMM from Kastan City.”
Mr. Sen nodded. “Very good. You have listened and understood.”
“But what about the people outside the walls? If we stay inside then there’s nobody to protect them from the invaders.”
“Then, young prince, you will have to think on that and work out how to both save the people and stop your cities from falling to an enemy. I cannot teach you that – if you are to be a good leader, a ruler, then you will have to decide which is the best course of action to take.”
Argan scratched his head. “I shall, but it will take a lot of thinking!”
“Other possible enemies?” Mr. Sen asked, leaning back.
“Uh – from the sea, Venn again, strong navy, possible landing sites along the bay near Turslenka. Unknown strength of navy, but stronger than Kastania.”
Mr. Sen tutted and put his fingers together and looked hard at the young prince.
“Ohh,” Argan clucked his tongue in irritation. “Sorry, I forgot! Rebellions. Variable strength, types, locations. Nobility from Kastania, gathering personal ret-ret-retinues,” he struggled with the word, “and dis-aff-ected locals.”
“Disaffected because?”
“Because…..” Argan screwed up his face in concentration. “They are not happy with the local ruler, high taxes, feeling they would be better off with a change.”
“Yes. That is why you, as ruler, must be very careful not to upset the populace. Do it too much and they will rebel, which is very bad indeed.”
Argan nodded. He had been told that enough times, but he knew that for himself anyway. It was silly upsetting the very people you were supposed to be looking after; why would anyone want to do that?
After repeating the other military features of the empire, Mr. Sen was satisfied that the young prince had had enough. Besides, his stomach was protesting that no food had been sent down to it for such a long time. He dismissed Argan and heaved himself up out of his chair. Time to go see whether dinner was being prepared, and perhaps he could sample some of that fine Turslenkan piscine pie the city was renowned for?
Argan went to his room, which was now thankfully free of a crowd of cleaners and movers, and only Amal was there, diligently arranging Argan’s clothes and belongings. The prince smiled. “Better it’s quiet now, Amal, eh? I couldn’t be any good with all those people there – I’d get in the way.”
“Yes, Lakhani,” she said, standing up. She looked around the room. Nothing seemed all that much out of place, although a few things still needed to be put away somewhere. “I have been told that they are going to find a bed for me in the servants’ wing.”
“Well that’s not going to happen,” Argan said with a huff. “You will sleep here, in my room. Who told you that?”
“The governor’s servant, I don’t know his title. Thin man, big nose.”
“Oh him, yes, I saw him as we were coming in. Well I’ll tell him straight! You can sleep there,” Argan waved at a clear space on the floor. “A few blankets, a pillow and a bed of rushes and that’s as warm and comfy as anything!”
“Yes, I would prefer to be here – I feel safe with you.” She put her arms around herself. “It’s been so strange moving here; my homeland left behind, my people, everything I have grown up with. You’re about the only person left I know.”
“Oh don’t worry, Amal, it’ll be alright, just you see,” Argan said, putting his arms on her shoulders. “A few days and it’ll be like another home. We can go to the beach and the river, and maybe even sail on the sea!”
“I’ve never seen the sea,” Amal said in a small voice.
“Oh well that’s going to change – you’ll love it! So different than the hills and valleys of Bragal. That’s the great thing about being able to move around, you can see lots of the world.”
“You take it so easily, Lakhani, and nothing seems to bother you. I’m frightened.”
Argan sighed and put his arms round the girl who nestled her head against his chest. “I’m here and there’s no need to be. There’s no Fantor-Face here, nor Genthe.”
She nodded but clung to him still. They remained embraced for a few moments, then she sighed and stepped back. Her face was red and her eyes watery. “I shall be happy with you being here.”
“And you’ll have Metila to talk to, too. She’s from Bragal.”
“Yes, I know – she’s scary, isn’t she?”
“No, at least not to me. She saved my life. I want to see her soon.” Argan realised he hadn’t seen the woman since he’d arrived. Making sure the girl was fine, he left her to complete the tidying up and wandered off towards the governor’s residence. Guards were in evidence and he was asked if he wanted an escort. Argan shook his head and went to the door of Thetos’ room. The guards looked unsure as to whether they should let him in or not, but decided to step aside. A prince was a prince, after all.
Argan poked his head round the door and saw his father talking to Thetos and two other men. Astiras caught sight of him and waved him in. “Gentlemen, my son, Prince Argan.”
Thetos knew him already but had not seen him for a couple of years, and Argan had shot up and was beginning to grow into a young adult. The other two, one in armour and the other in court clothing with long sleeves and a soft floppy hat, bowed low.
Astiras smiled and held out his arm for Argan to stand next to him. “My son here is to remain in Turslenka for the next four years or so, learning how to govern a province. Governor Olskan here will tutor him.” He looked at Argan. “I shall depart in the morning for Pelponia but I shall return via Turslenka to see how you’re doing. Now,” he sat on the edge of the table. “A last meal together. Governor, where is your banqueting hall?”
“Ah, sire,” Thetos looked slightly abashed. “I normally dine here alone. The others use the hall at the end of the corridor.”
The emperor eyed Thetos sharply. “That’s not a good example to set, Thetos! I want my son to eat with the entire administration, listening to them, knowing what it’s like to grow up around those who actually run a province. The hall it shall be – we dine there in one watch’s time.”
Thetos looked alarmed. He’d forgotten to arrange a meal. He looked full at the courtier. “Go arrange the seating and make sure the cooks know how many they are preparing the meal for.”
The courtier left. The man in armour stood to attention. “And me, sire?”
“Go bring our expected guests to – ah – a suitable holding place as discussed,” Astiras grinned, glancing at his son. “I shall visit them shortly.”
The armoured man saluted and left. Argan looked puzzled. “Guests, father?”
“Special ones, but they’re not coming to dinner. I shall speak with them before dining.”
“Are they going to stay? Will I meet them?”
Astiras chuckled and gently steered Argan towards the door. “Now, now, Argan, patience. There are plenty of things you have to learn and you’re not yet old enough for certain tasks, as I’m sure you’ll understand. One day you’ll be shown these duties, but not all of them are pleasant, I can tell you!”
Argan meekly obeyed, but he felt that his father was hiding something from him. He didn’t know what, but there was this atmosphere of concealment and he didn’t both understand, nor like it. Still, his father wasn’t someone to disobey so he left the room and returned to his chamber.
Amal had finished making the room tidy, and she looked relieved that Argan had returned. “I shall have to eat with the other staff, so I have been told,” she said. “I do not know anyone here and I’d rather stay with you, Lakhani.” She looked apprehensive, so Argan smiled and put an arm round her shoulders.
“Don’t worry, I’ve already said its fine for you to sleep here, so once you’ve done eating come here and make everythin
g ready for sleeping. Don’t let any silly courtier push you round – if they try tell them I said you are to remain in my chamber and if they want to argue I will tell them to their faces.”
She looked relieved, but she still felt very isolated and vulnerable. It would take a long time, she thought to herself, before she felt at ease in this strange place with these strangers speaking in a strange accent. Only Argan’s presence made it bearable.
She wondered too, when she was going to meet Metila, her countrywoman, and oddly that made her even more nervous.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Night had fallen over the town of Zofela but Isbel was not even contemplating sleep just yet. Too much was going through her mind and there was far too much to do before she could afford the luxury of sleep.
Once more she was left to run the empire in the absence of her husband. He had more or less given her the authority to carry out whatever policies she deemed necessary, an extraordinary fact given that up to now he’d been loath to give her any leeway from what he had wanted.
She was very confused about Astiras; the memory of him making love to her the evening before he had left – and the following morning, too – was still foremost in her mind. If she was truthful to herself she had to admit that she had missed that and had only kept her distance from him through her adherence to her principles. The fact Astiras had taken her and brushed aside any objection had made it acceptable in her mind that she had stuck to them to the bitter end. Now there was no point to maintaining her distance. Even as she thought that, she realised she was only trying to kid herself. He had once again dominated her, reducing her to the secondary role in their marriage.
Yet she yearned for his physical touch, and she hated herself for it.
She had to concentrate on her tasks. There was the distressing decline of Teduskis to think about; the poor man’s mind was mostly gone and he was mostly babbling these days about a time long gone. He could only talk about the past, the long past, and didn’t know who anyone was who went to see him. He had two carers, elderly women in the payroll of the Court, who took no nonsense and tended his needs from dawn to dusk. He was hardly able to use the conveniences by himself now, and he was virtually housebound all the time. At least his surroundings were decent enough – he had one of the new houses in the Kastanian Quarter, the new part of town built following Zofela’s rebuild.
