Empress & Soldier Chapter 24 part 2
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“Eudekia?” My husband’s voice brought me back to the room. “Have you any thoughts?”
“Invasion is the simplest answer. What is another?” See all the possible moves, my father had taught me over the xache board. Yours and your opponents.
“A wish to increase commerce, for which they would need better river routes and a better harbour,” my father said immediately. “But why? It suggests a surplus commodity, and what would that be?”
“Or a new one,” Philitos said. “Perhaps a source of gold, or even precious stones?”
“Both are easily transported,” I pointed out, then realized my mistake. “But what they buy with it might not be.”
“Especially if what they buy with it are mercenaries.” Philitos grimaced. “It has never been an easy peace. I cannot believe that conquering Casil is not the eventual goal, whatever the interim moves may be.” He turned—we all did—at the sound of the door opening.
“Here you are.” Quintus bowed. “Good morning, Emperor, Empress. Varos. Did a message to me go astray? I was aware of no meeting.”
“A history lesson,” my father said. “Nothing for you to be concerned with.”
“I suppose not,” Quintus said, “as Roscius is not here either. I am surprised to see you, Empress. Is the Emperor so uxorious he cannot review the fortifications of our borders without you?”
“That is enough, Fiscarius,” Philitos snapped. I stopped myself from speaking with difficulty, hot anger rising.
“A joke, Emperor. I presumed too far.” Quintus spread his hands, his fingers wide. His head dipped. “My most sincere apologies to you both.”
It had no more been a joke than I could fly. “I have kitchen accounts to review,” I said. “Will I see you for the midday meal, Philitos?”
“No. I will have time only for a snatched meal; the list of petitioners I must see today is long, as tomorrow will be taken up with the Boranoi envoy’s arrival. A private dinner, I hope.”
I smiled my acceptance and left, without a glance at Quintus or an acknowledgement of his apology. I had to tolerate him for my husband’s sake, and for his position in the palace. I didn’t have to like him.
Reviewing the accounts took some time. I questioned a few purchases: what seemed like an inordinate amount of vinegar; the high price of onions, the low price of salt. The steward had answers: vegetables were being pickled; drought made for smaller onions, and ships short of grain had filled empty spaces in the holds with salt, which had been easier to make in the dry conditions, so the price had dropped. Satisfied, I dismissed him.
I stretched. A little food, and later, the baths. I had ones for my use alone, with a garden too. My monthly bleeding had kept me from them for a few days, but it was over. I hoped, with a twinge of anticipation, that Philitos would have time for a private evening.
Yesterday I had told Matea to bring me no more benedis in the mornings. We’d been married for ten weeks, and Philitos wanted an heir. A son—any child, but a son particularly—would help him be seen as a mature man, not the boy some still saw.
My next thought provoked a smile, and then a laugh. Would being a great-grandmother change Avia at all? I doubted it, somehow.
~
Avia found me on the massage table, being kneaded into relaxation. “I have learned something interesting,” she murmured in my ear. “If I may use the baths, come and talk to me when you are done here.”
“You don’t need to ask.” She went to undress and wash before soaking in the hot pool. My muscles well-worked, the attendant smoothed a spicy unguent into my skin.
“Thank you,” I said, when she brought my tunic. I slipped it over my head. The attendant tied my sandals. I went through to the hot room, a slight steam rising off the water. My grandmother sat, her head back, on the submerged step that ran around the periphery of the pool. Another attendant stood discreetly in a corner.
I dismissed the woman and sank down onto the tiles of the floor, sitting cross-legged. My grandmother opened her eyes. “What a lovely scent.”
“Concocted just for me. I have lotions and perfume and even soap.” I’d had enormous fun with the artisans one afternoon: Hermia’s suggestion. Genucius’s wife was becoming a good friend. “What did you learn?”
“Perhaps nothing. But apparently Quintus’s wife is unwell. Dying, it is rumoured.”
“And he is not going to her?” Even estranged, should he not make the public gesture?
“He is too busy being entertained by some of the dignitasi with marriageable daughters,” my grandmother said drily. “And those I am certain are fishing for a betrothal are all among the families who showed their defiance to austerity.”
“That makes no sense,” I said. “Quintus is scrupulous in his adherence to Philitos’s wishes, once they are clear. He argues, yes, but an advisor must. Once a decision is made, he accepts it.”
“Publicly, at least.” My grandmother sat up a little straighter in the water. “And perhaps even in reluctant practice, but at the same time courting the favour of those who oppose the Emperor. Help me out, child?”
I extended an arm to her as she stepped out of the baths. For a minute she stood on the tiles, slightly unsteady, her hand still on my arm. “Are you all right?” I asked.
“Just a moment of dizziness, from the heat and perhaps too much wine.” I reached for her shoulder. “Don’t fuss. Send the attendant in to help me dry and dress. Then go and discover your husband’s reaction to your new perfume.”
~
Philitos was distracted at dinner, his mind clearly still on the day’s events. He had dealt with a complex boundary dispute for a good part of the afternoon, but that was not what worried him. “The report that came this morning spoke of significant damage to the border wall from the Boranoi’s ballistae,” he told me. “The garrisons have good engineers, but the men cannot repair and defend at the same time. Roscius suggests recalling the regiment from Oppelorium for the sole responsibility for both repair and strengthening of the defences. Their captain is disgraced after the riot there, but he is by all accounts a superb engineer.”
“But they will take weeks to arrive.”
“Yes. More soldiers are needed to strengthen the numbers and allow the garrisons to assign some men to the repair. We cannot risk a breach. The regiment that has assisted here must be sent, Roscius says, even before Genucius returns. But—” He emptied his wine cup. “That weakens the city.”
“More guards will be needed,” I said.
“More horsewomen, too for the roads and river patrols. But that is more expense.” He shook his head slightly. “I don’t know what is best, Eudekia. Regardless of your father’s concerns, taxes may have to be raised. I wish—”
“Wish what?”
“That my father had given me more responsibility before he died,” he said, a bitter tone to his voice. “Or that he had lived longer. I am not ready to be Emperor.”
“And yet you must be,” I said, reaching for his hand. “You have good advisors, and I am always willing to listen.”
“For which I am most grateful.” He turned my hand over, running a finger along the veins of my wrist. “You listen and you distract, and just now I need distraction. Do you think you could oblige, my Eudekia?”
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Quintus is turning into such a good villain.