Chapter 8
Rome was sitting at the table in the tower room when the door opened and Tairus came in. Tairus was a short, stout, dark-skinned man with a bald head and a long mustache. He and Rome went back a long way, to when they were both in the same squad as green privates. One of the first things Rome had done as king was make Tairus his First General, in charge of Qarath’s army, second only to Rome himself.
Tairus walked to the table and flopped into a chair, breathing heavily.
“Took you long enough,” Rome observed.
Still trying to master his breathing, Tairus said, “You’ve got no one to blame but yourself, Rome. Gorim’s beard, what is it about you and this damned room?” He coughed, hauled himself out of the chair and went to the window to spit. He sat back down. “You got a whole palace full of rooms down there, you know, in case you forgot. Ever think about using any of them?”
“Not if I don’t have to. I really kind of hate that place. Everywhere I turn there’s someone bowing and scraping, and there’s always someone who wants something.”
Tairus searched for a gap in his leather armor and scratched his chest. “It’s called being king.”
“I know,” Rome said. “I just never thought it would be so…so...”
“Inconvenient?”
“Yeah. That.”
“Shoulda thought of that before you cut Rix’s throat.”
“That wasn’t me. It was Quyloc.”
“Whatever. You’re getting no sympathy from me.” His breathing was finally returning to normal. “Couldn’t we at least meet lower down next time? Why do you have to choose the eighth floor, when there are seven perfectly good floors beneath this one? None of those would work?”
Rome gestured at the window, which was about four feet square. “See that? It’s a real window. I can see the whole city from here. The lower floors just have arrow slits. Can’t see a thing.”
“If you say so.” Tairus was clearly unconvinced. Rome was idly stroking the black axe, which was lying on the table still. “I wish you’d put that thing away. I don’t like to look at it.”
“I took it with me to Thrikyl. I thought the people there might need a reminder of how I took their city.”
“I keep waiting for the eyes to open one day.”
“That’d be something to see.”
Tairus shook his head vehemently. “No. No, it wouldn’t. It’d be damned horrifying, that’s what it’d be. Thing comes to life and starts running around killing people.” He shuddered.
“You sound like a child,” Rome replied. “It’s made of stone or something. It’s not going to come to life and start killing people.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I was there at Thrikyl, remember? Who knows what that thing’s capable of?”
“I know one thing it’s good for. It got me a kingdom. Got you a good promotion too, if I remember right.”
“Don’t mean I have to like it,” Tairus groused, a sour look on his face.
“Forget about the axe.” Rome slid it to the side. “That’s not why I called you up here.” He hesitated. “You’re not going to like this.”
“Like what?”
“What I’m about to tell you.” Tairus was a solid, feet-on-the-ground kind of person. He had no use for anything unnatural or supernatural. Except for Musicians, of course, but then, everyone liked the Musicians.
“Well, get it over with then. The day’s not getting any younger and neither am I.”
“Something pretty strange happened a little while ago.”
Tairus groaned. “You’re right. I hate this already.”
“Quyloc and I were in here talking and this man appeared out of nowhere.”
Tairus looked around the room. “What? You mean he was hiding somewhere?” There wasn’t much in the room besides the table and chairs.
“No. I mean he appeared out of nowhere.”
“You probably just didn’t see him.”
“Really?”
“You get distracted.”
Rome waved it off. “That’s not the strange part.”
“You sure? I think it sounds strange enough.”
“Stop interrupting me! I’ve got something to say here.” Grumbling, Tairus went quiet. Rome proceeded to tell him what Lowellin had said about the prison breaking open. When he finished, Tairus was shaking his head emphatically.
“No, no, no. I’m not swallowing one bite of that. It’s just crazy talk from some madman who was probably hiding in the corner. That kind of stuff doesn’t happen.”
“You can’t be sure of that.”
“You know what I like about the gods, Rome? They stay off in their corner and leave us alone in ours. It’s a perfect system. We build them temples and they leave us be. There’s no point in upsetting that. It’s worked fine for a long time.”
“But what if he’s right?”
“He can’t be. It’s impossible.”
“You weren’t here. You didn’t see him. There’s something really unusual about him. Quyloc believes him.”
“That’s Quyloc’s fault. He’s always sticking his nose into things best left alone.”
“I hope you’re right, Tairus. I really do. But I think we need to listen to him, just in case.”
“Why not just clap him in chains next time he shows up? Wouldn’t that be better?”
“Somehow I don’t think it would be that easy.”
Tairus sighed. “I got a bad feeling about this, Rome.”
“He did say one thing that you’ll want to hear. He says we’re going to need a bigger army to fight Melekath. He wants me to conquer the neighboring kingdoms and found a new empire.”
“Why would I think that’s a good thing?”
“Come on. Aren’t you a little bored these days? Wouldn’t you like a challenge?”
“What I’d like is to retire from the army and go back to farming. Get old and fat and have lots of kids. That’s what I should be doing. I should’ve never joined the army.”
Rome chuckled. It was a familiar refrain from Tairus. Whenever he was tired or having a bad day he always said the same thing. Rome knew Tairus would hate farming. He was a soldier, through and through.
Rome stood up. “That was a long ride and I’m parched. Let’s head down to the palace and get something to drink.”
Tairus looked at him in disbelief “I just walked up here and now you want to leave? I wish you’d make up your mind.”
“Stop complaining. I’ll buy you an ale.”
“You’re the king. You’re buying a lot more than one ale.”
They were on the bottom floor of the tower, heading for the front door, when it opened and a man entered. He was wearing tight black breeches and a short black jacket over an immaculate, ruffled white shirt. His shoes were black and shiny. His hair and mustache were trimmed neatly and held firmly in place with a thick layer of oil. When Rome saw him he groaned audibly. Then he turned on Tairus.
“Did you tell him? About the tower?”
Tairus gave him an innocent look and shook his head. “I haven’t said a word.”
“What are you doing here, Opus?” Rome asked the man. “Gods, you’re not going to start cleaning this place, are you?”
Opus had whisked a cloth out of the inside of his jacket and was running it over a trunk that stood up against the wall. “It’s filthy in here,” Opus said, grimacing at the dust that streaked the cloth.
“It’s not so bad,” Rome said. “A little dirt never hurt anyone.”
“While I doubt the truth of that statement, Sire, I will not argue it with you at this point,” Opus replied. “I must protest your behavior though. You are the king of a powerful kingdom. You should not be skulking about in a storehouse.”
“I am not skulking,” Rome snapped. It didn’t help that the smile on Tairus’ face was getting bigger by the second.
“You slink out here when you think no one is watching. If someone does see you, you threaten him into silence. If that is not skulking, what, pray tell, is?”
Rome glowered at him but Opus did not cringe or back down, steadily returning his look. “Okay, maybe it is skulking,” Rome said at last. “But this isn’t a storehouse. It’s a tower, the last line of defense if invaders should overrun the city.”
“Unless these invaders are very small, I do not believe our downfall to be imminent. At any rate, this tower’s sole purpose has been as storage for many years now.”
“Well, I’m using it for important meetings now,” Rome said, rubbing his temple. Opus had a knack for giving him a headache.
“Very well,” Opus said with a slight bow. “I will have staff in here tomorrow to begin cleaning.” Seeing Rome’s scowl, he added, “At least the room you have been using.”
“I already cleaned it.”
“I’m sure you have,” Opus said, tucking the cloth away. “Now, will you tell me which floor it is on, or do I have to go through them all?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Rome said hastily. “It’s on the eighth floor.” There was an old cot on the fourth floor and he liked to sleep there. It wouldn’t do to have Opus find that. He’d want to fill it with furniture, maybe put curtains on the arrow slits.
Shaking his head, Opus turned to leave. He had just put his hand on the door when he turned back. “Oh, Sire, one more thing.”
“What?”
“It has come to my attention that you have not been sleeping in the royal quarters.”
Rome sighed.
“May I presume that you have taken one of the rooms out here?”
Rome nodded wearily. It looked like Tairus was going to start laughing.
“May I also presume that were I to remind you that, in this, you are not upholding the decorum of your office, it would be to no avail?”
That made Rome’s head spin. He didn’t even know what decorum meant. “What?”
“Sleeping in a store room is not becoming of a king,” Opus said. “But reminding you of that will not change anything, will it?”
“No. It won’t.”
Now it was Opus who sighed. “Very well,” Opus said. “However, please be aware that I will send a servant to clean that room as well.”
As Opus exited the tower Rome said, “Make sure the servant comes during the day when I’m out. When I’m in the tower I’m not to be disturbed for any reason. Am I clear on this?”
Opus bowed slightly. “Very clear, Sire.”
The door closed behind him.
“You sure have a knack for managing the servants, Rome,” Tairus said with a laugh.
“Shut up,” Rome growled.
“Seriously, why do you put up with that? Why don’t you just toss him out?”
Rome snorted. “If only I could.”
“Meaning?”
“Little bastard runs the whole palace. He takes care of everything. Without him the place would probably fall apart.” Rome also had to admit that the little man was very good at what he did and he grudgingly respected him for that. Opus ran the palace and directed its small army of servants with all the precision of a military commander. Rome had spent enough years in the army commanding people that he valued subordinates who knew their jobs and did them well.
Which meant putting up with Opus.
“It doesn’t mean I have to like him, though,” Rome added, causing Tairus to laugh some more.
They left the tower and Tairus slapped his forehead and said with a groan, “I’ll have to take that ale later. I forgot I was supposed to meet with the quartermaster this morning.” He left and Rome was alone once again.
A broad walkway connected the tower and the palace, leading to a set of double doors, but Rome left the walkway on a smaller path that led through an elaborate garden complete with fountains, flowers and hidden benches. A smaller path led off that to a narrow door that was a servants’ entrance. Rome preferred the servants’ entrance to the main doors. It was easier to get in and out without being noticed.
He walked down a dark corridor, passing a room where servants were folding clothing and gossiping. He went around a corner and was almost run over by a lanky, teenaged boy in a hurry. The young man turned white when he saw who it was.
“Sire,” he gasped, trying to bow and kneel at the same time and accomplishing neither. “I’m sorry…I didn’t see you and…”
“Hold on there,” Rome said, putting his hand on the servant’s shoulder and standing him up. He was shaking. Rome frowned. “Easy, boy, I’m not going to hit you. Stop acting like a rabbit.” He gave him a little shake. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.” He was trying not to get irritated, but it was difficult. All the servants were like this. They acted as if he was going to eat them. It was all those years under King Rix and the nobility that had made them spooky.
“What’s your name? I like to know who I’m talking to.”
The servant shot him a round-eyed look. “My what?”
“Your name. You do have one, don’t you?”
“R-Ronen, my Lord.”
“Good, Ronen. Now here’s what I want you to do. Go fetch Perganon, you know, the librarian with the yellow whiskers? Tell him to meet me in the… What’s that room called, the one with all the soft red chairs?”
“The Velvet Chamber?”
“Yeah, that’s it. Tell him to meet me there and to bring the history with him.” The servant started to scurry away but Rome stopped him. “Then fetch me a bottle of that peppered liquor the Karthijinians make and a loaf of bread, hunk of cheese, whatever you can get your hands on. I’m starving. And one more thing,” he said, stopping the boy again. “What’s a strapping boy your age doing here?”
“Here? I was on an errand for–”
“No, I don’t mean that. I mean here. In the palace. You look like a strong kid with a little bit of sense in your head. Why would you want to be hidden away in this stuffy old place?”
Ronen considered this. “I don’t know. It’s what I’ve always done. My parents sent me here as a boy to work in the kitchens.”
“Hmm.” Rome scratched his beard. “Well, Ronen, I don’t know what the rules were before, but that doesn’t make you a slave. If you ever wanted to do something else, like join the army, just go out into the yard and ask for Lucent. Tell him I sent you. He’ll find a place for you.” The idea pleased Rome. If Qarath was going to be an empire, her army would need lots more young men just like this. “It’s a little more exciting than drudging around in here. Nothing like a uniform to turn the girls’ heads.” He slapped the boy on the shoulder and sent him on his way. He’d have to talk to Lucent about actively recruiting more soldiers.
Perganon was a wizened little man with sparse yellow whiskers turning to white and gnarled, misshapen hands. He showed up promptly with the heavy volume of history and a pair of spidery spectacles that he used for reading. Rome didn’t know anyone else with spectacles but then, he didn’t know anyone else who could read either, aside from Quyloc. Maybe it was reading that made your eyes go bad.
Rome was leaning back in a chair with his feet on the table when Perganon arrived. He’d already had a glass of the peppery liquor and was working on some food. A silver tray loaded with cheeses and different kinds of breads and sausages sat on the table. It had showed up a few minutes before carried by a small squad of liveried servants, all bowing and scraping, the leader of them apologizing for the poor fare and promising that a proper meal would be arriving shortly, along with wine and so on. Rome told him to forget it, that this was all he wanted and to go away and leave him alone. He added the last when it became clear that one or two of them seemed bent on staying and probably spooning food into his mouth. No wonder the old king was so fat. The man obviously didn’t do a single thing for himself. Rome couldn’t seem to convince the servants that he was a grown man and didn’t need everything done for him. It was another reason he avoided the palace as much as possible.
Perganon stood hesitantly by the door until Rome waved him in. “Come in. Have a seat. How’re the old bones today?”
“Not too stiff, my Lord.” The old man laid his hands across the top of the book and rubbed his puffy joints gently. “Shall I pick up where I left off, Lord?”
The writer of the book, Tilus, had just finished describing a huge battle fought against the Sertithians and the tactics used in it. Rome had learned a lot from that. From the whole book really. Tilus wasn’t afraid to describe defeats as well as victories, carefully going over the lessons to be learned from each.
Perganon was describing the disposition of forces for another battle when Rome stopped him. “Hold on. What was the title of that Kaetrian general?”
Perganon’s eyes followed back down to the tip of his finger. “‘Macht’, Lord.”
“And a macht is…?”
“The supreme military leader of all the armies. In times of war the macht was in many areas answerable to no one, not even the emperor.”
“That’s it!” Rome exclaimed, snapping his fingers. Perganon’s eyes widened behind his glasses, but he said nothing. “That’s the title I’ve been looking for.”
After a long pause, Perganon hesitantly said, “Lord?”
“Macht. It’s perfect. I’m not a king, never have felt like one, at least not the way people think of a king. Macht Wulf Rome. That’s what I am. That’s what I’m going to be called from now on.”
Perganon sat there for a long moment, clearly unsure how to proceed, while Rome rolled the new title around on his tongue. Finally, he simply resumed reading.
But Rome wasn’t listening. He kept thinking about what Lowellin had said about an empire. Was it really possible? Some of the closer kingdoms, like Yerthin and Opulat, had weak leaders and would be easy to take. The biggest problem was Karthije. They were more powerful than Qarath, but if he waited to take them on until he’d built up his forces with soldiers from the conquered kingdoms he should be able to beat them.
The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that it was possible, and the more excited he became.
Empire.
Was that not the dream of every ruler? Rome drifted off into his plans. The army would need more training. Tactics were only useful insofar as the troops were disciplined enough to carry them out in the heat of battle. Time and again the Kaetrian armies had won battles against larger forces in hostile terrain simply by virtue of being highly disciplined. They did not break and run, continuing to hold their ranks and execute their orders even when the losses mounted.
Rome realized suddenly that Perganon was still reading. The old man’s voice was hoarse and cracking. How long had he been going on while Rome was lost in his own plans? “You can stop now,” he said, leaping to his feet. The old man broke off gratefully. “Sorry about that. I got a bit lost there for a while. Here, wet your throat.” He filled a glass with the liquor and held it out to Perganon.
Perganon shook his head, looking somewhat alarmed behind his glasses. “No thank you, Lord—er, Macht.”
“I insist. You’ve earned it. And leave off with the titles, okay? You don’t have to use one every time you speak to me. Not in here.”
Perganon took a sip, then another, larger one. “Good tiare is hard to find,” he murmured appreciatively.
“Yeah, one of the benefits of being king,” Rome said, pouring him some more. “I mean macht.” He sat down and gnawed some cheese while the old man drank some more. The ideas and plans were still whirling around in his head. “Better have something to eat with that,” he said, shoving the tray over to Perganon. “It goes right to your head otherwise.”
Perganon’s cheeks seemed brighter, and he didn’t try to refuse this time. After a bit, Rome said, “You are a learned man. You must have read hundreds of books.” Such a thing didn’t really seem possible to Rome. Hundreds of books? He was just complimenting the man. But Perganon nodded and lowered his glass. “So tell me what you think. Is it possible to make Qarath into an empire?”
Perganon blinked, clearly surprised. He licked his lips. “Well, I’m sure that under your fine leadership–”
“Knock off the lip talk,” Rome growled. “I asked you what you think, and I want to know what you think. I’m not going to have you executed for saying you think it’s a fool’s plan. But I will get mad if you only tell me what you think I want to hear.” He topped off Perganon’s glass. “So tell me what you think.”
Perganon drank and stared into the depths of his glass for several breaths. Abruptly he took off his glasses and looked Rome in the eye.
“Yes. I do. The lands around the city are fertile. With better management they could be made to produce more food with fewer farmers working them. No country has true wealth without the agricultural base to sustain it. And the nearby mountains hold rich deposits of iron ore for weapons.
“You are a good leader. The people love you. With the right coaxing I believe they would follow you anywhere. Certainly your soldiers will, but you will need the citizenry united for this.” He said this last matter-of-factly, not as flattery, but a straightforward representation of the facts.
“You also have Thrikyl’s wealth to tap into—their gold and silver will go a long way towards paying soldiers. Finally, there’s the fact that, with the very big exception of Karthije, your closest neighbors are weak. If you can keep Karthije out of it until you get stronger, you should get a good start on your empire.”
Rome was stunned. He’d thought of this man as nothing more than a doddering old shut-in, obsessed with his books, slipping toward senility. He realized suddenly that that guise was a mask the old man wore, probably as a way of staying unnoticed. And he wondered how many others he misjudged every day, as they presented him with the faces they thought he wanted to see.
“Would you like to hear more?”
Rome could only nod and take a drink off the bottle.
“Karthije is key. Their army is bigger and better in the field than yours.” Rome winced. It was true. The one time he’d led men against the Karthijinians had shown him that. They had a lot of mounted cavalry and their infantry fought in tight blocks bristling with spear points and shields that were nearly impossible to crack.
“How do you know so much? That can’t all be in those books of yours.”
For the first time, Perganon smiled. A real smile. It made him look decades younger. It was the smile of a man finally recognized for his achievements. “No, it’s not,” he said, draining his glass and holding it out for more. He appeared to weigh Rome for a minute, clearly wondering how much to give away, and then decided to give it all. Maybe it was the liquor. Maybe, like any other man, he simply needed to talk to someone about what he’d done.
“I have assistants who help me. Men—and a few women—who live other places. They keep their eyes and ears open and send me letters when they can. None of it is secret. They are not spies. They are ordinary citizens. Most I met when I was a much younger man. I traveled a great deal back then, though it was not easy. The roads between cities were no safer then than they are today. In some cases the correspondence has been taken over by children or even grandchildren as their parents have died or gotten too old to continue writing. In return I send each a small annual stipend.”
“You crafty old bull,” Rome said with genuine respect. “Where do you get the money? I’ve seen the library. It didn’t receive first priority from Rix’s treasury.”
“Shall I just say that I saw an opportunity years ago and the king graciously signed an open-ended letter of annual funds? It is not a sizeable amount, I assure you. But I administer it judiciously.”
“Remind me not to get drunk around you,” Rome said with a laugh. “Also remind me to double whatever you’re getting. I want to know more. Lots more. But I want to keep it secret, just between you and me. Carry on like you have been but get whatever you can from your assistants.” His mood sobered. “You really think we can build an empire here?”
“With a lot of luck, you can. Never forget that, Macht. Luck plays an important part. If the wrong day goes against you, you could lose it all.”
“The gods know I understand that.” Rome touched the scar across his cheek. “If the man who gave me this hadn’t slipped as he was swinging, I wouldn’t be here to talk with you. And there have been more than a few other times.”
“May I go now, Macht Rome? I am an old man and I fear the liquor is going to my legs as well.” Rome nodded. Perganon paused at the door. “I almost forgot the most important aspect.” To Rome’s unspoken question he replied, “Roads.”
“Roads?”
“Not just roads. Good roads. Roads that don’t turn to quagmires in the rain and then harden into impassable ruts. To have a real empire you have to have good roads, paved with stone if you can. When the empire gets large there’s no way you can keep enough troops to adequately garrison every corner of it. But with good roads you don’t need to. Good roads allow an army to travel quickly from one place to another, greatly extending its range. And they’re good for trade too. You’ll need a lot of money to get this beast moving and keep it moving. That money comes from taxes. People can’t pay taxes if they don’t have money. The first thing you need to do with any new city you take is to drop the import taxes on both ends. Clean out the road bandits and provide good roads and trade will follow. Trade is your lifeblood. Don’t forget that. The Kaetrians understood the need for good roads. They paved everything with stone and some stretches of their old roads still exist, still better than anything built since then. Take that page from their book if you take nothing else.”
He left and Rome sat wondering at the luck of finding such a gem right under his very nose. If Qarath was going to grow into an empire, he was going to need a lot more such luck.
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