Empress & Soldier, Chapter 17
In which Druisius is uneasy.
THE STARS TELL ME morning is not far off. I lock the gates behind the officials and their guards. Inside, Tarquin has not gone to bed. I pull out a stool, sit without asking. I have been standing for many hours.
“A question,” I say. Tarquin closes his eyes. His face tells me he does not want to answer.
“Ask,” he says, without opening them. He rests his head on one fist, his elbow on the arm of his chair.
“The king. Teris. Why would he not make this city his capital?”
Tarquin’s hand moves to rub his brow. His lips twist, a familiar expression now. “We hope he does.”
I think about this. They have plans. Good.
“Easier to watch him.”
“Much.”
“Servants?” I ask. “Minor clerks?”
He nods. “And the usual Casilani envoys to an ally. Neratus will be given one of those positions.” He looks at me. “The general would be displeased I have told you.”
“Captain,” I say, acknowledging. He almost smiles.
“You know,” he says, “if you’d acquired a little more polish, I might have suggested you for a clerk’s post, dealing with trade. You have the skills. Both sets.”
“Good you did not,” I answer. A clerk? Dealing with tariffs and weights, taxes and licences?
Tarquin does smile then, but he shakes his head as he does. “Don’t waste your intelligence, Druisius. We will be leaving here soon. Think hard about what you want to do.”
~
In the morning light, Teris and his men cross the river. A repeat of yesterday, with different uniforms. The same boys on roofs. A formal welcome, by the prince and the governor. Baths and the banquet.
The king speaks good Casilan, as do the men he brings with him. He speaks approvingly of the mosaic floors. They show scenes from an ancient story, I gather. Teris and the prince discuss this at length. The governor, too. And Julia, surprising me.
When I lock the gates, I am on the street side. I wait until the sound of feet fades, the litter-carriers and the guards. Then I turn in the other direction. I will circle around, approach the consul’s house from behind.
The night is not quiet. It never is. But I know who should be out, and who should not. I see no one who should not be. Until near the consul’s house. Gathered at a fountain are several boys. Apprentices, or that age. They should be locked inside their masters’ houses, or their fathers’. But I was not, at fourteen. The night calls to these boys too.
I watch, from the shadows. Listen. What I hear I do not like. They are comparing knives, boasting of balance, of the edge the metal will take. I would have grinned and moved on, before.
Silently I move away. Turn along a small street and into another square. Whistle and wait. The city guardsman does not take long to join me.
“Druisius?” His voice is low. “What?”
I explain about the boys. “You know them?”
He nods, a movement in the dark. “They’re just boys, taking advantage. They don’t have to get up early in the morning for once. No one’s working tomorrow, except at the bread ovens and the tabernae.”
“And us.”
He chuckles. “Are you part of the close guard?”
My assignment. Behind Tarquin and Julia on the rostra. Where I can watch the crowd. I tell him this.
“Then why are you out prowling in the dark? You’ll be standing for hours tomorrow. Go get some rest. I’ll see to those apprentices.”
I thank him. Then I leave. I should rest. If this unease I cannot name will let me.
~
A crowd fills the square. Officials and prominent men closest to the rostra, their supporters close by. Lesser men and women behind them. My body is still, but not my eyes.
The sun is high, the day hot. I glance at Julia. Sweat glistens on her neck, among the tendrils of hair. Beside her Tarquin sits motionless. I see the tension in his shoulders. The governor has just begun to speak.
He praises the city. Mentions Tarquin by name, indicates he should stand. The crowd roars, arms raised in applause or salute. The heat of alarm rises in me. The sway of bodies means I cannot track movement. Tarquin sits again, but the people below still shout and shift. The governor calls for silence.
My heart pounds. Something is wrong, but I do not know what. Or why I think this. Soldiers line the square. The streets around it are patrolled. I am one of ten close guards on the rostra. More immediately below it. Half are our men, half belong to Teris.
The prince rises, strides forward. His men become even more alert. The governor steps aside, does not sit. Roscius stands on the prince’s other side.
The prince is dressed as a soldier, in gleaming armour and a short cloak. He could be the Emperor. Some in the crowd will think he is, I guess. He stands tall, well-muscled, confident. The people hush. He speaks of Casil’s history here, his voice carrying. Of errors made in the past, and of renewed good will and trust. He turns, hands spread in welcome. Asks Teris to come forward.
A ripple in the crowd, when he speaks of past mistakes. Like the trickle of water from a drain, quickly lost in the river’s flow. The king steps between the prince and the governor. He too is armoured and cloaked. On his head a circlet of gold and garnets.
Some in the crowd kneel. Some push others aside. For a better view, or to be closer to their king. My hand moves to the hilt of my sword. The same movement from the other guards. Below us, the soldiers in front of the rostra take a step forward, shields up.
Teris raises a hand to the square, palm out. Then cups his hand, turns it outward again. Men and women stand. The shoving stops. Silence, almost. My throat is tight, dry. I try to swallow.
The prince spreads his arms. “For the everlasting honour of Oppelius, Emperor of Casil, Father of the Casilani, I name this city Oppelorium.” He gestures. The crowd turns. Banners fall from the arch, revealing the words carved into the marble. “And in the name of the Emperor, I grant Oppelorium to Teris, King of Trakïya, to be part of his lands forever.”
People cheer, but not all. Some make sounds like growls, fists held high, thumbs down. Voices raise in anger. My sword is out now. The guards in the square are moving, shouting.
On the distant roofs figures rise. I see the circling arms and the slings they swing, and then the first of the bullets begin to strike. But either their aim is poor or this barrage is not meant to kill, and as l look down into the panicked crowd I see the knives out, figures pushing toward the rostra. Guards surround the prince, the governor, the king, but Roscius has his sword out, shouting, and for moment I think he will turn it against himself and then my head clears and I move.
I grab Julia under her arms, force her to her feet. Shove the chair aside, drag her away. She is screaming, fighting me. I hold her with one arm, sheathe my sword. Then I pick her up like a child and run.
Find my books at Scarlet Ferret or other on-line bookstores.
Those slings and arrows...