Arts of Dark and Light: Book 01 - A Throne of Bones

by Vox Day

  “Never attempt to convince a man of something he doesn’t already think he believes,” she’d told Severa. “When he is a man of influence, he won’t have the time or inclination to run around carousing with slaves. But mind you don’t let that slave compromise you either. You’re quite right not to trust him. He knows very well how attractive he is, and he’s not shy about using it either.”

  Marcipor was very good-looking, she supposed, especially if you didn’t mind beards. She wondered idly what it would be like to kiss a man with a beard and grimaced at the uncomfortable prospect. It was just as well that she was immune to the slave’s charms.

  “Can you see who is voting first up there?” she asked.

  “Not yet. The magistrate is still talking with the candidates.”

  The magistrate presiding was the outgoing urban praetor, a Viturius who was well past his year, being older than any of the consuls. It took him a long time to greet all of the fifty-some young men, but at last he turned his attention to the gathered tribes. But if his actions were deliberate and his shoulders were a little stooped with age, his lungs were in fine condition, because Severa could hear him clearly from where she was clinging to the oversized stone arm of someone the carvings identified as M. Fabius Pulvillus.

  “Men of Amorr, you have heard from each of the candidates. The custodes will now present the lists of the men whose vote has been selected by their tribes, in the order that their name is drawn from the basket.” He gestured to a slave who was carrying a small woven basket, and when the slave approached, he withdrew a small object from it. “Aniensis is the principium!”

  A cheer went up from a small group of men belonging to the Aniensis tribe halfway back from the rostra. The other tribes applauded and made way for the proud custodis as he marched toward the elderly praetor and handed him a wooden tablet. The magistrate peered at it, briefly consulted with the custodis to clarify a name he could not distinguish, then read them aloud.

  The third name on the list of twenty-four was Sextus Valerius. Severa shouted and shared a triumphant glance with Marcipor. One tribe and already one vote. That was a good omen: Sextus had told her that it was always lucky to be named by the first tribe to vote.

  Tromentina was drawn next by the praetor, and they had Sextus listed fourth. He was also on the lists turned in by Tetius and Cassiana. A loud roar went up from the powerful tribe associated with the great House Martial when the magistrate read the name Appias Cassianus Canina, which unsurprisingly headed their list. Menenia left Sextus off their list of names, but he was second on Papiria’s, first on his maternal tribe of Romilia’s, third on Falconia’s, and fourth on Macea’s. When Valeria’s custodis turned in his tablet, Sextus’s name was met with a cheer to rival the one Cassianus Canina had received.

  Even with less than half the tribal results in, it was obvious that Sextus would be elected one of the twenty-four. Indeed, his showing in the votes was so strong that the question now was whether he would be named first tribune! It seemed to be between Sextus and the younger Canina for whom would claim that honor.

  Marcipor had disappeared, and she was not surprised to hear, upon his return, that he had gone to place a bet. The monetary stakes kept the crowd’s level of interest high. The most common plebians, those without any political clout or even the least bit of interest in the Senatorial rivalries, alternately groaned and shouted with glee depending upon the order in which the most commonly heard names were read.

  As pleased as Severa was for her husband-to-be, though, Severa felt bad for the young men who looked up in surprise on the rare instances when their names were called—and for those few who never heard their names at all. How cruel it was, she thought, for a father to insist upon his son’s candidacy when he could not even deliver a single vote from his own tribe!

  When the last tribe, Ramnes, turned in its list, only a very few of the most sober and keenly attentive were still keeping track. Fortunately, it did not take long for the three slaves who were acting as scribes to add up the results, so the crowd did not grow too restive before the list of winners was presented to the praetor. That magistrate, in keeping with the festive spirit that now pervaded the Forum, read the twenty-four names beginning with the winner who had received the least and lower-ranked votes.

  It was a delight to see the reactions of some of the lesser candidates to their victories. Laughter filled the air when one unlikely winner, a thin young man with the decidedly unpatrician name of Hostus Herminius Tubertus, looked from side to side upon his name being called as the twenty-third tribune, as if there might be another Herminius in the contest. Another winner, from a lesser Falconian branch, finished fifteenth and fell to his knees sobbing in ecstatic disbelief. Others were not so fortunate, and as the names the praetor read out became more and more familiar to Severa, the faces of the likely losers grew longer and more grim.

  Eventually, it came down to the last two: Sextus and Cassianus Canina. Severa frantically tried to recall how many times the Cassian, who was in his year, had finished above Sextus in the various lists. She thought the Cassian had finished first more often, but balancing that, he had failed to place in the top five as reliably.

  “The second tribune,” the praetor announced, “is Sextus Valerius. Elected first tribune, in his year, is Appias Cassianus Canina!”

  The shouts and cheers from the crowd echoed off the buildings surrounding the Forum as the Cassians and Valerians alike celebrated their victories.

  Severa was disappointed that Sextus hadn’t finished first, but she was exceedingly proud of him. She watched him smile and congratulate the younger man with a hearty arm clasp then exchange words with his fellow victors and the disappointed losers alike. It was a signal victory for the clausores, which would have been a blow for her father, but anything else could not have been expected in light of the dreadful news from outside the walls. And it boded well for Sextus’s uncle. To her surprise, that struck her as a very good thing. How ironic it was for a daughter of House Severus to anticipate the consular election of a Valerian with no little relief!

  She climbed down from the statue and found Marcipor looking like a cat in the cow’s milk, which she found a little suspicious.

  “You didn’t bet against Sextus winning first, did you?” she demanded accusatorily.

  “No, I knew he’d be first three, but so did everyone else, so the odds weren’t worth it. And it’s always hard to say which of the best candidates will end up on top. With all the vote-swapping that takes place between the Houses, even the most obvious winners will sometimes fall a place or two. Second is a great finish for Sextus given that he was three years late entering his name. Magnus told him to be happy with anything better than sixth.”

  “So, what did you bet on, then?”

  “Some fool gave me fifteen-to-one against Sextus finishing first on the Sabatina list. With all that’s been happening the last few weeks, half the city has forgotten that you’re engaged to marry him.”

  She burst out laughing. It was a rather clever bet on his part, for without taking her marriage into account, no one would have ever imagined that the tribe to which the Severans belonged would so heavily back a Valerian. Whoever took Marcipor’s bet must have thought he was stealing from him.

  “Let’s go find Sextus,” Severa said. “And then, as you’re so newly wealthy, you can buy lunch for me and the new tribune. But I want to come back here for the consular vote.”

  “As my lady commands.” He bowed deeply, and a just little mockingly, to her. Then his blue eyes, so like the sky, grew serious. “My lady Severa, I know you don’t like me. But I beg you, after you are married, please don’t make him send me away.”

  She didn’t flinch from his accusation. “The problem, Marcipor, is that you think all women are stupid and too blinded by your beauty to see through your charm. I was taken in by a man like you once, and thankfully, my father forced me to see the truth.”

  “I don’t think you are stupid, my l
ady.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course you do, Marcipor. How could you not? You’ve had slaves and patrician women alike eating out of your hand for years. Sextus says you’ve fathered more children than you have fingers and thumbs. And now you think to play the penitent with me, batting your eyes and beseeching me not to sell the little innocent orphan?”

  His pretense of submission vanished. “So you intend to make him sell me.” His voice was as cold as his eyes.

  “No, not at all.” It took more than a slave’s anger to intimidate the daughter of Patronus Severus. “But if you ever attempt to seduce me, or any of my friends, or indeed, any other patrician woman, I will not only have you sold, I will first have you whipped and beaten so badly that your lovers will vomit to look upon you.”

  He frowned. “And what if a patrician woman pursues me?”

  “Then you tell her no, Marcipor. No. I realize you may not have heard the word before, but I promise, most women understand what it means.”

  He favored her with the merest ghost of a smile. “I suspect my lady knows well how few patrician women are accustomed to hearing it.”

  “In such a case, come to me, Marcipor. If necessary, I will teach it to them. I will not pretend to like you, but we don’t need to be enemies. If nothing else, I believe you are loyal to Sextus, and I am willing to put up with you on that basis, so long as you cease behaving like a bitch in heat around your betters.”

  “I can live with that,” he said. “I don’t like you either, my lady, but I think you may well be worthy of my master.”

  She snorted. “Of course I am. The only question there has ever been was if your master was worthy of me. Now, let us go find the new tribune and congratulate him.”

  Severa was not at all unhappy to discover that the speeches had been given and the voting was just about to begin by the time they returned. The eleven candidates for the three consulships stood shoulder to shoulder on the stage, awaiting the announcement of which tribe would begin the voting.

  It had been difficult to pry Sextus from the clutches of the vast host of Valerians and other well-wishers, but with Marcipor’s help she’d managed to extricate him and return to the Forum, which was much more crowded now, since the voting was taking place for the highest offices.

  She was pleased to learn that one of her cousins had been elected to one of the twenty quastorships. She didn’t know Servius very well, as he was ten years older than her, but it was good to know that House Severus still commanded support among the tribes despite the unfair criticism of her father that was still on the lips of far too many Amorrans.

  “Valeria is the principium,” the praetor declared, brandishing the engraved stone he’d drawn from the basket. A hushed awe fell over the crowd despite the half-inebriated state of many of the voters. Surely this was a certain sign of the Almighty’s hand at work! Marcipor wouldn’t find anyone giving odds against Corvus, that much was certain. With the outcome pre-ordained, the Valerians went with a simple show of hands, and it wasn’t long before their custodis presented the three names to the elderly magistrate, whose voice was beginning to grow hoarse.

  “For consul civitas, Tribe Valeria votes for Marcus Andronicus Declama. For consul provincae, Appius Appuleius Pansa. For consul aquilae, Sextus Valerius Corvus!”

  As the three tribes cheered the entirely predictable vote, Severa looked at her fiance, who was regarding his namesake with an odd expression that was almost regretful.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked. “Do you not want him to win?”

  “It’s not that. I’m not even angry with him. I know better than anyone what an ass Fortex could be. And I know it probably sounds awful to say it, but I have no doubt he had it coming. My uncle may be a hard man, but he’s always been fair, and he never had anything against my brother. He wouldn’t have executed Gaius Fortex if he hadn’t given him cause.”

  “Then what’s troubling you?”

  He shrugged. “Corvus didn’t think he’d ever be consul. He didn’t want to be consul. He’s nine years past his year, just like I’m three years past mine. And yet, there I was up there, all the same. Just like him—summoned by the tribes whether he wanted it or not.”

  She slipped her arms around him and pressed her face to his chest. Now she understood. He was seeing himself up there one day in his uncle’s place, another reluctant consul raised up by a sense of duty and the voice of the People instead of his own ambition. And the grave responsibility of the magistracy lay much more heavily on those upon whom it was imposed than on those who sought it as a mere sign of their own glory.

  The tribes were voting quickly now. Clustumina, Galeria, Quirina, Stellatina, and Voltinia all followed the Valerian lead. Only Amorres, Tromentina, and of course, Falconia, preferred Falconius Rullianus to Andronicus Declamas. The votes for the Provinces and Eagles were unanimous. The sun was just beginning to set when Declamas belatedly reached his majority, and the Viturian, now acting in a propraetorial capacity, announced the elections over after only nineteen of the twenty-six tribes had voted.

  However, instead of announcing the three consuls for the new year, the propraetor looked to the side of the rostra, which was the signal for three squads of eight fascitors to march to the front of the platform. Severa, Sextus, and everyone else in the crowd fell silent upon seeing them, as each of the twenty-four men were carrying their axes unbound by their customary branches.

  “We are at war,” Sextus said, sliding his arm around her.

  “I don’t understand,” Severa said, confused. “Aren’t we always at war? My brothers have been away invading some province or breed land almost as long as I can remember!”

  “No, the Senate permits the Houses Martial to use their allotted legions as the situation requires and as they see fit. Your House didn’t care if our legions defeated the goblins or not, and your father would never have sent them to our assistance if we were losing. But formal war is something altogether different. I don’t think there has been one in more than one hundred years. It means all the Houses are united, and that has to be a very bad sign.”

  The crowd, most of which was chattering about the uncovered axes, fell silent as the three newly elected consuls appeared again, each standing in front of his fascitors. But instead of wearing the white robes they’d been wearing before, under their purples capes of office, each of the three men was wearing legionary armor. Corvus’s was battered and dirty, while Declama’s was shiny enough to look brand new, but the effect was every bit as grim as the consuls had intended.

  “Men of Amorr,” the propraetor cried out, “your new consuls will address you now. I give you Marcus Andronicus Declama, consul civitas!”

  “The new year is customarily a time of celebration and festivals.” Declama’s voice was high-pitched, but the gravity of the occasion was such that no one tittered. “That will not happen this year, for as you have seen, we find ourselves facing imminent war. As consul civitas, I am cancelling all public festivals and announcing three days of repentance and contemplation, during which time I expect every man, woman, and child to repent of their sins, to beg forgiveness of the Almighty God, and to ask the intercession of the Immaculate Lord, the true King of this city, to strengthen and sustain her.”

  The Forum buzzed with astonished discussion of what had provoked these extreme measures. Declama nodded to Appuleius Pansa, the consul provincae, who stepped forward.

  “As consul provincae, I have nothing to say except to express my full support for the actions of the consul civitas and to declare that we three consuls have agreed that we shall henceforth speak with one voice, and that any public statement made by one of us should be considered to have made by all three of us, speaking in unison. With regards to the direction of the anticipated war effort, the consul aquilae shall be the sole magister militum, and the consul civitas and I will serve as his chief legates.”

  There was scattered applause, but the men of the tribes were too astonished and alarmed
at the consul provincae’s highly unusual announcement to do anything but wonder what would come next.

  Corvus stepped forward, and, as if to illustrate the truth of their words, Declama and Pansa assumed parade-like military stances on either side of him. His voice was strong and commanding as he addressed the Forum in much the same manner as a general addressing his men.

  “Men of Amorr, you have placed great trust in me and my colleagues in a most difficult time. Many of you already know of the Marruvian league, which our allies of the south and east have formed against us at Falera. What none of you yet know, and the reason for the extraordinary and precipitate actions my colleagues and I have taken, is that the other six Utruccan allies have joined together in a northern league, led by the Salventii. It is our belief that if we do not agree to their demands, these leagues will soon unite their forces and march upon Amorr in the spring.”

  The crowd erupted with cries of outrage, fear, and anger.

  Severa could feel Sextus’s tension, and it frightened her.

  “I wonder if they’re going to make him dictator,” he whispered. “I hope not. My father would just love that. If Corvus is named dictator, I swear, Magnus may very well may go to Salventum and volunteer to general for them.”

  God, what sort of family of madmen am I marrying into? She didn’t know if she should laugh or cry at what Sextus was suggesting. And here she’d thought that being the daughter of the princeps senatus was difficult! Could she even marry Sextus if her father-in-law was leading rebel armies against Amorr? And as a leading military tribune, would Sextus even be in the city long enough to marry if war came?

  “Men of Amorr,” Corvus said, “it is the custom of the Senate to require three days of deliberation before a vote is taken on any suggested new law. Therefore, tomorrow when the Senate meets, I shall propose a reply by the Senate and People to the demands of these Utruccan leagues as well as the Lex Valeria Corva, which concerns how we intend to organize our legions and marshal our strength, assuming war with our former allies becomes unavoidable.”