Empress & Soldier: Chapter 20 part 3
In which Druisius makes an agreement.
When I report to him the next day he is not alone. The man with him is not a soldier. Medium height. Grey at the temples. Soft. An office man of some sort.
Quintus, I am told. From the fiscarius’s office. I have heard his name before. Decanius’s uncle.
I am to continue to meet the street sweeper. Encourage his plans. Suggest that during the wedding celebrations, all guards will be needed in the streets of Casil. Then Quintus looks at my commander. “If you would?” he says. It is not a question.
My commander leaves us. Closes his office door. “I have read the letters the general Roscius brought,” Quintus says. “The recommendations that you join the palace guard.” He pauses. “They suggested you be assigned to the new Empress.”
I say nothing. Wonder who suggested this. Letters, he said.
“But,” the man continues, “they spoke too of other skills. Which your commander here has verified. At least your ability to gather information.”
“Sir,” I say.
“I will be blunt,” he says. “I need men who will work for me, but not openly. You would stay in the palace guard, but on the streets. Your commander says you like night patrol.”
“Sir.”
“I might sometimes ask you to do certain things. Special assignments, perhaps guarding an important visitor.”
Nothing I have not done before. Less, although I think he will ask for more, later. When he is sure of my silence. My loyalty. Not that I have reason to give it.
He sees my indecision. When he speaks again his voice is lower. Colder. “There were several letters regarding you, Druisius. The general and the governor wanted you rewarded for what you did in Oppelorium. So did your captain. The fourth letter was from my nephew. Decanius.”
I meet his eyes. Let my jaw tighten. “I have the Emperor’s ear, and his trust,” Quintus says. “Tarquin is disgraced, it is true. But Philitos likes to give men second chances. Your cooperation could assist with that. Or I could use my nephew’s letter to cover you with the same dung as your captain. Which would you prefer, soldier?”
This man is corrupt, but then they all are. If I say no, what happens? I could be discharged. To do what? Be a trader? The business could not take me, a soldier guilty of dishonesty. It would harm Marius’s reputation. And had my commander asked, not this official, I would have agreed.
So I grin. Or try to, but my lips feel as if they twist. As Tarquin’s did, after our visit to Serdik, and his meeting with this man’s nephew. Still, I say, “I like special assignments.”
“Good. I will inform your commander. For now, you continue with the instructions given earlier.”
###
WHEN THERE IS TIME I take the toy boats to my nephews. Vita sends the servant for more water, fills her biggest pot. The boats float. The boys poke at the toys to make them move, laugh. So do I, at their pleasure.
Marius returns from the harbour. The boys bring him the boats, dripping water on the tiles. He admires them, but sends his sons away. Asks Vita for wine. He looks troubled.
We sit in the big room, alone. “What is it?” I ask.
“The last ships brought so little grain.” He drains his cup. I rise to fill it again. Vita has left the jug on a low table.
“What happened to you?” Marius asks. “Your leg?”
I glance down. See the bruises. “Sword practice,” I say. A lie, but the truth is not for my brother. A new friend. From Sylana, once. Casilani, now.
“I thought you were better than that.”
I shrug. “New techniques. For controlling crowds, yes?” I fill his cup.
“The palace expects riots?”
“Hungry people,” I say. “Hire more guards.” He nods.
“And will get hungrier, I am afraid.” A finger taps against his cup. “Maybe not just from the drought.”
He tells me what is being said at the port. Ships leaving the southern harbours, laden, but not arriving in Casil. Sailing close to the coast on the other side of the Nivéan Sea. Going where?
“Qipërta?” I suggest.
“Not according to our agents there.” He too has spies. Informants. Merchants must. “Zirin told me men came to the small ports in Cyrenis, looking for boats and crew. Paying very well.”
Something illegal, then.
“The drought is widespread,” he says. “Sylana reports the grasslands are very dry. I would guess north and east, too.”
North and east are Boranoi lands. Commerce with Casil’s enemies is forbidden.
“Who?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. The men who were asking for boats were Cyrenisi. But who they are working for? Maybe themselves.”
“If you hear more, you let me know, yes?”
He gives me a hard look. “You keep my name out of it, Druisius.”
I will, I say. Vita comes to tell us the food is ready. We eat, a tangy stew of chicken and chickpeas. Food of her homeland, and very good. Tadius falls asleep in Vita’s lap, clutching his wooden spoon.
A good life. One I visit. Not the one I live.
###
THE PATROLS ARE BUSIER NOW. More cutpurse theft, more fights. Extra men guard the bread ovens, and the carts delivering to markets and tabernae. The city is restless, angry, hungry. A bad time for imperial display, I think. But the Emperor Philitos is marrying, and so there must be processions and games.
I stand with many other guards on the procession route. Acrobats and dancers. Carts with statues of past emperors and gods. Then the fabled troop of women archers, riding before and after the carriage carrying the Emperor and his bride.
The carriage is high and open. So they can be seen by the people. Who are expected to cheer, for the Emperor and his generosity. Today, and all the ten days of celebration, bread is free, yes? No one will be hungry. All will praise Philitos and Eudekia.
That is what is meant to happen. Probably will, here in the city. At the port tonight, a different matter.
Sweat runs down my back. I am meant to keep my eyes forward, to pound the ground and hail my Emperor as he passes. But my eyes do not stay still.
So I watch her longer than maybe I should. Her hair still gleams like new copper, dressed with pearls and green gems. Graceful now, not thin and knobbly. Smiling, at us, at the Emperor, at the world. My feet and voice do the same as the guards beside me, but not with thought. The second time I have seen her.
They are past. Now it is the second troop of horse archers. Then another carriage. Her father, I think. I wonder who rides with him. Important men.
I am listening now. Crowds follow the procession. Shouting, cheering. I hear no discontent, no defiance. There is bread, and there are games.
Will my absence be noticed at the port tonight? I assured my streetsweeper friend I would come. “If I don’t drink too much, yes?” I’d added. “I hear free beer as well as bread.”
He’d snorted. “Don’t count on it. It’ll be watery piss, anyhow, if there is.”
The warehouse most distant from the others is to be set on fire. A distraction for the guards. Who will leave their posts to fight the flames, free the closest ships, stop the spread if they can. Leaving the granaries unguarded. So the thieves think.
Soldiers will be hidden somewhere. Was I in charge, I would put them in the granaries. Knives, the dark, a trap. Men will die tonight. No blood on my hands. This time.
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