The First Betrayal

by Patricia Bray

  “Tell me though, why is Seddon so eager for partners in this venture?” he asked.

  “A risk shared is a risk halved.”

  “And the potential profits are halved as well.”

  “True.” She paused to take a sip of tea, refusing to be hurried. “But the opportunity is limited. Last year’s failed harvest in Tarsus means they will be desperate for grain this spring, both to feed their people and for seed to replant their fields. There is profit to be made now, but none if we wait.”

  “So all can agree upon. What do you need us for?”

  If he knew the names of the merchants she had already spoken with, then surely they had also informed him of her proposal. But she played along, explaining as if for the first time.

  “To transport grain in this quantity, barges would be ideal. Lacking those, one would need broad-beamed coastal trading boats such as your merchants possess. We have few such craft in our fleets, and there is no time to build more. In return for the use of your crafts, we will supply the capital to purchase the grain and pilots to guide the ships through the winter seas.”

  Septimus’s family possessed at least six vessels that would be ideal for her needs. And the warehouses of Karystos had surplus grain that could be bought cheaply, then resold at a substantial profit in Tarsus.

  “Whom do you represent?”

  “I am authorized to negotiate on behalf of Flordelis and the house of Searcy, both of whom have agents in Karystos who will witness any contract.”

  “An interesting offer,” he said. “Most traders have already committed to their first runs of the spring, but there might be a few who would be willing to chance a new venture.”

  “Perhaps even your own house might be interested in participating, in the interests of improving trade relations between our two countries. I am empowered to offer a bonus to the first house that signs…”

  She let her voice trail off, not needing to press her point. Septimus had proven himself an intelligent man. He would know that any contract she offered him would be on terms more favorable than she offered to his competitors. It was not a bribe but merely good business sense.

  “I am new to my position, but I don’t recall your predecessor Sir Aleron being quite so vigorous in his duties.”

  “May I speak frankly?”

  “Of course.”

  “The unpleasantness several years ago caused many to question the wisdom of close ties with Ikaria. Sentiment against foreigners ran high at that time, as you may recall, and Sir Aleron was merely being cautious. But now that Empress Nerissa has secured the peace and the affections of her subjects, the climate is once again suitable for the mutual pursuit of profit.”

  “I see,” he said. And he might even have believed her.

  What Septimus did not realize was that in this venture Ysobel held all the advantages. If Empress Nerissa remained in firm control of Ikaria, then it was in Seddon’s best interests to be perceived as a staunch friend. Building alliances through the mutual pursuit of profit would help tie the interests of Ikaria’s leading families to those of the federation.

  And if Nerissa proved unable to keep her grasp on her throne…Well, then, Seddon would be poised to take advantage of whatever chaos ensued, and there would be those on all sides who had cause to think of the federation as their friend. Either way, Seddon would emerge the victor, and Ysobel would secure her place within the ranks of the great council. Ikaria, after all, was merely the test. It was not the true field where power lay. Ysobel would wring every drop of advantage out of this situation, and upon her return to Seddon there would be none within her family or without who could deny her her rightful place.

  Chapter 6

  Two days after their meeting, Septimus sent word that he would accept her offer of a joint trading venture. Accompanied by their respective agents, they met in her newly rented house to finalize the details and sign the contracts. The terms that that they settled on favored Septimus slightly, as she had intended, but both sides would make a profit. Septimus complimented her on her choice of residence, noting that it was close enough to the port to provide easy access to the countinghouses and docks, but far enough away that she would not be disturbed by the frenzied activity when the shipping season resumed.

  The very next day he sent over three dozen bottles of red wine, marked with the seal of the imperial vineyards. A gift for her new residence and a sign that he was pleased with their bargain.

  Perhaps inspired by Septimus’s example, her next caller was the merchant Jhrve. Descended from one of the captains whose ships had brought the newcomers from Anamur to their exile in Ikaria, Jhrve’s house had prospered little during the intervening years. To his credit, Jhrve had tried to improve the fortunes of his house by diversifying their trading routes and partnering with other merchants. But his choices had proven unfortunate, first losing cargoes to pirates, then having one of his partners go bankrupt, leaving Jhrve liable for their shared debts.

  Jhrve agreed to supply four ships, at terms that were fair if not as generous as the ones that Septimus had been offered for his six ships. Ysobel had hoped for a dozen ships, but no other potential partners came forward, and it was better to send ten ships now than to wait and risk others reaching port first. And with a partner from each side of the Ikarian factions, she maintained the public appearance of neutrality.

  Working through the federation guildhouse, her agents purchased grain for the cargo, and Ysobel personally selected the pilots who would guide the ships. The skills of federation navigators were second to none, and she knew that at least one reason why Septimus and Jhrve had agreed to the venture was that they hoped their captains would learn the secret routes that enabled federation ships to outsail their competitors. To avoid this, the pilots were instructed to take the ships by a fast route, but not by the route they would have chosen if the ships had been crewed by Seddonian sailors.

  A true trader was always careful never to show his full strength, and even if the Ikarians managed to memorize this one route, without the secret teachings of the navigators guild they had no chance of equaling the skill of federation sailors. There was a reason why they were nicknamed the People of the Sea, and they had no intention of giving up their hard-won advantage.

  With her public role firmly established, Ysobel turned to her covert assignment. Her predecessor had left her a rudimentary spy network, suitable for knowing which warehouse held illicit goods or learning of a court scandal before the whispers became open gossip. Useful, but she needed better information to discover who was actively disloyal and who could be persuaded to consider treachery. Most of her former Ikarian contacts had been killed, or had accepted banishment to remote country estates. She was careful to avoid the few who still remained in Karystos, unsure of their current loyalties and whether or not they were still under observation by the empress’s spies.

  Instead she set about cultivating new contacts. Septimus introduced her to many of the leading merchants, some of whom had acquired sufficient wealth that they left the trading to the junior members of their house while they turned their own attention to politics. The winter court was dull, by Ikarian standards, but she and Ambassador Hardouin were invited to a series of entertainments that enabled her to meet the leading figures of the court. She did not confine her attentions merely to the wealthy and powerful, but also sought out clerks and trusted servants, who often knew more than their masters. She had not forgotten the functionary Greeter, though she had yet to discover anything that would be sufficient temptation for such a man.

  Ysobel had let it be known that she would receive callers at her residence every third day, during the afternoon hours. Some aristocrats came out of mere curiosity, the novelty of a female minister having the entertainment value of a new creature in the imperial menagerie. A few brought their wives, as excuse for their visits, but most often they came alone. Poets and playwrights came as well, both male and female, in hopes of securing a new patron, or at the very least,
of taking advantage of her hospitality for the space of an afternoon.

  The high taxes imposed by Empress Nerissa on foreign goods had made luxuries out of ordinary delicacies, including imported wines and foodstuffs. As both a diplomat and a merchant with access to her own warehouses, Ysobel was exempt from most taxes, and thus could afford to entertain on a scale that would have bankrupted a minor noble. Small wonder that so many came to drink her wine, then to grumble quietly that Proconsul Zuberi’s policies would prove the ruin of the empire.

  She noticed that none blamed Nerissa aloud, but instead chose to focus their dissatisfaction on her chief minister. Zuberi was resented for his influence over the empress—for he alone seemed immune to her habit of changing favorites each season—as well as his penchant for elevating members of his own family to important posts. As her guests gossiped, Ysobel smiled and listened, and ensured that their wineglasses were always full.

  Her duties as trade liaison occupied her mornings, and she met with merchants during those hours. Only the most idle members of that class came to her afternoon entertainments, and her salon became a place for seemingly impromptu encounters between those who could not afford to be seen together elsewhere.

  She made good use of the bathing chamber, having engaged the services of a green-eyed acrobat who demonstrated both remarkable flexibility and the stamina of youth. He accepted both her summons and her ultimate dismissal with good humor. His replacement was even younger, a minor poet well-known in certain circles for his erotic verse. Alas his verses were far more inspiring than his touch. Ysobel expanded his repertoire, then, he, too, was dismissed with a purse of gold coins for his trouble.

  The two had served their purpose, establishing her reputation, but from then on the pretty boys who discreetly entered through the garden gate were selected for their ability to run confidential errands and gather intelligence. From time to time she invited one to share her bathing chamber, but contrary to her growing reputation for licentiousness, these boys merely bathed with her. She had charms against both pregnancy and disease, but it was wise not to trust in their potency. And she could not afford any emotional entanglements.

  She divided her time between her new household and her chambers at the embassy. Most of her time at the embassy was spent in her office, answering official correspondence with the help of her clerk, Perrin. There were trade agreements to be certified, bills of lading to be inspected, and the newest shipping regulations to be studied, then forwarded to the ministry in Seddon along with her comments. The registry of Ikarian merchants and ships had to be updated and certified, and a secret list of those merchants suspected of false dealings or imminent bankruptcy furnished to federation agents in all major ports.

  For the time being, with only a handful of sturdy ships plying the unpredictable winter seas, her duties were light, and she had plenty of time to ingratiate herself with Ikarian society. Her way was smoothed by the open purse supplied by the embassy and the sheer novelty of her position.

  Ysobel leaned back in her bath and took a sip of chilled wine, before returning her glass to the special holder that contained crushed ice, ensuring the beverage remained cool despite the heat of the baths. Her left hand trailed idly in the water, creating new currents that disturbed the gentle flow. The blue mosaic tiles and leaping fish along the edges of the pool reinforced the illusion of the ocean, and for a moment she fancied herself a goddess, raising a tempest to vex the impertinent sailors who had intruded upon her sanctuary.

  She laughed and took another sip of wine, as the heat of the soaking pool relaxed her muscles and drew the poisons of fatigue from her system. Last night, she and fifty others had been Septimus’s guests at dinner, then the company had proceeded to the lesser imperial theater to see the premiere of a new play celebrating Emperor Aitor the Great’s victory over Vidrun. The dinner guests had been interesting, as much for their selection as for their wit. Septimus’s guests were no higher than the second rank of the aristocracy, equally mixed between the newcomers and the old Ikarian blood. His guests reflected both his ambitions and how far he had to travel to reach the top ranks of Ikarian society.

  Sadly the play was less entertaining than the dinner party. The playwright had taken substantial liberties with history yet still managed to produce a dull offering, bereft of both drama and spectacle. More than one audience member fell asleep during the first act, and it was only the booming drums meant to simulate the army’s climactic attack that had interrupted their slumber. The empress had not been in attendance; instead her youngest son Anthor had sat in the imperial box and struggled mightily not to show his boredom.

  It would have been a different matter if the playwright had incorporated more of the truth in his tale. Then all eyes would have been riveted on the stage as the story of a man who had used his position of imperial consort to usurp the Ikarian throne, murdering his firstborn son to seal his power, unfolded. Even Princess Callista, the rightful heir to the throne, had yielded, grateful for mere survival in the land that her father and sister had ruled before her. Aitor had claimed power not just for himself—during his reign, the newcomers had transformed themselves from wealthy outsiders into the supreme rulers of Ikaria. The Aitor of history was a commanding figure, but his most daring deeds were not spoken aloud, and instead it was his minor triumphs that Khepri had chosen to celebrate.

  Still, she suspected the play would do well enough, if only because no one wished to appear to slight the empress by failing to pay due reverence to her legendary grandfather. Those who had not been able to gain admittance tonight would see the play later in the week, before it finished its run.

  After the play Ysobel had invited those whom she wished to know better to return to her residence for refreshments. Servants circulated, bearing trays of delicacies, and cupbearers hired for their beauty ensured that the cups of the lounging guests were never empty.

  Ysobel herself had drunk only in moderation, switching to unfermented grape juice while her guests continued to drink wine and brandies. Laughing at their witticisms, she noted who could be trusted and whose tongues loosened with wine until they babbled their secrets to any who would listen. As dawn approached, the litter bearers had collected the last of her guests, and Ysobel had gratefully sought her bed.

  Rising a few hours later, she had broken her fast, then retired to the bathing chamber, a luxury that she made use of at every opportunity. The Ikarians might be backward in many ways. They were uninspired shipbuilders, and their so-called navigators were barely more than charlatans. But they were positively inspired in their reverence for bathing and in the skills used to create the lavish chamber that she so enjoyed. Baths in Seddon were simple, utilitarian, only large enough to ensure cleanliness. Whereas her cleansing pool was big enough for a couple to share, and the soaking pool was large enough that she could invite a half dozen friends, or host a small orgy.

  When she returned to Seddon and set up her own household she would import masons from Ikaria to construct a bathing chamber of her own. Thus resolved, she turned her thoughts back to the previous evening. She’d had hopes of using Horacio, who had the passion of youth, but his behavior had shown that he could not be trusted. On the other hand, his older brother Idaeus was still a possibility. He was more cautious than his brother and considered himself something of a scholar. She would begin by appealing to his intellect.

  She was beginning to doubt, however, that her mission to sow discord would succeed. The mood of Karystos had changed since her last visit. While some grumbled, there was no sign that they were willing to do anything more than trade scurrilous gossip. She had no doubt that there were still a few who wished to see Nerissa humbled, but such dissent had gone far underground.

  Given the example of those who had gone before them and been punished for their treason, it would be difficult to find new recruits willing to risk their lives to challenge the empress. There might be more to gain from cooperation after all. She felt relieved—but as soon as
she recognized her feelings, she felt ashamed of her weakness. She could not let personal feelings influence her mission.

  The Seddon Federation was built on trade. Unlike Ikaria, they had no great armies or conquered lands to fall back upon. The rocky islands of Seddon could never support all of her people. For the federation to survive, her trading ships must be the preeminent merchant power on the sea. Ikaria represented a threat to that power and thus to Seddon’s very existence. Ikaria had long been distracted by internal politics and its interminable conflict with Vidrun. But if the empire was united, and once again turned its attention to conquest, the federation could find itself barred from key ports and cut off from access to vital commodities.

  Her ruminations were disturbed by the arrival of her maid, Anna, carrying a soft cotton towel and a linen robe. “Lady Ysobel, I beg your pardon for disturbing you, but you have a caller.”

  “At this hour?” It was barely noon.

  “Brother Nikos, the head of the Learned Brethren,” Anna said. “He apologized for inconveniencing you, but I assured him you would want to see him.”

  “Of course. You did well to summon me,” Ysobel said. She rose to her feet and stepped out of the pool. Accepting the cotton towel, she patted herself dry.

  With her maid’s help she swiftly dressed, donning a light tunic and an overrobe of blue. Her long hair was twisted into a simple chignon, and she gave thanks that her youthful skin needed no cosmetics. Then she made her way downstairs to the small parlor she used for receiving guests.

  Her staff was well used to visitors, and she was pleased to see a tray of delicate pastries on the table, along with a tea service. She offered him wine but was not surprised when he refused. Her informants had told her that Brother Nikos seldom drank wine in public, and never during the daytime. It was part of the image of an ascetic scholar that he so carefully cultivated. However, a keen observer would see beyond the image to notice that his robes, while in the simple style of the monks, were nonetheless made of a rare wool that cost more per yard than silk. And, while he seldom drank wine in public, when he did indulge himself, he was reported to drink only the finest of vintages.