Empress & Soldier, Chapter 22, part 1
In which Eudekia must implement a plan.
“TOO SIMPLE FOR AN EMPRESS,” Matea protested when I instructed her to dress my hair as she always had.
“I prefer it,” I said. “And a plain tunic, too.” Her tongue clicked in annoyance, but she did as I asked. The tunic was new, one of many my grandmother had ordered for me, but its design and decoration were not ostentatious—and not the purple of royalty. That I would wear for state occasions only. I preferred the browns and greens I had always worn. Matea was fastening the cat amulet around my neck when Philitos joined us. He too was dressed in a simple tunic. We had work to do.
Contentious work, I quickly realized. Lines between my father’s eyes told me he was displeased even before we were seated.
“I asked for solutions to our depleted treasury,” Philitos said, once we were around the table. “Fiscarius, what have you to suggest?”
“The simplest recourse is to make the coins smaller,” Quintus said. “Only a small adjustment saves significant silver.”
“Smaller, or thinner?”
“Emperor, I must protest.” My father spoke tiredly, as if this was a reiteration of an old and unresolved argument. “Merchants weigh coins. They cannot be fooled so easily.” Silently I agreed. The merchants I had dealt with had been intelligent, observant, careful men.
“Then we mix the silver with a baser metal,” Quintus countered. “Size and weight remain the same, or nearly so. And not in Casil, only in the provinces from which we buy grain. A temporary measure, Emperor, that is all.”
“As long as the army is paid with proper coins,” Genucius said.
“Army pay is a large outlay.” Quintus tapped fingers on the tabletop. “Savings there would help.”
“I won’t risk a mutiny over pay.”
“Then perhaps their rations could be adjusted? Not less food,” he added, at Genucius’s frown, “but even providing a different quality of oil—a third pressing, perhaps?—would reduce costs.”
Genucius chewed a lip. “I still think taxes should be raised.”
My husband had said nothing. He sat, chin on hand, listening. No one spoke: they were waiting for a decision. Under the table, I touched his knee.
“The coins in the provinces only,” he said. “And whatever can be done about army rations within reason. But no change in taxes.”
I watched the three advisors. My father’s lips had thinned, indicating his displeasure with Philitos’s decision. The fiscarius looked pleased, and the general impassive. His comment about raising taxes had been a nominal suggestion, nothing more. Further taxing those who grew our food and provided goods and services to Casil would be enormously unpopular, a dangerous move early in a young Emperor’s reign.
“Is there not a way for the dignitasi to pay more?” I asked.
“Tax our own class? Empress, that would be politically unwise.” Quintus spoke as if I were a child interfering in adult issues she didn’t understand.
“Not taxes.” The thoughts developed as I spoke. “A plea to their responsibility as leaders of our city and empire, to reduce the lavishness of their lives for a season or two.” I indicated my tunic. “I was brought up to live simply, for all I am—was—a dignitasa. Our dress was simple, as you see my father’s is. Our food was beautifully prepared, but simple. If we—the Emperor and I—set an example, monies saved can be used to buy grain for the people. The dignitasi families could do the same.”
“But this would impoverish the merchants from whom we buy.” The fiscarius wasn’t hiding his disdain now.
“Not impoverish.” Genucius leant forward. “They too would have to tighten belts, but they would survive. It is what is done when a regiment finds itself in harsh conditions. Officers lead by example, as the Empress suggests. I have never feasted while my men starved. The idea has much merit.”
“The Emperor and Empress of restraint,” Philitos said. “I like this very much. We will let the people have their games and celebrations, but I will speak to this in the Assembly afterwards. Varos, your assistance in crafting the words will be appreciated.”
“Speaking is one thing,” Quintus said, almost crossly, “but how is this idea implemented? You cannot compel the dignitasi.”
“As an officer does.” Genucius’s weathered face turned to Philitos. “Soldiers are led by example, and from the front. When times were bad, I made sure the men knew I lived little better than they, and I walked among them almost daily, speaking words of commiseration and encouragement and praise. A role perhaps the Empress could take among the dignitasae women?”
“And you and I with the men?” Philitos asked eagerly.
“As our time and responsibilities permit,” the general said. “But it is likely the easier task; it is the women who direct the households, after all.”
I touched the amulet at my throat, the symbol of the goddess of domesticity. Was I to be the Empress of domestic matters? I imagined Clelia’s horror at being asked to restrain her spending, her near-outrage. And yet she would, if the palace—if I—set the fashion. She and many others, and those who baulked at first would be shamed by the others into compliance. This could work.
“Empress?” Quintus’s voice was patient, but exaggeratedly so. He must have spoken once before.
“Fiscarius?”
“You will need a secretary. Perhaps I might suggest someone?”
My instinctive answer was ‘no’. “You may suggest,” I said. “Two or three. I will interview them.” And accept none of them, most likely. I would find another way to employ a competent assistant.
“If we are done with these arrangements?” Genucius glanced my way. “Forgive me, Empress, but there are matters to discuss to do with the security of the city.”
“What has happened?” my husband snapped. “And why was I not told immediately?”
“The situation has been controlled.” Quintus again, smooth and reassuring. “The guard had it well in hand. A plot to rob the granaries at the port. It was not successful.”
“The guard had warning?”
“Yes, Emperor. Whispers in the tabernae, overheard.”
My husband flicked an eyebrow upward. “Then we were lucky. Are any of the men alive?”
“No, Emperor. They were well armed, and fought hard.”
“A pity,” the general said. “An interrogation might have been informative, and a public execution instructive.”
“They were nobodies,” Quintus said. “Streetsweepers and the like with a stupid plan.”
“Poor men who were well-armed,” Genucius said drily. “A contradiction there, Fiscarius. Perhaps a military presence at the harbour would reassure the merchants.”
By law, not just tradition, troops could not be employed within the city, a protection against generals whose ambitions included the throne. The harbour was outside Casil’s walls and so the soldiers could be used there, as they had been these past few days at the gates and the roads leading into the city, supplementing the horse archers. What Genucius had suggested was legal, but still a challenge to the imperial guard—and the man who oversaw them.
Quintus’s nostrils flared, but he maintained his temper. “Perhaps briefly. There is precedent, after floods or fire, and a warehouse was burned. The local commanders can organize it, but there must be a clear division of responsibility.”
“That can be arranged,” Genucius said. I had the sense of an undercurrent between them I didn’t understand. Wasn’t Quintus being overly cautious? Perhaps it was just the manner of man whose work was the finances of an Empire. And, I reminded myself, a man whose father had broken the laws of that Empire, and died for it. Caution was to be expected.
“The deployment may well need to be brief, in any case,” the general said. “A message reached me early this morning with news of increased attempts by the Boranoi to take islands in the eastern arm of the sea, Emperor. More troops may need to be sent.”
“Do we have a map?” Philitos asked. My father rose.
“I will fetch one.” The rolled maps were stored in a case at the end of the room. His eyes met mine and flicked away. I stood.
“I will assist you.” At the map case, I untied a vellum roll and held it out for my father to see. Not an Empress’s job—the scribe should have done it—but who could gainsay me?
“Eudekia,” my father said, very quietly. “Excuse yourself from this. Leave the military matters to the Emperor.”
“He may object.” I rolled the incorrect map back up and tied it.
My father handed me another. “And that is why. He must be seen to make his own decisions.” I held the map up. My father nodded. “Philitos starts his reign with adulterated food and adulterated money. Both will cause him problems, I believe. To be rumoured to be overly advised by his wife would be unwise. You have your sphere of influence now. Do not undermine his.”
~
Philitos had frowned his—not displeasure, but confusion, I thought—when I excused myself from the council. I stepped out into the corridor and turned towards our rooms. A guard fell in step behind me.
I returned to our rooms only because I had no real idea of where else to go. The palace was enormous, and I’d seen very little of it: the large public reception rooms where our wedding feast had been held; the corridors that led to the Arénas; Philitos’s workroom and our private space. I needed a tour.
Matea appeared almost as soon as I entered our rooms. There were hidden passages for the servants and guards running between some walls, so that they could move around the palace discreetly and quickly. She’d clearly been shown them.
“A drink,” I told her, “please. Is my grandmother still in the palace?”
“Yes, Empress.” I’d been Eudekia to her all my life. I wanted to tell her to use my name, but I knew I shouldn’t.
“Please send someone to ask her to attend me.” Attend me? I was already slipping into imperious language. “Join me,” I amended.
~
“You look worried, child.” My grandmother sat beside me. Matea had brought a sweet wine, and small honeyed cakes, something I would have to change were we to set an example of restraint. But that was not for today.
“Not worried,” I said. “Perplexed.” I told her what had been proposed at the advisory council. “Where do I start? I know I need a secretary, and an office or workroom that is mine. The fiscarius offered to find me a secretary—”
“No,” my grandmother interrupted. “Any secretary proposed by Quintus will report back to him. I do not like the man, but the reach of his intelligence gatherers is impressive. What he foreknows, he can influence.”
“I don’t like him either.” Whispers in the tabernae, overheard. It stood to reason Quintus had spies among the guards. Something to discuss with Philitos later. “How do I find a secretary?”
“Leave that to me. A eunuch, I think, so there can be no talk. One from a household of a prominent dignitasi family, so the honour of the appointment reflects on them.”
“You think of everything,” I said.
“Years of experience, child. Now, send for the steward, and we will find comfortable rooms for our work.”
“Our work?” I went to the door, spoke the guard who stood outside.
“Unless you do not want my help?”
My grandmother not only knew all the families, but all the complex relationships of marriage and politics that caused both concordance and animosity among them. She would be the best advisor I could have.
“Don’t you want to go home to your villa?” I asked, and then, because I was a woman of experience now, “and your steward?”
She laughed, a rich, knowing sound. “At my age, the delights of the bedroom are less insistent. Renatus can wait.”
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