Authors: Miles Cameron
Bad Tom slapped his armoured thigh with a gauntleted hand.
Alcaeus’s face flushed with blood, and his hand went to his sword.
Ser Gavin raised both hands. ‘Ser knight, I am rude in my mirth. I’m sure that the Lady Irene is beautiful above all other ladies save my own.’ Lady Mary – the Queen’s handmaiden – was Ser Gawain’s lady; her veil fluttered from his shoulder.
Ser Michael, formerly the Captain’s squire, and now known throughout the company to be the Earl of Towbray’s wayward son, took the gourd of watered wine from the Captain. ‘If all of us reserve our ladies, surely it diminishes the beauty of the Princess Irene? And yet, if we do not, what a sullen, unchivalrous lot we must seem?’
Ser Michael’s lady was a farm girl from Kentmere, and every man present saw her every day. Despite a practical disposition, a swollen belly, and hands red from washing linen with Lis the Laundress, Kaitlin Lanthorn’s beauty was not under debate, and her knight was proud to have her plain linen handkerchief adorning his shoulder.
Michael had another swig of the watered wine and handed the gourd on to Bad Tom. ‘Not to mention that Kaitlin would have my guts for garters if I were to share such a plunder.’
Tom threw his head back to laugh. The Captain had to hide his face with his long trailing sleeve. Ser Gavin turned his head and his lips curled.
Ser Alcaeus gave up the struggle and shrugged. ‘Later, I will kill you all,’ he said.
Bad Tom slapped his back. ‘You’re a loon!’ he said. The statement was his highest form of praise.
The Captain held up his hand, and they all fell silent.
‘We’re rich at the moment. There’s no danger of anyone missing a day’s pay. It’s a fine adventure – rescuing a princess and saving the Empire.’ The Red Knight turned and his eyes met his brother’s. ‘The Emperor assumed I was a penniless mercenary. Of course.’
Perhaps you could rescue her, arrange for her to fall in love with you, and then ride away romantically after burning her note
, Harmodius whispered.
I could rescue her, arrange her father’s death, and make myself Emperor. Now shut up
, the Red Knight muttered in the confines of his head. Carrying a puissant mage five times his own age inside his head had become a far greater burden than he’d ever expected when he rescued the man from death. Or perhaps the man was dead. Whatever was left inside the Captain’s head was beginning to hurt him all the time.
Ser Jehan, up until now silent because he was methodically eating a pair of linked sausages, spat out the casing of the last and shook his head. ‘But that won’t pay the bills.’
‘I was hoping to anticipate Ser Jehan, just this once, and show my hard-nosed practicality.’ The Captain tipped the gourd back, rolled it in his hand, stared down the neck and then handed it to Toby, his squire, who had another ready to hand.
‘But yes, we need to be paid. Saving the princess is probably good advertising, but after Lissen Carrak, it should be some years before we need to do—’ He looked around ‘—well –
anything.
’ He shrugged.
Ser Alcaeus narrowed his eyes. ‘We’re two days’ ride from the city. With respect, my lord, I feel as if you are not so much reflecting on the situation as renegotiating.’
The Captain dusted his scarlet surcoat, tugged at his haubergeon to get it to sit better under his many-times-repaired breast- and backplate, and kicked at the air until his riding shoe was better seated inside his right sabaton. Then he leaped onto his new roan warhorse. The horse grunted as he landed, swung his off leg over the high saddle and tucked his feet into the iron stirrups.
‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Alcaeus, we’re not knights set on errantry. We’re mercenaries.’ He looked around at his command staff. ‘Besides, princes only value things that they pay enormous sums to obtain. They’re like children.’
Ser Alcaeus shook his head. ‘So what do you want?’ he asked.
‘Riches, fame, prowess and glory. I’ll start with riches, though.’ The Captain smiled. ‘We’ll make camp on that big hill I see in the distance. Gelfred said it had water and fodder for a week. So we can wait there for a week while we negotiate with the princess.’
Ser Alcaeus was growing more wroth with each exchange. ‘We’re close enough to raise the siege right now – by Christ’s wounds, my lord, you haven’t said a word about this dickering until now.’
‘Everything has a season. Even dickering.’ The Captain rose in his stirrups and watched his company come down the pass out of the high mountains. The mountains in Morea were more brown than green on the nearer slopes, and the foliage was a pale green at that. Below them, forests of olive trees – some terraced and tended, some wild – ran along every ridge. The cultivated patchwork – wheat, millet and barley – began very low on the ridges and ran along the base of the valleys, where narrow watercourses followed zig-zag paths among the fields.
Only the low mountains leaning over the rocky hills separated them from the heartland of the Morea, and the rich farmland. And the city, just visible as a smudge of woodsmoke and a glint of white walls, fifteen leagues distant.
And beyond it the sea.
Ser Michael shook his head. ‘The Wild hasn’t been here in five hundred years,’ he said.
Bad Tom shrugged. ‘The wine’s good,’ he said.
Ser Alcaeus stood at the Captain’s stirrup. ‘Name your price,’ he said. His voice was cold.
‘Alcaeus, don’t take this personally. It is strictly business. I don’t particularly want to marry the Emperor’s daughter. Nor, despite all the levity, can I divide her up as payment. So, on balance, I need a concrete offer.’ The Red Knight toyed with his sword hilt.
Ser Alcaeus sputtered. ‘Tell me what you want. I’ll send word immediately.’
The Captain’s eyes were on the far horizon. ‘I want a new breast- and backplate – one that fits and hasn’t had holes punched in it. I hear there are brilliant armourers in the city.’
‘You are mocking me,’ said Ser Alcaeus.
‘No, I’m completely serious. A nice new breast and back by a master armourer would interest me. Personally. Along with everything the Duke of Thrake possesses.’
Ser Alcaeus backed away a step. ‘What? I’m sorry—’
‘I assume she’ll attaint him, and declare all his properties and titles forfeit. I’ll take them. In addition, I’ll take his office as Megas Ducas – isn’t that your title for the Captain-General? Yes? And the right to levy taxes throughout the Empire to support the army.’ He nodded, as if he had just that moment thought of the whole thing.
Ser Michael slapped his thigh. He looked around for Ser Alison – Sauce – to share the jest, but she was off with the outriders.
Ser Alcaeus bit his lip. ‘The Duke of Thrake is a prince of the Imperial blood,’ he began.
The Captain nodded. ‘You know, my friend, I know a fair bit about the Empire. I understand that these little family quarrels are common, and family members are used to being immune from retribution if they revolt. Let’s change the stakes from the beginning, shall we?’
Ser Alcaeus managed half a smile. ‘It will certainly annoy the Duke,’ he allowed.
The Lady Maria was acting as the Empress’s secretary. She approached the throne – in this case, an ivory chair in the princess’s solar – with a pair of message scrolls in her basket. She was pleased to note that the full complement of Nordikans were on guard – six in the outer chamber, and two in the inner chamber. Three days after the Duke of Thrake’s attempted coup de main, the bloodstains were gone and the palace had a somewhat brittle air of normality, best seen in the skittishness of the palace Ordinaries who were now searched for weapons at every major doorway.
‘A message from my son,’ Lady Maria said, with a curtsey.
Irene held out her hand. Her other hand held a small book, bound in vellum. ‘Yes?’ she asked. ‘Has the odious man demanded my hand in marriage? Has the gallant Ser Alcaeus dealt with that?’
‘He has,’ Lady Maria allowed.
Irene’s attention turned to her principal adviser. ‘Ah – then we have a basis for negotiation. What has he offered?’
‘It is not so much what my son has offered, as what the barbarian Captain has demanded, Majesty.’ She handed her Empress – opinion in the palace was deeply divided as to whether Irene was Empress or merely Regent, and the lady herself had been too astute to comment so far – the scroll tubes.
Imperial messengers were big birds, but their size was intended for speed and fighting strength against interceptors, not power in carrying heavy scrolls. The two tubes of birdbone held wisps of rice paper with only a few words on each.
‘I apologise for the barbarian’s insolence—’ Lady Maria said softly.
Irene’s face hardened. But her eyes twinkled – she turned to Maria and for the first time in three long days, she vouchsafed a slight smile.
‘Duke Andronicus would be
incredibly angry
,’ she said.
Lady Maria kept her eyes downcast. ‘It is a shocking idea, Majesty. Let me say—’
Irene put a beautiful hand against her beautiful throat. ‘I only wish I could be present when he hears. That son of a poxed heretical slut dares to raise his filthy hand against—’ She paused. ‘Against my father? I’ll show him hell and then, with the help of this good barbarian gentleman, I’ll send him there.’
As she spoke, her pale face gathered colour and her eyes glittered. Her cheeks went from the colour of old ivory to the colour of a new red rose. The Empress looked about her. ‘Has the Grand Chamberlain been found?’
Lady Maria allowed her eyes to meet those of the Nordikan, Blackhair. The man was handsome, in a tattooed, barbaric way, and she wondered idly how this bold new barbarian mercenary would look.
Blackhair met her eyes steadily and gave a very slight shake of his head.
‘Majesty, we have to add the Grand Chamberlain to the list of traitors. Treasonable correspondence was found in his rooms and he has abandoned his home, wife and children to flee.’ Lady Maria spoke softly, with inclined head. The crisis had reduced the amount of ceremony in the palace, but Lady Maria intended to keep up the standards of her father’s day.
Irene drew herself up. ‘Seize his goods and execute his family,’ she said. ‘Every child.’
Lady Maria nodded. ‘Of course, Majesty. And yet—’
Irene turned her head. ‘I dislike this phrase. You disagree with my righteous anger? Their deaths will serve to show what line we take with traitors. Did he take the Imperial seal with him?’
‘He must have it. If it is in the palace, none of us can find it.’ The Lady Maria shrugged. ‘Your mother had a duplicate.’
Irene stiffened. ‘There can be no
duplicate
of a sacred artefact!’
Maria bowed her head. ‘As Your Majesty says. And yet—’
‘Again that phrase!’ Irene spat.
Maria nodded. ‘My initial hesitation, Majesty, is because the Grand Chamberlain has openly kept a young mistress for a decade. He fathered children on her and bought her a house; this woman has gone, along with her brood. The Chamberlain chose to take her and abandon his wife. Her death, I would argue, will only please the Grand Chamberlain. In the second case, while I agree that there should not be a duplicate seal, I offer Your Majesty the evidence of her own senses.’ She held out a heavy gold chain with a great ruby-coloured garnet the size of a child’s fist, flat on one face, with the arms of the Empire carved into it. Red fire seemed to burn in the heart of the great crystal.
‘It is the Heart of Aetius!’ cried the young Empress.
‘I don’t think so. I think, in fact, that your mother of sainted name and spotless repute had a duplicate seal made so that, when she disagreed with your father’s edicts on the true religion, she could quietly alter them.’ Lady Maria kept her voice down.
Irene digested this, and for a moment, she appeared to be a sixteen-year-old girl and not an ageless pagan goddess.
‘I crave your pardon, Maria. Bring the Chamberlain’s wife and children to court but strip him of his titles. Purple parchment – gold ink. Make it public. And tell the barbarian we have a deal, and I will fulfil my part when the Duke’s forces are broken and driven from my walls.’
The Lady Maria had not had an easy life. She had by turns been a penniless child-aristocrat, a precocious child-courtier, a royal mistress, a discarded royal mistress, the mother of an unwanted bastard, and worst of all, the old Empress’s ageing rival.
And now, a train of events beyond her control had catapulted her and her son to more power than she had ever dreamed of wielding. So much power – so much influence – that instead of being concerned with enriching her relatives she had to seriously consider the good of the Empire. If she lived, and if her side won.
Her son had promised her that this barbarian mercenary was capable of working military miracles.
Her reverie was interrupted by the princess. ‘Lady Maria, I gather from the Acting Spatharios, Darkhair, that a prisoner was taken during the—’ she paused ‘—the unpleasantness in the palace.’
Lady Maria put a hand to her crucifix and curtsied. ‘I know this to be true,’ she said.
Princess Irene nodded several times. ‘Lady Maria, this man needs to die.’
Lady Maria had suspected the same. ‘Consider it done,’ she said.
She had the duration of the long walk from the Empress’s presence to the stables and mews to consider the ramifications of attainting the Duke of Thrake and declaring all his titles and offices forfeit. He was the most powerful warlord in the Empire. He was the Empire’s most successful soldier.
He was an old rival for whom she had nothing but contempt.
She found the assassin in his cell deep beneath the palace stables, and summoned a guard – a Nordikan. They and the Scholae had taken over every armed duty in the palace.
‘See that this man is served wine with dinner,’ she said. She handed an amphora of wine to one of the Ordinaries.
The Nordikan bowed. ‘Yes, Despoina.’
Then she walked up too many stairs to the offices of the messenger service – one of the prides of the decaying Empire. A combination of magnificent animal husbandry, a thousand years of faloncry, selective breeding and solid hermeticism combined to render the Emperor’s communications both safe and efficient.