“THAT’S MERE SNIVELRY, GRACCHUS!” VESPASIAN SHOUTED. Raising one hand, he pointed an accusatory finger at the lead cleric. “It was hardly a worthy comment from someone of your station!”
The emperor was clearly angry, as were many others present. Soon the meeting chamber again burst into loud, disorganized rancor.
Lifting his scepter, Vespasian repeatedly banged it on the floor, and the room gradually quieted. From his seat among the other tribunes, Lucius Marius gave his emperor a quick nod of support. Vespasian returned the scepter to the golden holder beside his chair.
The meeting had been going on for nearly an hour. Vespasian had spent some of that time castigating Gracchus not only for what he saw as Gracchus’ furtive try to murder an inordinate number of skeens in the arena for his own aggrandizement, but also for what Vespasian saw as a clear affront to his authority. Gracchus had apologized, but Vespasian sensed that Gracchus’ contrition was superficial rather than heartfelt, forcing him to doubt whether he had seen the last of his lead cleric’s impudence.
It was early morning of the day following the opening of the games. Vespasian knew that this meeting must be brief, for the games were scheduled to resume at midday. As the visitors quieted, Vespasian took a moment to look around the room.
The rulers’ meeting chamber was called the Rectoris Aedifficium, or simply “the Aedifficium.” Like the Rotunda of the Priory, it occupied the top of one of Ellistium’s seven hills. Aside from a few skeens selected to serve them, admittance to the Aedifficium was strictly limited to the emperor and empress, the members of the Priory, the clerics of thePon Q’tar, and the eighty legionary tribunes. Also like the Rotunda, it was guarded by specially chosen centurions. It was here that all laws and important decisions were crafted and voted on.
Compared with many other structures in Ellistium, the Aedifficium was small, taking the form of an amphitheater measuring thirty meters across. Vespasian’s chair sat alone in the center of the room facing the curved rows of seats.
The walls, floor, and flat ceiling were made of pure turquoise. Gleaming onyx pilasters stood against the curved walls every six feet, each crowned with a golden eagle, the empire’s symbol of authority. Leaded glass skylights let in the morning sun. During nighttime sessions, wall torches enchanted to burn without smoke were set ablaze, granting the Aedifficium an august presence.
The section to Vespasian’s left held the seats of the twelvePon Q’tar members. The center section was the province of the twenty Priory women, and the seats on the right were for the eighty legionary tribunes. Custom dictated that the empress always sat in a place of honor beside the First Tribune.
The Aedifficium was seldom in full session because some tribunes were always afield, prosecuting the war. Because the tribunes outnumbered all the other members combined, only the thirty-two highest ranking tribunes could vote, lest the empire’s military wing conspire to control every voting session. Taken as whole, the voting body was called the Suffragat.
One legionary tribune was designated the Suffragat scribe, responsible for recording every word. After each meeting, Vespasian and thePon Q’tar heavily censored the scribe’s report. Only then was a copy sent to every herald in the city. The heralds would then shout the report’s contents from towers standing at each of the forum’s four corners, so that interested citizens could hear the Suffragat’s latest pronouncements.
A dozen male skeens stood by, waiting to pass important documents among the Suffragat members and to perform other services as needed. As a precaution against the leaking of state secrets, not one Aedifficium skeen could read or write. Additionally, each skeen’s tongue had been cut out and his eardrums pierced. Members of the governing body communicated their needs to the skeens by way of hand signals. From the day he entered the service of the Suffragat, every Aedifficium skeen was forced to live out his life in modest quarters on the Aedifficium compound.
As the room finally quieted, from his place on the Aedifficium floor Vespasian again looked his lead cleric in the eyes. Then he glanced toward the tribune scribe, and he smirked. Today’s session report would be even more heavily censored than usual, he realized. Because Lucius had already given the war report, Vespasian decided to move on to the next topic. He looked at Julia Idaeus.
“Will the Femiculi please stand?” he asked.
Julia stood from her chair and gracefully smoothed her gown. She was an attractive woman, with a lovely face and long dark ringlets. Julia and her sisters were not allowed to wear their veils in the Aedifficium, largely because the other Suffragat members wanted to be able to gauge the women’s expressions as various topics were debated. The Priory was important to the people of Rustannica, and Vespasian knew full well that he needed its support if he was to rule effectively. With her hands respectfully clasped before her, Julia regarded her emperor.
“The full moons are here,” Vespasian said. “I trust that the Vagaries flame has been replenished and that should I visit the Rotunda, I would find it in vibrant stead?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Julia answered. “The flame burns strongly again. All is well with the craft.”
“Thank you, Femiculi,” Vespasian said. “Do you wish to inform the Suffragat of any worthy supplications proposed by the citizens?”
“Not at this time, Highness,” she answered.
“Very well,” Vespasian said. “You may be seated.”
Unlike the commanding way he behaved toward thePon Q’tar and the military, Vespasian always treated the Priory members with utmost courtesy. There were two reasons for this.
First, his respect for the Priory was genuine. The vows of chastity required to join the Priory were taken willingly, and becoming a Priory member was considered a great honor. The vows were an act of faith and central to the women’s beings. Should a Sister be caught breaking her vows, the penalty was death. By law, the method of execution was ritual sacrifice, performed on the black altar standing before the Vagaries flame.
In the entire history of the empire, this punishment had never been needed. Even so, the vows of chastity were more than a sacred discipline that the Sisters were obliged to follow. They also symbolized a guiding principle for the populace at large and gave them faith. The citizenry believed that so long as the Priory Sisters remained pure, so would the Vagaries flame that they tended and protected. As went the life of the flame, so did the life of the nation.
The second reason for Vespasian’s cultivation of the Priory was more pragmatic. Of the three Suffragat factions, the Priory was the one most attuned to the will of the people. Only Julia Idaeus heard the supplications of the citizens, rather than Vespasian, thePon Q’tar, or the military. The needs expressed by the citizens that Julia deemed worthy of debate were relayed to the Suffragat. If the Suffragat agreed, the request was discussed and a vote was taken. Having the Femiculi’s ear was a potent advantage in advancing one’s fortunes. People had been known to come from thousands of miles away for a mere chance of being granted an audience with Julia Idaeus. Sometimes the eager pilgrims succeeded, sometimes they did not.
Eager to move on, Vespasian looked at Gracchus. “I will now read the latest treasury report,” he ordered.
Gracchus signaled to a skeen who rushed down the aisle and toward his side. After the cleric gave the skeen a large diptych, the servant hurried down to the Aedifficium floor. Reaching Vespasian’s chair, he went down on one knee, bowed his head, and reverently handed the gold and beeswax book up to his emperor. After taking it, Vespasian waved the skeen away.
While the council waited, Vespasian read the report. The gold tally had deteriorated to a level that was worse than he had expected. Gracchus was right, he realized. The treasury situation was indeed dire. Would there be enough to finance his new plan? he wondered.
Rustannica’s pecuniary troubles had started more than one century ago, during the reign of one of Vespasian’s predecessors. It had been his desire to greatly widen the war, hoping to finally bring it to an end. By a narrow vote, the Suffragat had agreed. But in their rush toward final victory, they had grossly underestimated the financial costs to the empire. In a way, Rustannica was a victim of her own military successes against Shashida. The Suffragat was painfully aware that the war was only one part of the problem. The far greater threat was the nation’s dwindling gold supply.
As was the case in Shashida, gold was the Rustannican currency. By law, the treasury was supposed to hold a reserve of gold that was at least equal to the value of the gold coins circulating the nation. Unknown by the populace, the law was being wantonly violated by the same Suffragat members who had sworn to uphold it, providing yet another reason to heavily censor the session reports. When an inordinate amount of the treasury reserves were used to intensify the war, the Suffragat’s gamble had won out-but not in the way that they had hoped. As the pace and scope of Rustannica’s war against Shashida was stepped up, great tracts of Shashidan territory were won. But soon the campaign became a hollow victory, for the spoils taken from those lands were disappointing.
In truth, the Suffragat did not know whether the reputed Shashidan gold hoards had been only rumor, or whether they had existed and had been hurriedly moved to safety ahead of the advancing Rustannican legions. The Suffragat suspected the latter. Worse, they also guessed that the Shashidan military had been forewarned of the new offensive by a spy in their midst, giving the Shashidans time to move their gold. The traitor had never been found.
Because of her greatly accelerated campaign, Rustannica had overextended herself. Soon the cost of maintaining the war was proving too great even for the mighty empire to sustain. But the Suffragat dared not abandon the new lands that she had conquered, for Shashidan cohorts would quickly overrun the area and reclaim the empire’s newest source of slaves and added taxation.
Ninety years ago, a change from gold coins to parchment script had been ordered in a try to prop up the treasury, but the experiment was short-lived. The paper script was quickly rejected by the populace and angry mobs literally burned the new money in the streets. Rustannicans liked the sound of coins jingling in their pockets, and only gold’s heavy weight and unique texture sustained the people’s confidence in the economy’s well-being.
For a time, thePon Q’tar, had tried to augment the gold supply by way of the craft. But that project also failed, because even the revered mystics could not conjure gold in sufficient quantities to make an appreciable difference. The empire had tried reducing the amount of gold in the coins, but the public soon caught on and another outcry arose. Worse yet, the Rustannican gold mines were nearing exhaustion and no new deposits had been unearthed for decades. For the first time in the history of Rustannica, her gold supply was nearing a finite amount.
The Suffragat briefly considered stripping all the gold from the public buildings to augment the treasury, but they quickly realized that such a brazen move would only confirm the public’s growing suspicions. Moreover, as the population grew, so did the needs of the goldsmiths. Melted and crafted into jewelry, yet more irreplaceable gold was being worn as adornments and buried with the dead that would never find its way back into circulation. For a time the Suffragat actually flirted with the prospect of grave robbing, but the idea was eventually dismissed as too risky and unworkable. While the public worried and wondered, the smell of revolt drifted into the air. Something had to be done to placate the masses while an answer could still be found.
And so, seventy years ago, for better or worse, the great coliseum had been built to distract the mob from Rustannica’s constantly rising inflation, ongoing war, and ever-increasing tax rates. But soon the massive costs associated with the grisly theater of death had brought the reverse effect and made matters worse.
Like Rustannica’s offensive campaign, the coliseum had been wildly successful on the surface, but it soon created more problems than it solved. The games had become an institution and millions of people now relied on them to make a living. The spectacle employed countless centurions, horse breeders, chariot and wagon builders, animal trainers, slave traders, architects, surgeons, armorers, and untold other types of laborers. Shippers, contractors, and other businessmen also relied heavily on the games.
Not to be outdone, a high percentage of Ellistium’s prostitutes counted on the debauchery of the games to supply them with drunken customers who might not otherwise use their services. The men’s and women’s incomes were heavily taxed by special bands of roving centurions. This unique taxation source had grown more important by the year and would be sorely missed if it stopped flowing.
Indeed, abolishing the games would now mean throwing so many people out of work that the Suffragat feared that it would result in the final collapse of the economy. In short, the games had become more than a diversion. They were the needed drug that numbed the populace to the nation’s many problems, allowing the Suffragat to operate as it wished and its dwindling treasury to go largely unnoticed. In an attempt to alleviate the crushing costs of the games, the Suffragat raised the price of attendance, but that did little to help the massive problem.
Soon the coliseum in Ellistium had become so renowned that similar structures dedicated to the same purpose had been erected in other Rustannican cities, further compounding the nation’s troubles. And the continual influx of captured skeens and their offspring into the Rustannican society was taking menial jobs away from the hard-pressed phrygian class. Unemployment among the phrygians was nearly rampant. In many ways, the more conquests Rustannica won, the poorer she became.
If the people rioted, Vespasian knew that the Suffragat would surely lose control of the nation. Because of the ever-present war, there were rarely enough legions stationed in the capital to overcome a mass uprising. Vespasian and Lucius secretly suspected that if all the legions were ordered home, even their combined forces would not be able to maintain order for long. And if so many troops were taken away from the front, all would be lost in any event.
Not since thePon Q’tar had stolen the Vagaries flame from Shashida and declared Rustannican independence had the nation’s future been in such peril, and Vespasian knew it. Only a mass infusion of gold would solve the empire’s many problems, allow the war to continue in strength, and help ensure the defeat of the Vigors. Ironically, the only way to get more gold was to wage ever-costlier campaigns. And so the dangerous spiral went round and round, threatening to engulf the nation once and for all.
Vespasian lowered the treasury report to the floor, then looked around the chamber. The people sitting before him were the most gifted and dedicated that Rustannica had to offer. Even so, the burden of finding a solution rested largely on his own shoulders. A plan to see his nation through her troubles had been forming in his mind for some time. It was risky, and it could easily mean the end of the empire should it fail. But if it worked, victory might finally be at hand.
As the Suffragat waited, Vespasian rose from his chair and started pacing. The room was silent save for the sound of the emperor’s sandals on the polished turquoise floor. Because today’s games would start soon, he was attired much the same as yesterday, as were the others.
As was often his habit, Vespasian drew his sword and he placed the flat side of its blade behind his neck and across his shoulders. In one hand he held the hilt, while the sword point balanced delicately against the fingertips of his other hand. Finally he stopped pacing and turned to look at Lucius and Persephone. Then he regarded the entire Suffragat.
“The treasury report is indeed distressing,” he said. “We have tried everything we could think of to increase the treasury count, but all our ideas have failed. If we raise taxes again I fear an outright revolt-one that our home legions won’t be able to put down. Therefore I have a question for thePon Q’tar, and you clerics must be sure of your answer. The future of our empire might hinge on it.” As Vespasian looked directly at Gracchus, the lead cleric calmly returned his emperor’s stare.
“All your efforts to destroy the reigningJin’Sai and his Conclave have failed,” Vespasian went on. “Although he and his sister remain untrained in the craft and his mystics are supposedly far less gifted than we, they have defeated your plans at every turn. I understand that our direct intervention east of the Tolenkas is impossible, or theJin’Sai and his followers would be long dead. Destroying him and his sister and crushing their Conclave are important issues, but they remain the lesser of our battles. Even so, the Coven of Sorceresses, theJin’Sai ’s son Nicolas, and Wulfgar and Serena were all bested by him despite your learned counsel. Make no mistake-I have no fear either of him or of those winged abominations that he inherited from Failee. We could crush their depleted ranks in hours. No, fellow members of the Suffragat-it’s hisblood that I fear, and his willingness to destroy the Vagaries so that his side of the craft might rule. He and the Shashidans share this terrible dream. Rustannica is threatened by their pestilence and stands alone against it. This is what thePon Q’tar has taught me from the moment of my birth, and so this is what I believe.”
Sheathing his sword, Vespasian walked closer toward the section holding thePon Q’tar. Only after looking at each male and female member did he again speak.
“And so, my friends, before I announce my plan I must know something,” Vespasian said quietly. “Even though theJin’Sai twice navigated the azure pass and spent time with the traitorous Envoys of Crysenium, are you sure-absolutelysure- that he and his forces cannot cross the Tolenkas? If the Suffragat ratifies my proposal, I have no wish to suddenly find our legions fighting a war on two fronts.”
Gracchus stood and gripped the shoulder folds of his white and burgundy robe. He gave Vespasian a confident look.
“I can speak for the entirePon Q’tar on this matter, Highness,” he said. “TheJin’Sai cannot cross-of that we are certain! The Oraculum agrees. If we in our majesty have not found a way, then an untrained prince and his ragtag Conclave certainly cannot! Whatever action you have in mind, rest assured that you may proceed without interference from theJin’Sai. ”
Taking a deep breath, Vespasian walked back and took his seat. Each time he sat there facing the Suffragat he felt isolated and on display-as if it was his will pitted against theirs. The emperor’s chair had been placed there for exactly that reason, he knew. It was but one of the many prices to be paid for holding such immense power.
“May we now inquire about Your Highness’s plan?” Gracchus asked. As the Suffragat waited, the Aedifficium grew silent as a tomb.
“Our gold mines are nearly depleted,” Vespasian said quietly. “And the Shashidan gold hoards can seemingly be moved quickly, making their capture nearly impossible. But the Shashidangold mines cannot. I want to make a final, all-or-nothing thrust deep into Shashida and take the mines. I intend to lead the campaign personally.”
For several long moments no one spoke. Lucius turned to Persephone and he raised an eyebrow. The empress’s astonishment was apparent. As she tried to compose herself, she leaned closer.
“Did you…know about this?” she whispered. She was so stunned that she could barely get the words out.
Lucius shook his head. “No,” he whispered back. “But I have guessed for some time that something weighs heavily on his mind. Now we know what it is.”
Persephone’s worry became so great that her eyes shone with tears. Knowing that she needed to be strong for her husband, she quickly blinked them away.
“You are his First Tribune,” she whispered. “Can we really do this thing, Lucius? Can our legions take the Shashidan mines?”
Lucius narrowed his eyes and rubbed his chin. “That remains to be seen,” he answered. “But I know one thing.”
“What is that?” Persephone whispered.
“Like Vespasian, I believe that taking the Shashidan gold mines is the only course of action left to us. If we don’t, the treasury will soon be bankrupt. Our ability to wage war will come to a complete standstill and the Vigors will prevail.”
Persephone clearly understood the immense historical importance of Vespasian’s proposal. The Shashidan mines were deep in enemy territory and had long been considered unassailable. For the Rustannican legions to fight their way there would be difficult enough. But to also take the mines and occupy the surrounding lands would require a miracle.
She also knew that Vespasian was not the first emperor to offer such a plan, but in each case the proposal had been voted down because of the staggering cost and hugely long odds. But it wasn’t some previous emperor who had again proposed this great adventure. It had been Vespasian Augustus I, whose birth and supremely endowed blood were shrouded in mystery and awe.
Even Persephone had to admit that she did not fully comprehend Vespasian’s magical powers. Moreover, Vespasian commanded the overwhelming respect and devotion of his legions like no emperor before him. He had fought with them, drunk with them, laughed and cried with them, and helped to bury their dead. At his word they would follow him to certain death, if need be. This would be a campaign of staggering, unprecedented importance, and its outcome would permit no middle ground. The empire would either survive or fall, and Vespasian’s leadership would be the fulcrum on which the scales of history would tip.
Suddenly Persephone’s more personal concerns began crowding in. A campaign of this extent could take years, she realized. Her loneliness in Vespasian’s absence would be devastating. More important, because she had produced no heir, should Vespasian be killed, Rustannican law dictated that she would rule in his stead until she died or became too feeble to continue. Then the Suffragat would choose a new ruler to fill the power vacuum.
But if Vespasian was killed and his campaign collapsed, what sort of shambles would remain for her to govern? she wondered. Financing this special assault would surely use up most of the remaining treasury funds. If the drive failed and the Rustannican treasury was bankrupted, Ellistium would burst into an uncontrollable riot. Worse, within a matter of months Shashidan hordes would mass outside the city walls. The decimated legions would surely be insufficient to drive them back.
Amid the deafening silence of the Suffragat, Persephone again looked at her beloved husband. He returned a gaze of grim determination mixed with the hint of a secret apology for not having taken her into his confidence sooner. While she nodded her undying support, she found herself wiping away another tear.
The Suffragat strenuously debated the wisdom of Vespasian’s proposal for more than two hours. After each group had voiced its opinion, Vespasian again grasped his scepter and banged it on the floor.
“What say you all?” he asked. “May we now vote?”
Gracchus stood. “Before we do, we of thePon Q’tar must ask whether a battle plan has been drawn up for this undertaking,” he said. “If it has, we demand to see it.”
Vespasian shook his head. “As yet there is no battle plan,” he answered firmly. “My reasons for not ordering one are simple. Given its great importance, I wish the plan to be drawn up and approved by the entire Suffragat, rather than only the military. I have but one demand. Once we are in the field, I reserve the right to change any tactics I deem necessary to ensure our success.”
“In that case, thePon Q’tar agrees that the proposal should be voted on,” Gracchus answered. “But if a suitable battle plan cannot be formulated, thePon Q’tar reserves the right to demand another vote-one that would call for the total abandonment of the campaign. We will of course demand that the First Mistress of the Priory perform the auspiciums to divine our fortune in this endeavor. A favorable answer would go far in convincing the populace of our eventual victory. And there is one other thing upon which we must insist. Should this campaign become a reality, we believe that the Oraculum should be brought along as well. This sets a precedent, we realize, but her visions might be of great use to us.”
“The tribunes agree,” Lucius said.
“As does the Priory,” Julia Idaeus added.
Vespasian nodded. “Very well,” he said. “Send the skeens to retrieve the plaques.”
With a quick hand signal from Gracchus, each skeen ran to one corner of the Aedifficium. There sat an ivory chest, its sides and top emblazoned with golden eagles. Opening the chest, the skeens removed dozens of gleaming onyx and ivory plaques, each about the size and thickness of a man’s hand. One black plaque and one white plaque was delivered to each voting member of the Suffragat. However important or complex a motion might be, voting was a simple process. No secret votes or abstentions were allowed. A white plaque meant yes; a black one meant no.
When the members had been given their plaques, Vespasian looked toward the Suffragat as a whole. “The voting may begin,” he said simply.
At once the air filled with plaques as the members cast their votes. As the plaques levitated, Vespasian held his breath.
Not a single black plaque hung in the air. Because there would be no need for a formal count, the members recalled their plaques. As they recognized the full import of what they had done, the Suffragat members went silent again.
Vespasian was astounded. In the entire history of the empire, only two other votes had been unanimous, and those had been “black-plaqued.” This had indeed been history in the making.
“The motion is passed,” Vespasian announced. “So that all three factions of the Suffragat might be represented, Gracchus, Lucius, and Julia, to you I delegate the responsibility of starting work on the battle plan. Leave no stone unturned.”
Pleased beyond measure, Vespasian nodded. “This session is adjourned,” he said. “But before we leave for the games, we have one more responsibility.”
As Vespasian stood from his chair, Benedik Pryam edged closer toward Gracchus.
“It seems that we finally have our great campaign, after all,” he said quietly. “And just as we hoped, it was Vespasian’s idea. I pray that thePon Q’tar and this amazing emperor that we have created are equal to the task…”
Gracchus smiled. “All in good time, my friend,” he answered. “We have taken a greater victory from this day than we could have possibly wished for. I suggest that we go to the arena, drink some wine, and watch more skeens die-for we will soon be on the battlefield.”
“Do you mean to say that we are going to accompany him?” Benedik demanded.
Gracchus nodded. “Given that he so cleverly demanded the right to alter the campaign on his sole authority at any time, I’d say that we have little choice,” he answered. “But do not fear. I know how to manage our headstrong young ruler. And if I cannot, well, the battlefield can be a very dangerous place-even for emperors. Besides, once his gifts have won the day, his further usefulness will be questionable.”
Gracchus watched Vespasian walk across the Aedifficium floor. Against the far wall was mounted a golden war lance. Only the emperor was allowed to handle the lance, and it held great significance for the empire. When the lance was brought before the public, its appearance meant only one thing-that a new and important campaign against Shashida had been ratified by the Suffragat.
Vespasian stopped to regard the sacred lance. He had never held it in his hands. The lance’s tip was sharply pointed, and a golden eagle adorned its haft. A gray and white eagle feather dangled from shaft near the tip. Black leather strips were wound around its center, forming a tight gripping surface.
Vespasian reached up and took the lance down from the wall to find that it felt right in his hand. As he marched toward the Aedifficium doors, the entire Suffragat eagerly followed.
Flushed with victory, Vespasian pointed one hand at the massive bronze doors, and they opened quickly. After purposefully striding out onto the massive Aedifficium landing with the Suffragat in tow, he stood among the structure’s huge columns and looked down the hill and out across Ellistium’s massive forum, the city’s great center of trade and commerce. While the Suffragat gathered around him, Persephone and Lucius came to stand by his side.
As was always the case whenever the Suffragat was in session, an eager crowd had gathered on the hill before the Aedifficium steps, waiting to hear news of the meeting. When they saw the war lance in Vespasian’s hand, the crowd joyfully erupted, their rising cheers quickly attracting more curious citizens. Soon the entire area was full to overflowing as the mob eagerly waited for their emperor to speak. When Vespasian lifted the war lance above his head, the crowd went wild.
“The Suffragat has granted you a great campaign!” he shouted.
Gracchus smiled at Benedik. “It seems that our creation can do no wrong,” the lead cleric whispered. “That man was born to end life.”
As Vespasian walked down the hill and toward the coliseum, Persephone took his arm and the Suffragat followed.
In ways that even Vespasian could not have imagined, the die was cast.