Empress & Soldier, Chapter 22, part 2
In which Eudekia exercises restraint.
The steward suggested several sets of rooms. I chose ones not too far from the front entrance to the palace, a larger room with two antechambers. One could serve as a waiting room; the other as a private space for consultation. Vines and birds decorated the walls, but the floor tiles were plain, except for a running geometric design. I liked their simplicity, and the light that came in from windows on one wall.
“They will be cleaned immediately, Empress,” the steward said.
I told him how I wanted them furnished. “Simple stools and chairs. Plain cushions. Nothing is to be elaborate, and nothing is to be new. Use what we have.” The message I was to send had to be consistent.
He bowed his understanding. I wondered what would be said among the palace servants, what the steward had thought of my plain tunic and barely-dressed hair. Nor was I wearing ornament, save earrings and the little cat around my neck. My grandmother looked more an Empress than I.
~
Over the midday meal, we planned. Nothing would happen until the ten days of official celebrations were done. But on the last day of the games, when Philitos and I were to attend again, we should be dressed simply. “Perhaps in undyed tunics, or brown,” my grandmother said. “Once, long ago, the dignitasi wore dark tunics not just to mourn their Emperors, but to indicate difficult times. A suggestion of that tradition might be appropriate.”
“Philitos is to speak in the Assembly the next day,” I told her. “He will set out the issues facing Casil, and our responses and expectations.”
“Then we begin to send our invitations.”
“Invitations?”
“There must be some reward for their cooperation,” my grandmother said. “Afternoon entertainments, small enough that you can speak to everyone, a conversation, not just a greeting. Oppelius’s Empresses were aloof, not mingling with the dignitasi except from the dais at state receptions. You will be different.”
Gatherings of women where I would be asked for favours. But that was what I was asking of them, too. No different than what I had done as a patrona: my influence in exchange for my clients’ support. I had learned that role; I could learn this one, too.
~
Philitos and I ate privately that evening. He’d had enough of other people’s thoughts and voices, he said. Over the fish in a coriander sauce, he asked, “Why did you leave?”
“I have nothing to contribute to military matters.”
He nodded a reluctant agreement. “I suppose. But I can tell you what concerns Genucius?”
“Of course.”
“The latest messages tell us the Boranoi are now attacking constantly along the Danós, using ballistae as well as small groups of raiders. There has been both significant loss of life and damage to the wall and forts.”
“Are they attempting an invasion?” The Danós had marked the border between Casil’s lands and the Boranoi for many years. Some distance north of the sea, a large tributary joined it; south of that confluence, the Danós broadened out. The Emperor Ulpius, generations before, had taken both sides of the river up to the confluence, bridging it there with an arched and turreted structure that was a continuation of the border wall. Watchtowers and forts guarded the eastern bank down to and along the coast.
“The general thinks not,” my husband said, putting down his utensils. “But off the coast there, close to the mouth of the Danós, are many islands. Genucius thinks, and your father agrees, that it is those islands they want, and if they weaken the border forces enough, can take with little opposition.”
I blotted sauce from my lips with a cloth. “Why do they want the islands?”
“For their navy, almost certainly. It is how we use them, as a base for our fleet in that arm of the sea.”
“What does Genucius propose?”
“That we double our ships and men there, to start. Since Qipërta has become quiet again, we have lessened the patrols in the area.” He drank some wine. “Quintus is unhappy with the expense.”
“What expense? Would it not just be moving ships and men from one place to another?”
“Genucius wants more ships built, so our naval presence anywhere on the Nivéan Sea is not compromised.”
I had no suggestions. This was beyond me. “What does my father say?”
“That we try diplomacy. The islands lie on both sides of the Danós’s mouth. Perhaps they can be divided.” He smiled, wryly. “Neither the general nor the fiscarius thought much of that suggestion.”
“Perhaps you should have married a Boranoi princess, merged our lands, and stopped the fighting completely,” I said. “Was there someone?” My grandmother had thought not, but did not the timing of this attack suggest a personal challenge? Or just a general—or a king—taking advantage of a young and untried Emperor?
“Probably some daughter or other could have been found,” Philitos said, shrugging. “But my heart was set on my Eudekia. Enough of the Boranoi. What did you do after you left us?”
“Tell me first. What will you do?”
“About the Boranoi? Follow both suggestions. Genucius can send more ships—we can take them from Sylana. There is no real threat there, especially as winter approaches. The lands to the west are empty, and raiders from the south will not cross the sea at this time of year. But I will also request their king send us an envoy, one with sufficient authority to negotiate a treaty for these islands.”
Diplomacy and a show of strength. I liked it, and told Philitos so. He grinned. “Your father said the same. Xache? Or a musician? Or both?”
“Music,” I said, “and I’ll tell you what I did while it’s being played.”
There were always two guards outside the door. One would relay the message to a boy waiting in the servant’s passages, and in a few minutes a musician would arrive. But before Philitos could stand, the outer door swung open after a cursory rap.
“Good evening, Emperor,” Quintus said. “Empress.”
“Fiscarius.” Surprise meant I did not hide my displeasure as well I should have. “Why are you here?”
He bowed. “I came to give you the names of potential secretaries, Empress.” He held out the list. I took it, but did not unfold the paper.
“Thank you,” I said, with what I hoped was a placatory smile.
“Sit,” Philitos said. “Wine?”
A perceptive man would have refused. Quintus did not. “You have chosen workrooms, I hear, Empress?”
“I have,” I said. “I was about to tell my husband about them.”
“And ordered the simplest of furnishings from the palace stores. You are taking this idea of yours seriously.”
“As do I,” my husband said. “We must act as we wish others to, Quintus. An army on campaign lives simply, even its officers. Consider this a campaign to save Casil from hunger and rebellion, and adopt the army’s way for a few months.”
“Fine sentiments,” Quintus said, “and fine words. Is this what you will say at the Assembly?”
“Perhaps. But you will be there to hear what I say and show your support.”
“Of course, Emperor.”
“Fiscarius,” I said, summoning courage. “I appreciate the diligence with which you completed this small task for me. Please do not let us keep you from your evening’s rest.”
He took the hint. Setting his wine cup down, he stood. “I wish you both good night. Emperor, thank you again for my nephew’s appointment.”
“He barely knocked,” I said to Philitos as soon as we were alone.
He exhaled. “He and I spent many evenings together before we were wed, Eudekia. He has been good company. Perhaps I allowed him a little too much freedom of my rooms.”
“We could have been—” I indicated the bedroom.
“I suppose so,” my husband admitted, his eyes creasing at the thought. “I will have a word, both with him and the guards.” He paused. “I have a sense that you don’t like our fiscarius.”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “I don’t trust him, I think. This list of secretaries—is this not so they will report my actions back to him?”
The surprise on Philitos’s face was genuine. “No! Quintus is an honourable man. He must be scrupulous in his dealings and his administration, to avoid the taint of his father’s treason.” Much what I had thought myself, only yesterday. But still…” Philitos took my hand to kiss it. “Quintus is younger than he looks, you know. That his hair is going grey already is a family trait, he tells me. He has been a good friend among the older men, and a good advisor, but I will ask him to give us privacy in the evenings.”
I smiled at my husband. “Thank you.”
He smiled back. “I’ll request the musician now.”
“What appointment have you given his nephew?” I asked, as he stood to go to the door.
“Sub-procurator in Qipërta. His mother, who is wife to its governor, is gravely ill, and not expected to recover. A transfer without an increase in responsibility; the man was sub-procurator in Odïrya, before.”
“That was kind.” My husband’s compassion touched me. Perhaps my view of Quintus was too influenced by my father’s. If he’d asked for this transfer for his nephew, he wasn’t devoid of feeling. I would watch and listen, and decide for myself.
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