Empress & Soldier Chapter 16 part 2
In which Druisius meets a prince.
THE GOVERNOR’S BOAT is moored at the quay. Crowds line the streets, held back by our soldiers. Armour gleams. Weapons too. I watch from where I have a wider view. The men on the boat prepare to disembark. Soldiers before and after a tall man, dark haired, young. The prince. Then, bald and upright, the general Roscius. The governor is next, shorter, with more hair, and behind him, the new consul. I study them. I must recognize them, find them in a crowd.
Tarquin steps forward. His armour, leathers, decorations all shine. I made sure. He bows, says words I cannot hear. Turns slightly, extends an arm, offering them the city. I know what they see. Have seen it often enough, crossing the bridge. White marble in the sunshine. Buildings of symmetry, their dimensions pleasing the eye. Tarquin showed me all this, his plans and drawings. When we first came, first began to build. In some of the lesser buildings, there are bricks I laid. I measured, surveyed, mixed mortar, built walls and arches. Some of this city is mine.
But that is not my job today. I watch the visitors mount the horses brought for them. Tarquin too. They begin to ride. Up the shallow hill to the forum, first. The soldiers cheer, beat their shields, move with them. The crowd follows. Between our soldiers and our guests march the guards they brought. Was I a hot-headed angry youth, I might quail.
The thought reassures me. A little. But I had only the discontent of boyhood. Not a cause to rally to. I slip into a passage between two buildings, come out on a street that parallels the wide one. I am dressed as a workman. Tools in a bag over my shoulder. If anyone asks, I prefer earning coin to watching the Casilani.
It is quiet in these back streets. I see women and servants about their work, a few men. I glance up. Boys on rooftops, watching. As I might have, once. They are young, not a threat.
“You!” A city guardsman. I stop. Clasp my bag to me. “What are you doing?”
“I fix roof tiles,” I say loudly. “I am looking for loose ones. Before the rains come.”
“Show me your tools,” he commands. I swing the bag down, open it. He bends to look. “Anything?” he murmurs.
“Nothing,” I tell him. “You?”
“Nothing.” He straightens. Raises his voice. “On your way.”
~
Mid-afternoon. The visitors soak in the private baths. I have shown their guards through both houses, Tarquin’s and the consul’s, where they will sleep. The surrounding streets, too. Men stand at all doors and gates. I have a moment to myself.
The kitchen is hot and busy. Bread was baked in the morning. It always is. I take a small loaf, pour some olive oil into a bowl. A kitchen girl swears at me, her face red and wet with sweat. “Get out of here,” she snaps. I take my food outside.
In the corridor, I meet Julia. She looks harried, tense. “Can I help?” I ask.
She stops, breathing a little heavily. She is alone, which is unusual. “I was going to check on the preparations for the meal,” she tells me.
“They will not welcome you.” I raise the hand that holds the bread a little. “If looks could kill, the one the kitchen girl gave would have finished me, yes?”
“But—” She bites her lip. Looking even younger than she is.
“Your cook is in charge. Let him be,” I say gently.
She stares at me, unsure. “You went over the plans with him?” I ask. “More than once?”
“Yes. Yesterday, and this morning.” Her lips make a rueful smile. “With the housekeeper and the steward. I suppose that’s enough.”
“A good officer trusts his men, if he has picked them well.”
“I didn’t. My mother did,” she says.
“Your mother’s house runs smoothly, yes?”
She laughs. “Very. You’re right, of course.” She glances at the food in my hands. “I am keeping you from your meal.” A frown crosses her face. “Druisius, you are guarding tonight, aren’t you? When will you eat again?”
“Afterwards,” I tell her. Her concern amuses me.
“I couldn’t wait that long,” she says. “I am always hungry, just now.”
“Soldiers are used to it,” I say. “Eat and sleep when we can.”
“Tarquin doesn’t do much of either,” she murmurs. I see this too. He is thinner, drawn. She glances up at me. I am not a tall man, but Julia is almost a head shorter than me. A question in her eyes.
“This visit. The ceremony,” I say. “All he has worked towards, yes? It worries him.”
She nods. Then frowns again. “Is he not a good officer, then? Not trusting the lieutenants, and you, and others?”
I am caught by my own words to her. It is hard to find something to say. “This is very large, yes?” I offer. “Casil’s prince and the Trakïyani king. The governor. And two generals.”
“Diplomacy,” she says. “I wish he would talk to me, though.”
I could say the same. Do not.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “Go and eat.”
She walks beside me until we reach the courtyard. I sit on a bench, shaded now by the walls. The fountain splashes. I eat my bread and oil. Wondering if what I suggested to Julia is all that worries Tarquin. I think not.
~
I shift my weight to give one leg a rest. Julia need not have worried. The banquet is nearly over, the food praised. The wine, too. Hired musicians have played during the meal. As is done in Casil, I understand. As they will tomorrow night, when the Trakïyani king and his general are present.
The talk has been of the city, its beauty. The proportions of the consul’s residence. Sources of the gleaming marble. Difficulties and solutions. Tarquin is modest, but assured. Praising his lieutenants, his men. The prince nods his approval. He is at ease. Polite, gracious, the way Marcellus was. Especially to Julia.
The last course is brought. Small tarts, honeyed nuts. More wine. A word from Julia to the steward, and the servants withdraw. The musicians too.
“The wall paintings in this room are exquisite,” the prince says to Julia. “The same artist who has decorated the consul’s house, I think?”
She tells him yes. There are others in the sitting room. Would he like to see them? She blushes, a little, when she asks this.
The prince smiles. “Very much,” he says. “Will you show them to me?”
I open the door for them. The prince murmurs his thanks, which surprises me. When I close it again, the mood has changed.
“You have heard the rumours?” the governor says. “It is said the Emperor is dying. Perhaps is already dead, and Prince Philitos our new ruler.”
“I had,” Tarquin says.
“In which case,” the general says, “Philitos can marry the girl he wants and get his mind back to Casil’s affairs.” Chuckles follow his words.
“The source of the rumour you heard?” The governor is not smiling now. Tarquin’s eyes flicker.
“I have spoken of it to no one,” he says. This is true. Or not to me, at least. Or Julia.
“That is not what was asked,” Roscius says. Tarquin’s lips thin.
“The fiscarius’s office.”
The governor taps a finger. “Who?”
“Decanius,” Tarquin confirms. Reluctantly. “But not as idle gossip, Governor. A concern about how the news might affect commerce. If any unrest would affect supply, and therefore prices. He thought I needed to be prepared.”
“And did he indicate why he thought there would be unrest?”
“A young Emperor, untried—is there not always the possibility, under those circumstances?” Tarquin’s voice is firmer. “Especially far from Casil?”
“Always,” the general agrees. “Which is why there can be no whisper until the ceremony is done, and King Teris and his men returned to their capital.” He glances up at me. “You will ensure your sergeant understands.”
I make no sign I have heard. A thought has come to me, and if it has to me it must have to these men. We have built a gleaming new city. Casil’s gift to the Trakïyani. If I were a king, I would declare it my new capital. A foothold within Odïrya’s borders. A place to encourage rebellion, yes?
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The prince is going to need his wits about him.
To answer the question asked of me at the end, yes, I'd like a shiny new capital very much.