Empress & Soldier Chapter 25
In which Eudekia asserts her authority.
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I HAD NOT BEEN READY to be Empress, either, but my responsibilities were lesser, and easier, and with my grandmother’s guidance and the friendship of Hermia my confidence in my new role grew. Genucius returned from his reconnaissance grim and determined, the grain shortage worsened as the winter deepened, and the decisions Philitos had to make left him uncertain and anxious. His advisors often disagreed, Quintus standing against my father and Genucius more often than not.
The days my husband spent listening to petitions, whether they were from landholders or merchants, seeking judgement on everything from property disputes to contract violations, he enjoyed. From what I was told—or overheard—at my entertainments, Philitos was gaining a reputation as a fair judge, listening to both sides, weighing evidence carefully. Exactly what I had hoped he would be. But when the matters were greater, his confidence waned.
“If I could think of the war with the Boranoi as just another argument over a boundary,” he said one morning, before we’d even risen for the day, “I would find the decisions I must make easier.”
“Can you not think of it that way?” I had just returned to our bed. Pregnancy meant I visited the latrine far too often. I lay beside my husband. His hands were cupped behind his head, allowing me to nestle against his chest.
“Boundary disputes do not cost lives,” he said, “or threaten an entire empire.”
The talks with the Boranoi envoy, Atulf, had gone nowhere. The man was pleasant enough, his manners sufficiently polished for the palace. But his instructions had been clear: the border must be moved to the western side of the river. The Danós and its delta, and the islands scattered below it, were Boranoi territory. Acknowledge that, and the fighting would stop.
“Even the Emperor Adricius did not relinquish the eastern bank,” Philitos said. Adricius had withdrawn from lands his predecessor, Ulpius, had conquered, determining many of the borders Casil still maintained. To the east, at least. The western provinces—if they’d ever existed—were only stories. Maybe the sea had swallowed them, the way legend said other lands had been lost. “I have read his arguments, and he writes of the strategic advantage the river would give the Boranoi. Who am I to reach a different conclusion than Adricius?” He placed a hand on my swelling belly. “Alekos deserves to inherit an intact and prosperous empire.”
“This may be Alekosia,” I pointed out.
“If it is, there will be an Alekos in another year or two.” Under his hand, the baby kicked.
We lay in contented silence for a little longer, but we both had work to do. My day was more leisurely, though, so I was still wearing my sleeping tunic and robe when Matea announced my grandmother.
“Avia! Why are you up so early? And dressed for travel?”
“I am going home. I must.”
“Home? Your villa? Has something happened?”
“The villa, yes.” She sat on the second stool. “There has been a fire. It has been so dry. Sparks from a cooking fire began it, they think. All my vines are gone, and there is some damage to the house.”
“Oh, Avia.” Tears sprung to my eyes. “Your beautiful house.”
“The damage can be repaired. The vines were decades old, making excellent wine. They are the real loss.” Her voice shook a little. “I must go to see for myself, and decide what to do.”
“Of course you must. But you will come back?”
“In time for the birth,” she said. “I promise, child.”
I smiled my thanks. “My father knows?”
“He made the arrangements. The message came early yesterday evening, but I would not disturb you. The carriage is waiting, so I will say good-bye.” She stood, offering her arms. I hugged her. If the baby was a girl, perhaps we would call her Venustia.
“Travel safely,” I said. What a terrible thing to have happened. I hadn’t asked about injuries or deaths, but I thought my grandmother would have been even more upset if any of her people had been injured or killed. I would ask my father, just to be sure.
~
KYRAN WAS COMPILING a guest list for my next entertainment when I arrived at my office. I began my day with my correspondence. The letter on the top of the pile was from Ennaia.
‘I trust the nausea has passed,’ she wrote, ‘now you are past the first months. Have you thought of names, if it is a girl? Honouring the Emperor’s mother might be wise, perhaps? I wish I were in Casil to attend your entertainments. My mother says your example of restraint in food and dress is such a relief. She doesn’t have to try to outdo the other women now. Your decree is not yet taken seriously here. An official letter could be sent, maybe?’
Ennaia’s letters chattered like her speech, but she made a good point. The administrators of towns should be following our lead, reducing their expenditure on lavish living. I would speak to Philitos, as well as composing my own letter to the wives of the highest ranking official of each town.
“Kyran.” He looked up from his work. I told him what was needed.
“I will draft it now. Or do you want the invitations done first?”
“The invitations. I cannot send the letters until after I speak to the Emperor.”
He nodded and returned to his list. I picked up Ennaia’s letter again.
‘We hear the border dispute with the Boranoi is not settled, and that the battles go on. Not all here are pleased with the Emperor’s approach. Some say he does not send the men needed to win a decisive victory because he does not know how to lead an army, but others say that is why he has generals. A few think he wants to placate the Boranoi, make them allies. Some approve of this. Others do not. I am glad Kaeso is not an Emperor or even an officer. His decisions are much easier.’
I dropped the letter on my desk, one hand spread over it as if to hide its contents. Just Ennaia, relaying gossip. Some say. Who? I couldn’t ask Ennaia; I couldn’t trust her to keep it to herself. My grandmother no doubt could discover who was speaking against Philitos, but she was on her way to her villa. Could this wait until she returned?
No. That could be several weeks, and I would not add to her concerns just now. The obvious person was Quintus, who had at least nominal responsibility for some of the regional administrators. Yet…
I did not like him. More importantly, my grandmother had intimated that he was actively ingratiating himself with families who also thought poorly of Philitos’s decree—at least his request for austerity. Did they also disagree with his handling of the Boranoi?
Leave the military matters to your husband, my father had said, and my grandmother had agreed. Would either have told me if there was opposition?
Philitos was hearing petitions today. My father would be free. He would have to tell me, if I asked. “Kyran,” I said.
“Yes, Empress?”
Did I want to compel my father? Because no matter how gently I phrased my request, it would be the Empress asking, not his daughter. My secretary waited.
“Ask the fiscarius to attend me, please. As soon as he is able.”
~
Quintus took his time. I had read the rest of Ennaia’s letter—stories about her children—and finished my correspondence before he appeared. He made his usual half-bow. “Empress? How may I assist you?”
“Sit, please.” When he had, I said, “I am told your wife is unwell.”
“Unfortunately, yes.” He did not elaborate.
“Is it a serious illness?” Philitos had told me recently of a physician newly arrived from Tisiras but already winning praise for his skill. He’d suggested retaining him for the birth. I told Quintus the man’s name. “Perhaps this doctor should consult?”
“I would welcome it,” he said. “Gnaius, you said? I will send for him today.” He sounded sincere. “Thank you, Empress. I dislike having my personal affairs interfere with my work, and I am sorry you have been troubled by this.”
“I understand you have not been to see her? Your dedication to the palace does you honour.” I hoped he could not hear how difficult that was for me to say. “But your wife deserves your attention too, does she not?”
He nodded—in agreement or only acknowledgement of my words? “I had engagements I felt it impolitic to break. But if this new physician agrees to see her, I will travel with him to our villa.”
“Those engagements.” His chin went up, just a little. “Were they the ones with families who oppose the Emperor’s leadership in matters of personal fiscal restraint?”
Quintus’s lips tightened. “Among others, yes.”
“What takes you to their tables, Fiscarius?”
To his credit, his eyes did not drop. A muscle danced in his jaw. “I expect your informant has suggested I am looking for a second wife,” he said. “That is what I led the families to believe.”
“But you are not.”
“Not at this moment. But at their tables, once replete with food and wine, I hear their thoughts. If I seek a wife among them, it is reasonable to think I too disagree with the Emperor, and so they talk freely.”
By force of will I kept my hand from reaching for a tendril of hair. He was misleading these dignitasi to gain intelligence?
“Does the Emperor know this?”
“Not yet. I am still gathering information.”
Did I believe this? Quintus sat across from me, relaxed now, almost affable. Philitos trusted him. Perhaps—against my gut instinct—I should too.
I handed him Ennaia’s letter. “The first half only, as I am sure you are not interested in the antics of my friend’s daughter.”
He read quickly. “I see,” he said, handing the letter back. “Your friend is young, I expect. Is she prone to exaggeration?”
His implication—that I was too—straightened my back. Stretching the truth, I said, “Ennaia is reliable. I believe action is needed, Quintus.”
A blink at my use of his name. “Action has been taken. Letters were sent from my office to the appropriate magistera of the towns. Both the instructions to reduce private expenditure and how funds gathered were to be used were conveyed.”
“From your office? Not in the Emperor’s name?”
“Only in the usual way, Empress. All edicts from the palace are in his name.”
And so it was no more than a line early in the instructions, a formality. The palace issued dozens, if not hundreds, of edicts every year. Many were simply ignored.
Quintus was not long in his position. A simple mistake born of inexperience?
“I suggest another. This one with my husband’s signature and seal.”
A slightly raised eyebrow. “Should that not be his decision, Empress?”
“As I am sure it will be, when he is informed. Shall I do that, or you?” My gaze did not waver. This time, his did.
“I am his advisor. It is my responsibility.” Another implication, this one more cutting than the first. I would not allow it.
“Do not presume it is not mine too, Fiscarius,” I said coldly. I rose, indicating we were done.
He stood immediately. “But you will soon have other responsibilities,” he said. “If the gods are kind, a future Emperor to nurture and protect, while your husband nurtures and protects his Empire.” He bowed. “Thank you for both the information and the name of the physician, Empress. Your concern for my wife befits your position and is greatly appreciated.”
I managed a polite nod; if I spoke, I would regret it. I sat again before he’d closed the door; as if in response to my swallowed rage, the baby was kicking, hard. But I’d accomplished what I’d set out to do, and, I realized, the anger I’d kept inside had helped with that. It had focused me, made me harder, unforgiving. A good thing I’d suggested the physician early in our conversation, or I might not have. Whatever I thought of Quintus, his ailing wife should not suffer because of it.
She had enough of a burden to bear, being married to him. I imagined my grandmother’s chuckle of agreement. Then the amusement fled. Not only had Quintus not deigned to visit her, but he was also using the rumours of her impending death to make the dignitasi of Casil believe he was searching for a replacement. What man would use his wife in such a way? Had he any conscience?
None, my gut told me. Which meant his request to send his nephew to Qipërta had had nothing to do with the man’s ailing mother, but had been to serve some purpose of his own.
~
I did my work, but the question of what I should tell Philitos nagged at me all day. Was Ennaia simply exaggerating? In the end I decided I had to show him her letter, now I’d involved Quintus. It was late before we were alone; we’d entertained friends to dinner. Lamplight cast flickering shadows on the walls of our room. I watched my husband read Ennaia’s words, a frown on his face.
He laid the letter down. “There are always those who think they know better, who could rule more effectively. Did you speak to Quintus?”
“Yes. Should I not have?”
Surprise crossed his face. “Why would you think that? You had information you believed at least fairly reliable, and he was the appropriate advisor to deal with it. I was just wondering if it was why he came to me with official letters to sign today, directed to the magistera of the towns. Clearly it was.”
“I am pleased to see he acted so quickly.” I hesitated. “Philitos, why were the original edicts given so little emphasis? Surely Quintus should have known that without your signature they would not be taken quite seriously.”
My husband’s mouth twisted. “The fiscarius has a great deal of responsibility, Eudekia. Perhaps too much. I wonder if he needs more staff.”
I should have known he’d defend his friend. Maybe he was right. I had one further question. “One of his responsibilities is gathering information, isn’t it?”
Philitos smiled. “Yes. At many levels. Not just among the dignitasi, but from the guard, and the merchants, and even in the provinces and towns. Sometimes with the army’s help, but not always.” He rolled his neck, stretching his shoulders. “All Emperors need this sort of intelligence.”
Then why had it taken Ennaia’s letter and my intervention for the fiscarius to act on something he must have known? Philitos was tired; I could hear it in his voice. And so was I. Morning would arrive in a few hours. I’d bring it up again at a better time.
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