House of Lust (55 page)

All the main road intersections were to be covered in the market quarter and the main routes through and out of the city.  Fifty men would be on duty at any one time, and all members of the garrison, militia and regulars, would be included.  With absences and illnesses, there were enough men to cover eight watches.

Argan left the papers on the table and ordered the guards to let nobody in.  Then he went to his room.  Amal was there, his washed clothes nicely folded and ready to put away.  He divested himself of his clothes and she took them ready for the next day’s washing.  She led him to the small side room that acted as a washroom.  The metal bath had warm water in it and he stepped in, sighing as the warm water coated his skin.  She slipped off her clothes and began washing and scrubbing him.

“Busy day tomorrow, Amal,” he said, his eyes shut.

“How so?” she said, concentrating on his lower stomach. 

“This agent of Slavis has been seen – we’re going to try to find out who he contacts, and hope it leads us to the man himself.”

“Oh – do you really think you’ll find him?  Everyone’s worried he will attack and kill us all.”

Argan huffed.  “He won’t kill us Amal, that’s scared talk.  He’ll fail, and we’ll take care of him.”  He stopped, aware that yet again, his
moklar
was swelling.  It always did this at the most embarrassing moments.  Why it did that he didn’t know, but it was growing and sticking out of the water.  “Agh, silly thing,” he muttered, eyeing it in dismay.

Amal smirked.  “You men, always thinking of
that
,” she said.  “I never touched it!”

“I know, and I wasn’t thinking of
that
,” he said.  “In fact, I don’t really know what that is!  Everyone seems to know except me.  It does it at any time, I don’t even know when it will happen.  It’s so annoying!”

She clucked her tongue.  “Metila tells me that its part of you growing up – its practicing.  At least that’s what she tells me about normal men.  I suppose you’re the same as them?”

“Well I haven’t got the markings of the imperial flag on it,” he said acidly, then they both laughed.  “Honestly Amal – I might be eating at lunchtime and then it goes – up.  I can’t stand up it’s that hard!”

Amal doubled up laughing.

“Growing up can be a pain at times,” Argan observed.  “It does it if you do touch it, yes, but it does this anyway.  I’ll wash it – silly thing.”

She tutted and put a wet finger to his nose.  “I’m washing you so that means even that.  Anyway, its hard now so it doesn’t matter, does it?”

“I suppose not,” Argan agreed.  “It doesn’t bother you?”

“Not as much as it seems to bother you, Argan.”  She wet the cloth she had and applied it to his loins.  She rubbed gently, not wishing to hurt him there.  It did seem much harder than before and his breathing was becoming ragged.  She looked at him and his eyes were glazing over.  “Argan?”

“Oh, Amal – ohh!” he cried out and suddenly something happened that surprised both of them.  They looked in amazement for a moment, then at each other.  “What – what happened?” he asked, going red.

“Oh – I think – at least I seem to remember Metila telling me – that’s what happens at the end of having sex.  Did that hurt?”

“No,” he shook his head, “I quite enjoyed it.  Ugh, what is this stuff?”

Amal wiped it up, fascinated.  “I’ll throw this cloth away after cleaning you up.”  She observed him growing softer.  “Yes, it does seem to sort that problem out,” she noted.

“Mmm, yes.  That’s never happened before.  You think it’s another sign I’m growing into a man?”

“Yes, I think so.  Here, let me dry you.”  She dried him as he stepped out of the bath.  After being dried properly he slipped on a pair of light short leggings, cut away at the thigh to enable him to use them as night wear.  It was getting colder now and he put on a light shirt and got into bed.

She disposed of the water and cloth and joined him, snuggling up to him, a big smile on her face.  He put an arm round her and cradled her against his chest.  “You’ll protect me, won’t you, Argan?”

“Yes, I won’t let anybody hurt you, my little Amal,” he said without thinking about what he was saying.

Amal looked at him and kissed him.  “I like you saying that,” she said.

“What – ‘little Amal’?  Hmmm, I never even thought about what I was saying.  You like it?  Good, I’ll say that then.  I suppose I’m growing much taller than you now.  My fifteenth birthday is next sevenday.  Yours is just after, isn’t it?”

“What we celebrate as it, yes.  I still can’t remember when it really was.”

He lay there thinking for a while, and Amal looked at him, wondering what it was that was on his mind.  Finally she asked, not being able to contain her curiosity any longer.  He gave her a serious look.  “I don’t think we ought to repeat what happened this evening again.  At least until we’re old enough.”

“Oh?  Why is that?  I thought you said you enjoyed it.”

He nodded, then hugged her briefly.  “No – what I mean is that I’m troubled by it.  We’re not of the age yet, and I don’t want to get into a habit of doing things I shouldn’t.  As a prince I really should be an example to people, and doing things like this at our age isn’t good in Kastanian society.”

She looked into his eyes, the low light of the bedside lamp making it hard to see him clearly.  “If you wish it, then that is how it’ll be, but don’t go worrying too much, my lord.  It is something private between us.”

“Yes I know but my conscience doesn’t let me do things I shouldn’t.  Please, Amal, at least until you have had your Growing Through time, and I’m a year older.  Then what we do is our business as we will both be adults.”

“I understand.  I will be your pleasure slave and I will promise to pleasure you the best I can.”

Argan stroked her soft cheek.  “You’re no slave, Amal.”

“You are my master and what you will I shall obey.”

“You shouldn’t have a master just because you’re a woman and a Bragalese one at that.”

She looked over his face before replying.  “I would have a master whether I was with you or not.  If I had grown up in Bragal and lived a normal life, then I would have probably been the wife of a peasant who would have wanted me to clean out his house, his children and his animals while he enjoyed himself with other women, or fought someone or stole from them.”

“You are very insulting of Bragalese men; if a Kastanian said that other Kastanians would tell him off.”

“I know, but I’m right.  I know.  I’d rather be the slave of a prince of Kastania rather than the wife of a Bragalese porcine.  I have a warm bed, food in my tummy, a roof, safety, comfort, love.  It makes me happy.  It makes me more than happy to be your slave.  Don’t moan about slavery this and slavery that.  I want to be here like this.  Women like Metila and I are very lucky, and we don’t want that to change.”

Argan kissed her hair and held her tight, enjoying the feel of her against him, her body warmth, her scent, the intimacy of this girl who had declared her love for him.  He didn’t know what it would mean for him in the future, but he didn’t want this to end. 

____

The next morning Argan was up and about early.  He hadn’t been able to sleep that well, even with the girl sleeping alongside him.  It wasn’t Amal who had disturbed him, it was the worry and excitement of the hunt for the spy of Slavis.  He worried that his first piece of action would end in failure, and he would lose the respect of both Thetos and himself regarding his own abilities as a leader.

Amal said nothing.  She merely went about her duties, kissing him tenderly on the lips before she went about preparing the food from the kitchen.  A letter had arrived from Zofela and Argan read it at breakfast.  It was from his mother.  She asked the usual mundane questions about him and how was he coping.  Then she made a point of telling him she was concerned about him having Sasia (she still called her that) as his personal servant.  She stated she felt it was inappropriate for a prominent member of Kastanian society to have a female servant that close to him.

Argan snorted.  Mother was being over concerned.  He wasn’t going to tell her that they now slept together every night; she would be horrified and would no doubt send down a regiment of soldiers to keep the two of them apart, maybe standing guard all round Argan’s bed.  All very silly, of course.  He sighed.  What to do?  Sooner or later his mother would find out.  Then what?  What would happen when he got to sixteen?  Could his mother still command him to do as she bid?  He supposed she could, as an empress ranked second in the empire.  Or was it third?  Did the heir outrank an empress?  He would have to find that out – imagine not knowing that!

He would have to write back to her.  He absently ate his breakfast, drawing a concerned look from Amal who was serving all those sitting at the tables.  She saw that he was staring intently at a letter.  Was it trouble?  She hoped not.  Nothing really upset her master; he always seemed to laugh off or at least smile at any trouble.  He was quite sensible and level-headed.  She would ask him later – in an indirect way, for the personal post of the imperial family was not any of her concern.

Argan folded his letter and stood up.  Kerrin was already waiting for him.  Argan signalled to him to wait by the door.  He smiled to Amal and then caught up with his bodyguard.  Amal breathed out.  It didn’t seem too bad then if he was smiling at her.

“The Hall, ‘Rin.  I want to see the plans of the officers before we go on with another long sword practice lesson.”  There were two guards at the door and they assured the prince nobody had gone in all night.  Reassured, Argan led Kerrin into the room and stood in confusion.

The tables were bare.  There were no papers or parchments or scrolls at all on them.  There was however one noticeable feature that caught their eyes.  One of the windows was wide open.

Somebody had been in, after all. 

His return to Niake had been uneventful, but Vosgaris was eager to resume work as soon as possible.  He knew the eyes of the Koros were upon him, Astiras and Isbel from Zofela, for differing reasons, Amne from Kastan City, for obvious ones, and Jorqel to the north, for more important ones.

Evas was not pleased to see him; he clearly resented the presence of the military commander but he was powerless to do anything about it.  Prelek’s dismissal was a running sore with him, and although Vosgaris hadn’t interfered with the appointment of his replacement by the governor, it was abundantly clear that should the commander not approve of him he could well arrange for the new advisor’s dismissal too.  Evas knew this was the trouble with making the military too powerful; they dominated the running of civilian affairs even to the point of being the de-facto rulers themselves.

This was why the Fokis and Duras had worked to reduce the influence of the army.  They saw the danger of having too much power in the hands of a few people who were not of the ruling elite.  It upset the whole order of society.  He had worked so hard to make Niake and Bathenia a moderating influence in Kastania, not to take any sides, to maintain a balance, but now that had all been swept aside and the province was in the hands of a minor nobleman under the direct command of the emperor with a large armed force at his behest.

“How were the emperor and empress?” Evas asked in as neutral a tone he could muster.

“Much better, Governor.  The emperor was very much like his old self and the empress was in good health.  They send their compliments to you, by the way.”  They hadn’t – and in fact Astiras’ words had contained some best not passed on, but Vosgaris deemed it prudent to keep the irritated governor as sweet as he could.

The new advisor, a small, pale individual in a badly fitting jacket and baggy leggings, stood impassively.  He was a lawyer by profession, but had been finding work hard to come by of late and had been in the council buildings when Prelek’s ‘descent’ had occurred.  He had queried the legality of what had happened but had been told to shut it fast.  Evas though had been impressed by the fact he had questioned what had happened and had appointed the man that day.

“So – what are your intentions for the rest of the year?”

“Exercises, frontier policing, road guarding.  We need more outposts.  This province is sadly lacking in them.  The soldiers have been allowed to get soft and fat for too long doing nothing, and I’m going to turn them into the fittest, healthiest men in the entire Kastanian army.  That, Governor, includes your militia.”

“But what about the policing of the city?  You can’t take them all out and leave us here unprotected!”

“Relax, Governor,” Vosgaris sighed.  It was hard to deal with a man as obdurate as Evas at times.  He took things so literally.  “The militia will deal with the city and the lowlands, the roads between here and Aconia for example, and the regulars further afield.  Niake will have sufficient members of the militia to protect even you.  You’ll be relieved to hear I will be out and about more often than not so you can continue to govern without my presence distracting you.”

The advisor stirred.  “The Governor here should be able to govern with or without your presence irrespectively.  Your remit is, am I correct, restricted to the military of this province?”

Vosgaris nodded.

“Then governing this province is not your concern.  If the emperor is not pleased with the way things are run here then it is up to him to decide, not you, with all due respect.”

“With all due respect,” Vosgaris smiled, rather unsettlingly as far as the two men were concerned.  “Yes.  Respect.  You know, Lord Kanzet showed me little of that at the Council meeting.  Ebril Kanzet, you have heard of him?”

Evas and the advisor said they had.

“I cut him down in front of the emperor and the Council.  The House of Kanzet now has to appoint a new head.”

Both men paled.  Evas rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a small cloth and wiped his forehead.  The advisor shifted his attention from Vosgaris to Evas and back again.  “And – by this you imply that should we fail to show due respect to you our fate would be similar?”

Vosgaris knew he had no real power to do so, but it didn’t hurt to show the two men he was capable of it.  “I enjoy the full confidence of the emperor, else he would not have appointed me here in this post.  I have been discussing directly with Prince Jorqel these past few days the need to enforce a combined military reaction force here in the west, and he has the fullest confidence in me, too.  I have the absolute backing of both the empress and Princess Amne, and Prince Argan and I are very good friends.  He will, as you both are aware, no doubt be taking up an appointment here in a year or so.  Therefore you should be mindful of your duties, rather than worrying unduly about mine.”

Evas stared at the tanned, confident man before him, cursing him under his breath.  “I am entitled to complain about your conduct, Commander.”

“Then do so.  I would be interested in the response you get.  Write to Prince Jorqel in Slenna, or Prince Elas in Kastan, or even the emperor himself.  Tell you what – write to all three.  They’ll no doubt be delighted to hear of the lack of confidence you have in their appointee.”

The atmosphere in the room could have been sliced by a sword.  Vosgaris smiled again and stood.  “I am dining out this evening; I have an appointment.  I shall, regretfully, not be eating with you.  No doubt that will be to all of our relief.  Good day.”

After he had gone Evas swore and looked out of the window.  He found no comfort there.  The sight of even two soldiers idly making their rounds through the square made him feel as if he were in a prison of some sort.  “I shall write to the emperor,” he said, “and make it clear I am not happy with his attitude.  It won’t hurt to make my feelings clear, and who knows, it may result in our dear commander being reined in a little.  I may even suggest that I be permitted to regain control over the militia, as I am concerned about the power Commander Taboz is wielding, and he could with such numbers even possibly come to challenge the power of any other force in Kastania.”

“A good idea, Governor,” the advisor concurred.  “Use an emperor’s paranoia against the very people he appoints.  A wise move indeed.”

Thus encouraged, Evas picked up his quill and prepared to compose a letter to Astiras.

Later that evening Vosgaris knocked on the front door of the Kalfas home.  Demtro had got a promise out of him to visit the day he got back.  Clora had been pestering him incessantly, and so Demtro had given in and left a note for the commander which he had read the moment he had got back.  Vosgaris had no doubt that Demtro would have known about his presence even before he had returned.

Clora answered the door and she caught sight of a tall man with dark hair, a broad chest, clear blue eyes, a trim half-beard and a rugged but handsome look.  He wore a cloak with the imperial insignia upon it, and behind him a short distance away stood two guards.  She curtseyed.  “Commander Taboz, I presume?”

“Please, Vosgaris.  You must be the delightful Clora.”  He extended his right hand.

She took it and he kissed the back of her hand.  She smiled.  “Please, come in.  What about your two companions?”

“They are on duty,” Vosgaris said, and signalled for them to remain on guard outside.  “One cannot be too careful these days, you know.  Someone of my position is a nice fat juicy target.”

Clora showed him in and shut the door.  “A big, strong man like yourself, Commander?  Oh, sorry, Vosgaris?”

“Even one as big and strong as me,” Vosgaris grinned and looked at Clora in the light of the hall.  He liked what he saw.  Red hair piled up and curled in the latest fashion, fixed with pins and a band, whitened skin thanks to pricey powder and cream – Vosgaris had been around the palace long enough to recognise expensive cosmetics by now – oval green eyes, a wide mouth but not unattractive, full lips and a straight, strong but not large nose.  Classic western Kastanian.  She came up to his chin, slim but well proportioned.

“Vosgaris?” she asked, noting his gaze.

“Just looking over my host,” he said, unfastening his cloak and passing it to her.  “I’ve heard you are a beauty and I’m not disappointed.”

She smiled, revealing a full set of teeth, one or two teeth slightly crooked, but nothing to make him regret her smile.  “And you are very handsome, Vosgaris.  Demtro tells me you’re quite a lady killer.”

“Ah those tales are hugely exaggerated I can assure you.”

Clora scoffed and led him to the middle reception room where Demtro stood to welcome him.  They shook hands.  “About time we had you round for dinner, Commander.  Clora here has been making my life a torment; she has been dying to meet you.”

“And glad of that I am, too.  Your wife is absolutely delightful.  You’re a lucky man, Demtro.”

“I like to think so,” he said, pleased.  “She’s become quite an expert cook, too.”

Clora kissed him on the cheek.  “Only because he wanted someone to cook, wash and tidy up after him.”

“And leave him to concentrate on the more important aspects of life, no doubt, such as causing the governor trouble,” Vosgaris commented.

They laughed and sat down.  “So, how was Zofela?”

Vosgaris brought them both up to date.  Demtro looked impressed, and also thoughtful.  Clora hung on to every word in fascination.  “I can’t believe you’ve actually met both emperor and empress.  It’s something I’ve always wanted to do.  Oh, I’ve met Prince Jorqel and Princess Sannia – and Princess Amne!”

“You’ve got one over on me then, I’ve never met the Princess Sannia.  I’m told she’s a lovely woman.”

“All princesses are,” Demtro said dryly, a wry smile on his lips.

“Oh, you know what I mean!” Clora said.  “She’s a very nice and not stuck up type of person.  Friendly.  Do you know how we met?” she said to Vosgaris.

“Yes, the tale did circulate the palace.  You were very brave to do what you did, Clora.”  Vosgaris thought the ex-whore had done well for herself.

“I was scared out of my wits, but Demtro has kept his word and never sent me out on any more of those jobs.  He retired me on the spot and proposed.”

Vosgaris laughed.  “Yes I heard.  Amne – sorry, Princess Amne told me in great detail.  She heard it from Princess Sannia.  Very romantic, I must say, Demtro.”

“I thought so,” the merchant agreed.  “That and my irresistible personality.  She was hopelessly lost.”

Clora poked her tongue out at him.  “His timing was great – poor Zonis had just died and there he was proposing to me.  I was far too upset to think straight.”

“And if you had been thinking straight?  No doubt you would have turned this rogue down.”

Clora smiled, looked at Demtro, then laughed.  “No, I could never say no to him.”

Vosgaris looked surprised.  “A woman who can never say no?  Demtro, you’re the luckiest man in all Kastania!”

It set the tone for the evening.  Clora went off to cook the evening meal and they dined well.  After dinner they relaxed in the study, or what passed for the study.  In reality it was the best room, the first reception room.  “I must extend my sympathies for your loss, by the way, Vosgaris,” Demtro said, settling into his chair comfortably.  “It was a shock to hear of Alenna’s passing.”

“Thank you,” Vosgaris said.  It still hurt him to think of her death, mostly because he had been unfaithful to her with Metila.  He felt ambiguous towards the enigmatic Bragalese; she had done what she did because she wanted his silence on the knowledge of her child with Astiras.  He wondered whether he would ever have cause to use that knowledge against the emperor, but decided for the moment it was not appropriate.  He could always use it at a later date, promise or not to Metila.

“Yes it was awful,” Clora agreed.  “I hope you’ve found peace in your heart now.”

“Mostly, but sometimes it does open out old wounds.  Let’s not discuss that.  Let’s discuss getting Clora to meet the empress.”

“Oh, can you?  That’d be wonderful!  Can you?  Really?”

Demtro took his wife’s hand.  “Calm down, calm down.  Don’t get her unduly excited, Commander.”

“She’s going to be coming to Kastan City in the new year,” Vosgaris said, “but keep it to yourselves.  I could arrange for the two of you to be there during that period.”

Demtro gave the commander a long, studied look.  “How do you know that?  I work for her and even I don’t know!”

Vosgaris touched the side of his nose.  “Demtro, you may be her chief spy in Niake but there’re some things that not even the great Demtro Kalfas is privy to.  Seriously, I’m aware of certain inside information simply because I happened to be around at the time some things were being discussed.  Otherwise I would no doubt be as much in the dark as you are.”

“Ah,” Demtro appeared to be mollified.  Vosgaris was surprised – but then he surmised everyone had some trait of weakness, and Demtro’s was vanity.  He was over proud of his knowledge of everything, and when someone knew something he didn’t, it piqued him.

“Can we go, Demtro?  Please?” Clora pleaded.  Suddenly she was the girl of a few years back.  “I’d love to meet the empress!”

Demtro squeezed her had and smiled.  “Well, let’s see, shall we?  It’s been a few years since I was in the old dump anyway.”