Arts of Dark and Light: Book 01 - A Throne of Bones (100 page)

“You are injured, my lord!” exclaimed the leader, looking distressed.

“It’s nothing, Arnaud,” the comte assured him. “Merely an unfortunate misunderstanding.”

“That must have been one hell of a misunderstanding!” Arnaud looked around the room, first at his master’s torn and bloody chemise, then at Courrat’s sword, blood-stained to the hilt, and finally, at its unfortunate owner and the unnatural shape of his arm. Then he did a double-take. “Sweet Lady of Sorrows, is that the Duc de Chenevin?”

“I fear so,” admitted Saint-Aglie. “Now, if you will excuse me, Your Royal Highness, I believe my carriages are waiting, so I will be on my way to my castle. Arnaud, Sebastien, if you would be so kind as to escort the three ladies outside, I would appreciate it. Please be at ease, my lady Fjotra. Your very good friend the comtesse already awaits you there.”

“How dare you take my betrothed from my very side?” the prince snarled. “What makes you think I won’t expose you and have you hunted down like a dog, Saint-Aglie, or whatever you are?”

“Expose what?” The comte airily waved his bloody right hand. “Expose yourself as a lunatic? By all means, do the realm the inestimable service of convincing everyone that you are insane, preferably before you succeed your father. Though I admit that ‘King Etienne Henri the Mad’ has a certain ring to it. But any sooner and you’ll see the crown pass to Comte d’Ainme instead. So have a care, my dear duc, and think before you speak. There are those who are far more fearsome than me who shall soon, very soon, stride openly across the world. Before them, kings and empires will tremble. Count yourself fortunate indeed if I am the worst creature you find yourself facing.”

Fjotra thought of resisting the gentle pressure on her back, and she looked to the duc for help. But he seemed to have forgotten her and was staring at the creature that called himself Saint-Aglie with narrowed eyes full of hate.

Better the devils you know, she thought. The comte and comtesse had only ever sought to help her, whereas the Duc de Chenevin had ordered her kidnapping and would have imposed himself on her had Saint-Aglie not interceded.

And yet, she could not help herself. As the comte’s man, Arnaud, led her out of the library, she looked back again at the fierce young man standing under the painting, his anger an almost visible aura radiating outward from his body. Surely so handsome a man could not be either monstrous or mad, she told herself.

And then a rebellious thought belatedly occurred to her: Who were Saint-Aglie and Domdidier to tell a princess of reavers whom she could and could not marry?

MARCUS

The meeting of the senior officers that took place in Marcus’s tent, after the first watch was underway, was unsurprisingly contentious. Marcus sat at his desk, upon which a map of Larinum was displayed, while the others paced about the command tent—with the exception of the exhausted Praefectus Ballistarius, who was slumped in a wooden chair. The dispute was centered around whether the affront to the legion, as well as the Senate and People, warranted the delay that would be required to sack Solacte. The two decurions, in company with Trebonius, were the most adamant about the need to mete out punishment to those who had slain their fellow knights, while the centurions were considerably more philosophical about their fallen comrades-in-arms.

“We cannot let these murders go unrevenged,” argued Senarius Arvandus, first decurion of the First Cavalry. “Not only would it be a dereliction of our duty and an insult to their memories, but it would only encourage other cities in their mutiny. Consider how the Cynothii defeat of Andronicus Caudinus set the stage for rebellion to sweep across the provinces. Once word gets out that a city can thumb their noses in the face of an entire Amorran legion without consequence, whatever remaining allies we have will desert too.”

“These aren’t just legionaries, but knights,” Trebonius pointed out. “Men from equestrian families, who are going to demand answers concerning the deaths of their sons. Clericus, do you seriously believe you can go to them in clean conscience and tell them that we didn’t recover their bodies for decent burial, and worse, we didn’t even attempt to call their murderers to justice?”

“It’s war,” Proculus growled. “It ain’t just the infantry that dies. Knights die. Mules die. Children die. I got no disrespect for Gavrus or any of the other riders. Even the young lad, what was his name, Dardanus, he pulled his weight. But we lost more than twelve men just marching here. We’ll be damn lucky if them twelve is all we lose afore we get to Montmila or wherever we’re wintering.”

“So you’re advocating that we simply march on without so much as throwing another rock at their gates?” Arvandus was aghast. “Losing men to sickness is one thing. Disease and accidents happen, but enduring them doesn’t lead to more of it. That’s not the case here. We have to teach these murderous bastards a lesson no other city will forget!”

Proculus glared at the decurion. “I didn’t say nothing about us not doing nothing! I just said that losing twelve men ain’t so big a notion. Unless Cassabus can knock down those walls, storming them with ladders will cost us a sight more than twelve, I’ll promise you that.”

Marcus glanced at the praefact. Cassabus was leaning back in his chair, rubbing at his eyes. “What do you think?” Marcus asked the artillery officer.

“I think there is no way to be certain of taking the place in less than a month, unless you want to spend two or three centuries storming those walls. They’re too high to climb easily and too thick to knock down in a reasonable time. It can be done, but it can’t be done quickly.”

“We don’t have the time,” Marcus said. “They will have sent riders to Falera and Fescennium, perhaps even to some of the Vallyrii and Caelignii cities as well. If the Larinii have been gathering their forces since the spring, we could find ourselves with an allied legion or two in between us and Montmila as soon as tomorrow. That would explain their insolence.”

“So we should run again?” Trebonius spat. “Only this time, we’re running from legions that may be entirely imaginary?”

“I didn’t see you volunteering to stay behind,” Marcus retorted. That made the other officers laugh and Trebonius raised his hand in rueful submission. “Arvandus,” Marcus said, “what sort of lesson did you have in mind?”

“Blood for blood. We decimate them in reverse, ten for each of our murdered men!”

“Be a bit hard, I’d say, seeing how they’s all on the other side o’ those walls,” drawled Marcellianus, centurion of the second cohort. “You got a plan to get them out?”

“We don’t got to sack the damn city to teach every Utruccan who hears about it a good hard lesson,” Proculus objected. “I’ll wager Julianus seen plenty of folks about when he was out catching those cattle earlier. How many’d you get? I heard something like eight hundred head.”

“Seven-sixty-two,” Julianus said. “And one hundred seventy-eight sheep. Hope you got some lads who know how to drive them beasts, because most of my riders don’t ever want to see a cow again unless it’s butchered and served up as steak.”

Marcellianus whistled. “Seven hundred? That should keep us in beef for a spell.”

“Sixth cohort has two centuries designated pecuarii,” Marcus said. “That doesn’t mean the men can necessarily tell what end of the beast is which, though, so let the other centurions know that Nebridius can have any of their men who is experienced with cattle at his sole discretion, so long as he gives them one of his own as a replacement. Temporary transfers, of course, to return to their original units once we reach Amorr and the men transferred out can be trained properly.”

“Let’s get back to the lesson we intend to teach the good people of Solacte,” Trebonius said impatiently. Marcus saw his fellow tribune was taking the death of Dardanus very hard. “Proculus, unless I failed to understand you correctly, you were suggesting that Julianus could round up the requisite one hundred twenty locals to slaughter tomorrow. Can you do it, decurion?”

Julianus shrugged. “If that’s what the tribune decides he wants. You want men, women, or sweet innocent little babies for your blood offering, Clericus?”

“It don’t really matter,” Proculus said indifferently. “The more important question is if you want to impale them, behead them, cut their throats, or crucify them.”

“Forget crucifixion,” Cassabus declared. “It’s too much work, and they’d take too long to die. But if we’re not going to use those fake onagers, we can just build a pyre and burn them all on it.”

“There ain’t no need for theatrics,” Marcellianus said. “Just kill ‘em where you find ‘em and leave them lay. The Solactae’ll figure it who did it and why soon enough.

“Now just hold on here, gentlemen!” Marcus broke into the macabre discussion. “We’re not crucifying or burning anyone. I haven’t even said we’re going to kill anyone. But even if it’s only to keep our options open and let them know we are serious, let’s round up the hundred twenty, boys and young men between the ages of ten and twenty, assuming you can find enough of them. A lot of them may have already flocked to their standards now that the revolt is open. If not, girls of the same age will do. My thought is that we probably can trade them for the remains of our men and an amount of supplies.”

Trebonus looked betrayed. “How is that teaching them or anyone else a lesson?” The other officers looked at each other, not so much in mutiny as in disbelief. “Attack our soldiers with impunity and we very well might…demand lunch and an apology?”

“The demonstration of power need not necessarily involve its actual exercise,” Marcus said, feeling even as the words left his mouth that this was an argument that left much to be desired.

“It’s not about power, Valerius—it’s about revenge and retribution!” Trebonius nearly shouted. “You’re not bloody Corvus, you know. Killing a few enemies of the Senate and People for their acknowledged crimes isn’t at all like executing your nephew. You didn’t hesitate to kill goblins in battle, so why would you hesitate now?”

“Thinking before one acts is not hesitation, Trebonius!” Marcus quelled his instinctive rage at the unfair mention of his father. “Shall I throw caution to the winds and order the storming of the walls? No, Cassabus knows better and can advise otherwise. But who is there to tell me of all the possible long-term consequences of slaughtering more than one hundred innocent young Larinii and making a public spectacle of it in the process? Can you? Can anyone?”

“There are no innocent Larinii,” Julianus said. “They broke the alliance, they chose war. Even the youngest child among them is guilty of war against the Senate and People.”

“You’re not trained as a sophist, Julianus, so don’t try to play philosopher with me,” Marcus replied scornfully. “I think we have discussed the matter sufficiently for tonight. Round up the young men, ten dozen of them, and leave it to me to decide what will be done. We will meet here again at sunrise, and I’ll give everyone their orders then. In the meantime, unless anyone has any further questions, you are all dismissed.”

Each officer saluted crisply enough, although the praefect equitatus was visibly angry and the two centurions seemed less than entirely pleased with the lack of definite resolution. But it couldn’t be helped. No doubt his father would have ordered the deaths of everyone in Solacte, figured out a way to infiltrate the city’s walls, then avenged the legion upon their bodies to the admiration and applause of his senior officers. But, as Trebonius had pointed out, he wasn’t Corvus.

The centurions and decurions left the tent, but Gaius Trebonius turned back and approached him. “Permission to speak, General?” he asked with mock propriety.

“Shut up, Trebonius. I know you think I’m flirting with disaster. What’s on your mind?”

“I want to know what is holding you back from doing what needs to be done. Because whatever it is, it had better be pretty damned important if you’re willing to risk losing the men over it.”

“I know, I know. They think I’m a coward because we’ve been doing nothing but run instead of standing and fighting.”

“They don’t think you’re a coward. They know better. The decurions haven’t forgotten how you led the charge down the hill to rescue Fortex and break the wolfriders.”

“I didn’t lead it,” Marcus corrected him.

“Led it, ordered it—it doesn’t matter. That’s not the point. The point is that they don’t think you’re a coward. They think you’re soft. They think you’re afraid to make the hard calls because you’re too young and inexperienced. Too romantic.”

Marcus shook his head. “That’s not it at all.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s that I’m truly not sure what the right thing to do here. Trebonius, I’ve read all sorts of philosophers and theologians. I’ve read Oxonus. I’ve read Tullius. I’ve read the Testaments and the Apostalics. And you know, none of them directly address the sort of situation I’m facing here.

“Do you truly think I’m afraid to tell Proculus to butcher all those Larinii? Nothing would be easier. I could give the order tonight, ride for Amorr tomorrow, and they’d celebrate me in the city for it without me having to watch a moment of it. And even if I were to ignore the moral aspects, who is to say that slaughtering our own allies won’t inflame what is already a dangerous situation?”