House of Lust (13 page)

Kanzet turned to the rest of the Council.  “Gentlemen, surely an outrageous act can’t be ignored.  Why, even his own marriage is under strain – he no longer shares his bed with the empress……”

“That’s enough!” Astiras roared, springing back to his feet.  His finger was pointing directly at the mocking nobleman.

He was about to say something when he felt Isbel’s hand on his arm, and he turned in surprise.  She smiled at him, something that made his heart jump.  “Sit down, Astiras, I’ll take care of this.”

Slowly, dumbly, Astiras sank into his chair, looking up at the rigid figure of his wife.  She faced Lord Kanzet and spoke clearly, gently, but with a hard edge to her voice.  “Lord Kanzet, your rumour mongering does you no justice.  You spread innuendo and malicious untruths in a clumsy effort to turn the Council against my husband, a man who has done more than any of you, yes all of you, to halt the decline of this empire.  Yes, he has done an incredible service to Kastania, and has perhaps saved us all from a terrible fate.

“But this is nothing, Lord Kanzet, for you have been denied the chance to be emperor yourself, and you have never forgiven him or our House.  I recall the day well when you voluntarily revoked your claim to the throne, and I wager that a day has not passed since that you haven’t plotted to get even with the House of Koros.

“To that end someone has given you the means to undermine my husband’s rule, that of an alleged indiscretion – the whispers of which we have been aware of for a little while now, I admit it.”  She placed a calming hand on a spluttering Astiras.  “But I have made a vow myself; I shall not leave his side, I shall never leave him, for he is my husband and no matter how this rumour may hurt and harm me, I can find it in my heart to forgive him if they prove to be true, although you gentlemen will have to imagine how a wife might shape that forgiviness towards a husband who may have done such as has been rumoured.”  She smiled at the men sitting before her, and a few nodded and chuckled, and one or two cast pitying glances towards the emperor, sitting like a statue next to her.

Isbel went on.  “So Lord Kanzet, spread whatever nasty gutter talk you like, after all, it’s just about the level of your ability, is it not?  Snigger like a ten year old peering through the windows of a brothel.  Whisper your foul tattle into the ears of those who love to hear such stories.  It will not, I tell you, separate us.  We are together, and perhaps even more so than before.  I will though, hold against you your infantile conduct, for casting dirty rumours against me, my husband and my family, both here and in Kastan City.  You surely judge us by your own family’s sordid practices.  We will get over this disagreeable incident, and continue to rule Kastania as one, despite your efforts to the contrary, Lord Kanzet.”

“Hear hear!” Lord Pelgion, Elas’ father, stood and applauded, followed by Lord Varaz, and then other supporters of the Koros.  Gradually, most of the others stood and applauded the empress.

Argan looked at his mother in wonder, then at his father.  The emperor was still sitting as if carved from stone, but there was an expression on his face Argan had not seen there before, and he didn’t know what it was.

“Now, gentlemen, perhaps a recess should be held, for perhaps a watch, while we consider what has been said and when we reconvene, maybe we can get around to discussing affairs of state, rather than the heart?”

More laughter, and the nobles all stood as the emperor abruptly stood up.  They bowed as one, even Lord Kanzet, although his expression was anything but pleasant.  Isbel held out an arm to Astiras, who slowly took it, and she led him out past the bowing lords to the door, followed hastily by Argan, and three guards.

Outside, Isbel looked over her shoulder at Argan.  “Come with us, Argan.  You need to be included in this.”

Intrigued, Argan strode in the wake of his parents, neither of whom said anything more on the route to their chamber upstairs.  Two guards were ordered to stand outside and admit nobody.  Inside, both Astiras and Argan stood side by side facing the empress.  Isbel whirled on her husband.  “Now, Astiras, for once in your life, say nothing and listen to me, for the sake of the future of the empire.  Forget your ego, your bruised pride.  You have been extremely thoughtless and selfish, and you know it.”

Astiras’ face grew grimmer but he kept silent.  Argan had never known his father to be so.  It was unnerving.  “Mother – “

“Argan, you too, stand and listen.  Thank you for standing up for us in the chamber; that was a wonderful thing to do.  But we are facing something serious here, and we must stand together to show a united front, even if your father has not thought with his head.”  She glared at him again.  “Argan, promise me one thing; when you grow up into an adult you’ll be independent of thought, subject only to imperial orders from your father and I.  Whatever you do, don’t cheat on your wife, understand?  Can you see what distress it causes?”

Argan nodded.  “My wife?”

“I hope it will be Velka Varaz.  You have to go through the Betrothal Ceremony with her shortly.”

“Yes, mother, I know.  We can then be wed once both of us reach sixteen years, yes I understand that.  Father,” he turned to the emperor.  “Why did you do it?”

“It’s something you’ll never understand,” Astiras growled, uncomfortable about the entire subject.  “Why did you virtually admit it, Isbel?  Now everyone knows for sure!”

“Everyone knew anyway, thanks to that slime Kanzet.  But what I’d like to know is who told him?  And who told him we were not sharing the same sleeping chamber?”

“Our secretive friend here, no doubt.  There can’t be that many with access to all the information that’s going out.  Kanzet has only been here three days – and he came from Pelponia.  The news about the whole affair has only been out for five days, so he could only have heard of it when he got here.”

Isbel agreed.  “I hope Vosgaris finds out more in Turslenka.  In the meantime, you, dear, will have to find out what Kanzet was referring to about this rebellion in Frasia and that one of our family was implicit.  That could only be Elas or Amne.”

“Amne?  Don’t be ridiculous,” Astiras snapped, irritated beyond words.  “Elas?  Why?  Makes little sense.”

“Well someone appears to have told Kanzet something, so it would be worth your while to investigate that, wouldn’t it?”

Argan sighed.  “Can you two stop snapping at each other?  It’s horrible.”

“Argan, you’re a dear boy but when your father betrayed our marriage it hurt me more than words can describe.”

“Yes, father has been silly,” Argan looked up at his glaring father, “but everyone makes mistakes.  I’m sure he still loves you and that he would make it up to you if you let him.”

“Argan, don’t you start trying to excuse what he’s done.”

“I’m not, mother, I just want the two of you to stop behaving like a couple of fighting canines in the pit.  It’s upsetting and I’m tired of it.”

Astiras nodded briefly at Argan.  “Said with wisdom beyond your years, Argan.  I’m full of remorse, Isbel, and you know I still love you.”

“Astiras, mere words will not repair the damage done.  As I told everyone in there, I’ll stand by you, yes, but in private you and I will not be as before.  Your clumsy behaviour has seen to that.  Now, I won’t hear another word on this matter.  Argan, I want you to see who could possibly have spoken to Lord Kanzet in the past few days since he’s been here.  I doubt he’ll expect a boy of twelve to go asking about.”

“Isbel, it’s risky,” Astiras said, concerned.

“You heard him downstairs, he’s got the measure of that gutter sweeping,” Isbel retorted.  “Argan’s got many friends, too, and I’m sure one of them will come up with something.”

Astiras waved a hand in the air.  “Well go ahead, then.  It seems I have little authority where my family is concerned these days.”

“Argan, you may go now.  Reconvene in the Council chamber after the end of the current watch,” Isbel smiled.

Argan bowed formally to both and left.  He knew his mother was going to give his father a piece of her mind again, and he was grateful to be let out.  He went to his room.  Near the doorway he saw Istan and the two Bragalese boys standing round a smaller figure.  Argan frowned and pushed into the small group.  He saw it was Amal, trapped against a wall.  “What is all this?  Amal, are you hurt?”

The girl shook her head, but she was scared, he could see.  “No – they have stopped me from passing by.”

“Explain,” Argan turned on the three.

Istan smiled unpleasantly.  “Making a nuisance of yourself again, girl?  I was just talking to the slave.  She was not saying anything, so I might punish her for her behaviour.”

“You will not, ugly Istan.  Now go away and take these two piles of poo with you – they are smelling the whole corridor out.”

Istan scowled and stepped forward.  Argan thrust out an arm and sent Istan staggering back.  He looked at the two who had taken a step towards him.  “Touch me and you’ll hang.”

The two retreated, then stood waiting for Istan to say something.  The younger of the two princes wiped his nose across his sleeve.  “Come on, let’s leave the two girls to talk about flowers.” The three chuckled and left.

Argan watched until they had turned the corner at the far end before turning to the girl.  “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes,
Lakhani
, thank you.  They – scare me.  They are not nice people.”

“No they are not,” Argan agreed.  “Go about your duties but if they try anything again let me know.  It is coming to a time where those two need to be taught a lesson.”

“And Prince Istan?”

“He does not wish to learn; he does not want to listen.  If that is the case, he shall remain ignorant all his life.  You will not be able to argue with the likes of him.  I was told not long ago that you cannot argue with ignorance, and it is very true.”

Amal smiled briefly before making her way along the corridor, leaving Argan outside his door in a very thoughtful mood.  What was to be done with Fantor-Face?  He could take care of the two Bragalese friends of his younger brother, but Istan was another matter altogether.  No matter how many people he offended, upset or just plain terrified, he seemed to enjoy it the more.  Argan thought Istan was sick in the head.  There was definitely something wrong there.

He rested awhile in his room but he was too preoccupied with various things in his mind and got up.  He would go see where Kerrin was and speak to him.  He wandered the corridors and asked where the boy was, and got a few directions from people who had seen him a little while back, but nobody had seen him that recently.

Puzzled, Argan followed the last person’s directions out into the courtyard.  There were only a few people about, mostly guards, and nobody had seen Kerrin, but he hadn’t passed out of the gate because the guards there said they had not seen him.

Feeling lost Argan checked in the smithy, but the giant smith smiled and shook his head and went back to bashing the metal he would turn into shoes for the equines.  Argan’s ears cringed from the noise and he hurriedly passed on.  A short distance away were stables and some storerooms.  He looked into the stables.  Some equines were there eating hay or standing quietly, but there was a faint sound of groaning from the end, and Argan walked along the passageway to the last stall which had no equine in it.  What it did have, though, was the slowly writhing figure of Kerrin.

He had been beaten up very badly.

The thundering of hooves filled the courtyard at the rear of the palace in Kastan City, and dozens of riders dismounted to see to their mounts.  Prince Elas slowly got down and passed the reins to a stablehand.  No personal cleaning for him; he was far too senior to get involved in such mundane tasks.  Besides, he had a couple of matters to sort out.

He tugged off his gauntlets and strode into the office wing, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.  He swung into his office and unclipped his breastplate and greaves, throwing them onto a nearby chair.  A servant would sort them out and clean them.  He flexed his legs, easing an ache, and looked at his desk without much enthusiasm.  Two men stood to attention before him, petty officials in his bureaucracy.

“Go fetch Captain Lalaas immediately,” he commanded.

“Sire,” one man bowed and left swiftly, unsettled by the cold manner he had been spoken to.  Elas was normally cool but not often this frosty.

No sooner had he gone than Amne turned up, looking concerned.  “Did everything go to plan, Elas?”

“Indeed, save that Dragan escaped, curse his black heart.  His army is no more.”

Amne breathed out, closing her eyes.  “Then that’s the revolt finished with.  Dragan escaped?  How?”

Elas sat down heavily and stared into the distance.  He looked at the remaining clerk in the office.  “You may go, now.  I shall call you when I have finished here.”  He waited till the man had fled, then looked up at his wife.  “I was told you were the spy who obtained the information from him – by sleeping with him!”

Amne’s heart skipped a beat.  “Who-who told you?”

“He did, before the battle.  He seemed amused.  I have no reason to doubt his word.”

Amne said nothing, but her legs began trembling.  Elas truly scared her with his lack of emotion, but she always suspected there were powerful forces at work beneath his exterior.

“Nothing to say, predictably,” Elas said, almost to himself.  He straightened and looked straight up at Amne.  “If you were not the mother of my two daughters I’d send you to the Temple to remain there for the rest of your life.  You disgust me!”

Amne’s cheeks stained red.  “What else was there to be done?  Lalaas told me it was best to get the information out of him.”

“He put you up to this?”

“Well – he knew of the affair Dragan and I had some time back….”

Elas slapped his hand on the desk.  “I see everything.  I will deal with the captain now.  He is on his way here.”

“You will not, Elas Pelgion,” Amne burst out, her eyes narrowing.  “He persuaded me to fool Dragan – he thought if I offered to betray you, Dragan would take the chance and we would then know all his plans.”

“I do not like the fact you two conspired in all this and did not even think of including me!”

“You would hardly have agreed to me using my body to dupe that man, would you?”

At that point the door opened to admit Lalaas.  Elas curtly gestured him to stand before his desk alongside Amne.  “Sire?” Lalaas was forewarned by the look on Amne’s face.  “Dragan is defeated?  I heard that you were victorious.”

“Of course,” Elas waved his words aside.  “At present I am more concerned with your part in the whole sordid affair of having my wife act as a whore.  No matter it was to force the rebels to reveal their plans, I cannot allow this to happen.  You have overreached yourself, Captain.  This is unacceptable.  I demand your resignation forthwith, and you shall leave Kastan City – and indeed Frasia – and never return under pain of death, do you understand?”

“Elas!” Amne shrieked.

“Be silent, Amne!  You I have yet to decide what to do with.  I cannot and will not stand here while I am cuckolded.  I have warned you over your – propensity – towards other men.  I have had enough.  Well, Captain, do I have your resignation, or do I have you arrested, stripped of your rank and imprisoned here?”

Lalaas stood to attention.  “Sire.  If I may plead for mercy towards the Princess here….”

“No you may not and it will make no difference to my decision.”

Amne stepped up to the desk.  “I have something to say to you, Elas, and it will only take a few moments.  In private, Captain,” she said in a softer tone to Lalaas with a smile.

Lalaas hesitated, then bowed and left the room.  Outside, he stood waiting, two guards standing stiffly to attention, one to either side of the door.  He heard the faintest murmur of voices, but couldn’t make out what was being said.  Strangely, he thought Amne was doing most of the talking, which surprised him.  Elas hadn’t appeared to be in the listening mood, but with Amne one just didn’t know.

A few moments later he heard Amne call him in, and, with a beating heart, he complied.  He strode to the desk and bowed again.  Elas was sitting still in his seat, a curious expression on his face, and his cheeks were slightly stained red.  What in Kastan had Amne said to him?  “Sire?”

Elas looked up.  “The Princess here has appraised me of a situation I was unaware of previously.”  He breathed in deeply, as if to force the next few words out of his throat.  “Therefore, I have changed my mind.  You are to remain at your post here in the palace.”

“Sire,” Lalaas replied.  He looked at Amne who had a curious smile on her lips.

“Oh, Captain, don’t ask, it’s not your concern,” Amne said brightly.  “Just carry on as before, and none of us here will refer to any of this again.”

“Uh, yes ma’am.  Sire.”

Elas frowned, then stood up irritably.  “Yes – you may return to your duties, Captain.”

“Sire – do you wish to hear the report of the raid on the house this morning?”

“Later – the Princess and I have a few things to discuss and clear up.  You can go about your duties now.”

Lalaas bowed to both, then backed away and left, feeling confused.

Elas went round the desk and faced his wife, staring at her.  “You are a very complex and scheming manipulative woman, Amne.”

“I know,” she said smugly.

“You need to be shown that I will not countenance any more affairs.  To my chamber, now.”  He took Amne’s hand and led her out of the room and up to his chamber.  She was held tight and had to follow, being slightly alarmed at the pace he was making.  She could smell equine and leather on him as well as his sweat, and remembered he had not yet bathed after returning from battle.

No servants were in the two-room chamber and Elas shut the door sharply after he virtually dragged Amne into the room.  There were guards outside, but the door was well insulated and little noise intruded either way.

“Now, Elas, what’s this all about?  You practically pulled my arm off, you know,” Amne said with a nervous laugh.

Elas said nothing.  His face showed nothing.  He took hold of her and swung her around, dragging her into the bed chamber.  He threw her onto the bed, then picked up a riding stick that usually rested untouched on a side table.  “I will show you, Amne, how I treat a cheating wife.”

“Now, Elas, if you harm me my father will hear of it and he won’t…”

Elas fell onto her, pinning her to the bed sheets.  He knelt on her arms so she could not wriggle free and began unfastening her jacket, and then her bodice.  “I never have the patience to discover how to unfasten or fasten a woman’s attire.”  He tugged at the clothes and parted them, freeing most of Amne’s bosom.

Amne struggled to no avail.  “You
kivok
!” she hissed impotently.  “Is this what you call love?”

“No, I feel no love towards you, Amne,” Elas breathed, then suddenly rose from her arms.  Amne raised them but he slapped them aside, spun her round and roughly half tore her clothes from her back, and threw them across the room.  Her back was now revealed to him.  He pulled up her skirt and exposed her legs. 

“Elas,” Amne said in desperation, “please…”

“Silence, Amne, I am master here,” and he pulled off her under clothing.  Her buttocks were now jutting up and he grabbed the stick.  “Here begins your lesson in knowing who your husband is,” and he sent it across them.

Amne screamed in pain.

Elas held her down on the bed with one hand, kneeling in between her legs, keeping them apart, and began beating her across the buttocks and then back.  He didn’t strike her as hard as he felt like, but just enough to inflict pain.  He did not want to disfigure her.

Amne tried to kick but her legs were too far apart to do anything with them, and her arms couldn’t reach round to stop her back or buttocks being struck.  Tears ran down her face, in both pain and shame.

Then, when the beating stopped, he stepped back and looked down at her, his expression unreadable.  Finally he sat on the edge of the bed looking at her, looking at the red welts across her back and buttocks.  “Now,” he breathed hard, fighting to bring that under control, “every time you try to betray our marriage, this is what you will receive from me.”

Amne sobbed, curling her legs underneath herself, turning her back on him.  She hated him.

“If you want the precious Captain Lalaas to remain here, then you will behave yourself.  I may not now send you away to the Temple, and I must remain married to you, but you will come to learn to obey our marriage vows, and not spit at them as you have done so up to now.  No more liaisons.  No more affairs.”

He stood up and placed the stick on the table alongside the bed.  “You will remain here tonight.  I do not wish you to see anyone else until your duties demand you do on the morrow.  In the meantime I shall arrange for a bath to be run for you.  You will clean yourself up, for I do not wish you to display the marks of your punishment to all. ”

He left Amne alone in the bedroom.  She bit her lip, fighting the waves of pain from her many marks.  The pain from her back and behind competed for dominance.  Not only was it the physical pain she was fighting, but the emotional pain, too. Elas had shown that he would no longer tolerate her affairs, but she was trapped in a loveless marriage, and she needed love, she needed someone to love her.  Up to now she had been sure he would do nothing, and only a short while back when she had told him why he couldn’t dismiss Lalaas, she had thought she had finally broken any hold he may have over her.  It had, though, proven illusory.  Elas had turned the whole thing around and now she was the one lying broken on the bed, and she knew that she would – or even could – not leave him, for if that happened it would be the end of everything she had been working towards these last few years.  The horrible thought struck her.  Elas probably had realised that and now knew he could treat her in such a brutal manner with no fear of consequence.

If only Lalaas was there with her now; she needed him even more than before.

____

Lalaas was, at that precise moment, making his way down the stone steps in the depths of the palace.  Here were rooms that none of the imperial family dared to visit, and only members of the palace guard and security normally would be found here.  Screams echoed up through the stonework and Lalaas winced.  He was not at ease with the machinations of the interrogators of the palace dungeon, but he was realistic enough to know they had their place and now was one of those occasions.

A few guards were passed and then he came to a barred gate that was locked.  Beyond this point there were none of the palace guard, only the permanent members of the dungeon, either the jailers or those jailed.

The looks on the faces of the jailers was different to those of the guards in the palace.  Here Lalaas could see depravity and sadism.  People like that always got jobs like this.  These people would have either got employed as jailers or ended up inside one as an unwilling guest, such was the way of things.

His skin crawled as the gate opened to admit him.  The first jailer bowed and scraped, a wide grin across his filthy face.  Most of his teeth were either missing or blackened.  “Has he talked yet?” Lalaas asked the grotesque figure, which was dressed in some sort of leather tunic, with bare arms and a pair of hose that might have once been clean but hadn’t been so for probably a decade.

“Yes, master,” the jailer bobbed his head eagerly, wishing to please the tall, handsome man.  He looked with interest at him and wondered if he could tie him down to one of the interrogation tables and have his free way with him, but decided it was an impossible wish, for he would end up being cut into pieces and fed to the palace canines.  Such a thing had been done before, after all.  “He is in the first room.  Come with me.”

Lalaas reluctantly followed, one hand on the hilt of his sword.  He toyed with the thought of striking the repulsive creature down, but knew he/it was only doing his/its job.  The first room’s stout wooden door was ajar and brightly lit with torches.  The two entered and Lalaas took a deep breath to control his guts.

There was a table in the centre of the square chamber, a strong dark wooden one, with leather straps to hold the wrists and ankles.  Dried blood lay across the surface and the smell of blood and sweat washed over him.  To one side was a chair and sat in this was a shivering, sobbing figure.  The servant who had been Dragan Purfin’s contact.  Arrested the night before, he had been in the tender hands of the interrogators for nearly a full day.  He wore nothing above the waist, and his chest and arms had multiple marks on them, evidence of whips, brands and edged devices.  It was a mass of red and black.