Empire of Avarice (33 page)

“Ma’am,” Vosgaris bowed and waved at two of his guards
who placed their volgars against the wall and set to the job of removing the
corpse.

Isbel waited until the door had closed again. “The
empire has need of funds as you can understand, and our reduced size means
these funds are that much harder to find. Should we regain those areas lost
recently, then the potential tax revenues are many times greater.” She
remembered the very same words spoken by Frendicus a few days ago in a meeting
with him, and the taxman, standing quietly in an alcove off to one side,
glanced at her and his lips twisted briefly. Isbel stole a quick look at him
and smiled. She went on. “It is unreasonable to ask the poor to find these funds
necessary to repair the roads, to repair the public buildings, to provide wages
to pay for town watches at night so our citizens can walk them in safety, to
pay for a standing army necessary to keep our lands safe from foreign
aggressors, of which there are more than enough, and to pay for an efficient
civil service. Need I carry on with a list of things? So inevitably it falls to
those with the wealth to provide us with those funds.”

The men looked restless. They were itching to argue
against being taxed. Isbel waved her hands in their direction in a placatory
manner. “Frendicus and his taxmen have been ruthless, I know, and he followed
our orders to the letter. We needed an injection of funds to revive the
treasury, and thanks to his and his men’s efforts, we now have enough to last
the coming year.”

“So are we to be robbed again or will you call off your
canines?” Meldres Angian asked, his face stern.

Isbel tutted and waved a finger at him. “Frendicus is
not a canine; he’s a very conscientious man who takes his job seriously. We
have decided to levy a tax this year of one tenth on your estates. Thanks to
Frendicus’ office, we know what the extent of your estates are and their
value.”

“One tenth?” Vitlis Duras asked in surprise. They had
all been forced to part with one fifth the past year. “In times gone past,
before we revolted against the regime at that time, we were forced to pay one
quarter. One tenth? How can you run the empire on that?”

There was a rumble of agreement.

“Gentlemen, one tenth is more than we were getting when
we came to power.” They all fell silent, chastised. Isbel smiled to rob her
words of any offence. “We are at a point where we can start anew. The Koros
have cut back the civil service, the army is extremely small and we ourselves are
not taking funds from the treasury. We are relying on the income from our own
estates. Additionally, we will be seeking to exact one tenth from the temples. No
doubt the High Priest in Niake may protest, but if you have to pay, then it’s
only reasonable to expect the temples to do the same; do you not agree?”

They nodded and grumbles with ‘aye’s’. Isbel was pleased
with the way things were going. “To reward you for your support, you will all
receive Fokis land. We won’t completely take everything, and they will be left
with their family home and lands around Slenna, but all their holdings
elsewhere will be sold off to you. Frendicus here has divided those lands up
into equal portions, determined by their taxable value.”

“That must have taken some time to do,” Ebril Kanzet
observed. He’d calmed down sufficiently to be able to contribute to the
discussion.

“Indeed; we knew of the Fokis’ treachery for a while. There
are twenty-three parcels of land and the first eighteen are up for grabs to the
highest bidder. Of course, the winner will have to be aware that the land is
taxable, but Frendicus has worked out the values and what is their taxable
worth. You will be presented with an official grant of right over the land so
you can show the various foremen that you are the new owners.”

“And the other five parcels of land?” Thesan Lazisk
asked. “Who is going to get that?”

“The empire.”

“Not the Koros?” Thesan asked again, a slight mocking
tone in his voice.

“No, not the Koros,” Isbel replied softly, but with a
hint of rebuke. “We will not be rapacious while we are on the throne.” She held
Thesan’s stare until he looked away. “We have a duty to the people of this
empire. We wish to restore Kastania to its former glory. It will be difficult,
and our enemies are many. We can do without any internal squabbling that only
serves to sap our resources and energy. We need you all to do your bit. You are
to assist us in patrolling your own lands and alerting us to any rebellious
actions, invasions, incursions, lawlessness and so on. We will set up in each
province a militia to attend any such problem and to supplement the army in
facing an invasion should any come.”

“But the army is busy in Bragal and Lodria,” Guttan
Palanges pointed out. “And this militia will take time to recruit and train
up!”

“Agreed, Guttan,” Isbel nodded. “So until this is done,
we will rely on you to provide the men to patrol the roads of Kastania, in
regions where you have holdings and property.”

“And who is going to pay for this?” Thesan asked loudly.

“You are,” Isbel said and waited for the expected
response.

It came. There was an outbreak of protest. Men argued
amongst themselves, pointing fingers and waving towards the empress.

Isbel waited a few moments, then rapped on the table,
getting their attention. “You are being taxed far below the level you are used
to. And you will have greater lands to gain income from after this council
meeting. Far be it from me to tell you how to administer your lands, but I
would have thought you all would be able to spare a few coins to pay for
mercenaries to make sure your own lands don’t fall foul of bandits and
invaders.”

“We have groups that do that already,” Ebril pointed
out. “To patrol the roads would need many more men.”

“Not that many, and only this year until we start to
train people.” Isbel pointed to the map that dominated the room. “Once my
husband has subdued Bragal, those lands there formerly owned by you good people
will be returned to you.”

“But they will be devastated, and that will cost money
to make good!” Meldres argued.

“That is your own affair, not ours,” Isbel said, “and
the Koros have plenty of land there, as you all know, so we know all too well
what will be required to make those lands good. Prince Jorqel is in Lodria and
that province will be returned to the empire in due course, and those of you
with lands there will have them returned too. You see, gentlemen, we are
working hard for your benefit as well as for others in Kastania.”

The two families with most land in Lodria, the Kibatos
and the Nicate, had their representatives in attendance and they bowed solemnly
to the empress.

Isbel looked at them all. “Only with one mind and plan
can we successfully face the difficulties ahead. Our neighbours are looking at
what they believe is a corpse, ready for feasting on. We will show them that we
still have life and are prepared to fight to the death. The Koros do not intend
to be remembered as the dynasty that saw the end of Kastania. We trust that
your support will be unwavering and complete.”

Some grumbled while others nodded. Isbel didn’t believe
that she would gain their trust completely that day, but she had managed to
halt the move to oust her and her family and that to her was a major victory. In
one fell swoop their main enemy, the Fokis, had been defeated and the unity of
the other nobles, never a sure thing at any time, had been broken. She wasn’t
naïve enough to think that this was the end of it, and no doubt someone would
make a move some time in the future, but for now the nobility had been cowed.

The auction would also be an interesting exercise in
seeing just how much money the nobility had to throw around. It was certain
they hadn’t declared everything or had allowed everything of value to be seen
by Frendicus and his clerks. Isbel was beginning to enjoy being empress.

____

Slowly the mud spattered army approached Zofela from the
north-west. The land dropped down into a basin of cultivated land, served by a
single reasonably sized watercourse, and there on a bend in the river stood the
capital of Bragal. It was surrounded by a neat wooden wall and reinforced by
towers at regular intervals, and within this irregularly shaped surround stood
the buildings of Zofela, dominated by the rectangular wooden keep of the fort
in the centre, stood upon a high earthen mound.

Smoke spiralled lazily up from the chimneys of the
wooden huts and houses, and livestock was being herded into the town from the
surrounding farmland. Armed men could be seen patrolling the parapet inside the
wall, and even at the distance the army was, they could hear the bells of alarm
sounding. The Bragalese had been preparing the place for a siege for some time,
for the land around was stripped of any construction, where before, Astiras
knew, farmhouses and other single dwelling buildings had stood. Now all were
gone, as were the trees and fences that had stood there.

For a distance of perhaps half a league, everything had
been ripped up and only the bare earth remained. It was a shocking sight, and
one that filled the men of the Kastanian army with dismay. There would be
nothing for them to shelter behind, nothing for them to feed on. The emperor
sat in his saddle thinking deeply for a few moments, then with a deep sigh,
waved the men to continue. The single dirt road they were marching along
provided the only firm ground around. The rains of early spring had turned the
ground to either side into a sodden glutinous mess, and it was very difficult
to dry off. Time for that once a camp was set up.

They got to the edge of the devastated area and found
even the road had been destroyed. Astiras slowly rode out in front of his army
and surveyed the distant battlements of Zofela. “Very well, if they want to be
this serious about things, so will we.”

He snapped out orders and the men sprang into action,
ripping off the covers of the wagons and laying the contents out, spreading a
floor of neatly cut logs on the ground first, then erecting timber posts along
a line at the edge of the devastation. Slowly, over the afternoon, a fence
began to take shape. The emperor, now on foot, directed the building, his chief
engineer in attendance. Teduskis took one of the spear companies down towards
the river where they encamped. They put up their tents in no time and began
settling into camp life, putting up washing lines, starting camp fires, and
digging a perimeter ditch and mound.

It was mid-afternoon when a deputation from Zofela
emerged, holding a white flag. Teduskis, who had returned to the main camp,
called Astiras’ attention to it. “Sire, we have visitors.”

The Kastanian army stopped work and watched as the five
man delegation approached, wading with difficulty over the ruined landscape and
avoiding pools of muddy water. The land seemed nothing but churned up mud and
animal dung. Astiras motioned to the on duty imperial archer squad to cover him
and they spread out to each side, their weapons strung and arrows nocked, but
not drawn back or aimed at anyone. It wouldn’t take more than a few heartbeats
however to aim and loose.

Teduskis came to stand alongside Astiras, his sword
drawn and resting on his shoulder casually, but ready to use if there was any
sign of trouble. The mercenaries watched on curiously, but they weren’t invited
to the discussion so after a while they carried on with their camp-making
duties. The Bragalese deputation stopped just short of the new fence that had
been put up. There didn’t seem to be any openings for them to pass through, and
the two ends were some distance away.

“I bring greetings from my lord, King Elmar of Bragal,”
the messenger began.

“I do not recognise the title nor the name,” Astiras
snapped. “There is no king of Bragal.”

The messenger inclined his head regretfully. “My lord
has declared himself king of all Bragal and his subjects have accepted him as
their liege and overlord.”

“No they haven’t, you liar,” Astiras spat. “I’ve marched
through half of this flea-infested toilet you call a kingdom and have not yet
met any of these thieving murdering backstabbers of countrymen of yours who
even know who the heck Elmar is! He’s no king; no doubt he’s a warlord who’s
risen to the top of this dungheap by killing the most people.”

The messenger’s face darkened. “Sir, such disrespect
bodes ill for future negotiations between our nations…”

“Let me put this as bluntly as I possibly can, Bragalese
rebel! Bragal is a province of Kastania. I am your overlord and liege. Bragal
will never be an independent kingdom. I shall put to the sword every rebel and
traitor in this blighted province if necessary, and I shall certainly
personally disembowel that talentless usurper you call a king!”

The Bragalese deputation looked at each other in dismay.
“Sir, with respect, the people here wish for a free Bragal ruled by a Bragalese
born and bred leader. Your own people have admitted in the past that we have
the right to decide our own destiny.”

Astiras leaned on the fence and jutted his jaw out
towards the five men. “Shall I fetch the heads of all those whining cowards who
supported your ill-advised rebellion in the first place? I have personally
silenced every voice of support for your cause in Kastan, and in any case I am
emperor and decide Kastanian policy, not some whimpering fool in an office
somewhere. Now surrender Zofela to me and hand over that traitor Elmar for
execution, or I shall starve all of you out, and no matter that it may take a
few years, Zofela will fall and I shall encase your corpses in the new
buildings of this city after I burn every last damned house to the ground!”