Hooves clattered along a cambered road away from the double ramparts of Pethens and sent up dust neath the pale full moon.
Followed by two of his houseguards, Triumvir Remus Longinus Scipio rode east. Dandling the reins, he sent his steed to a gallop through a riparian holt before slowing as they reached a small glade. Moonlight shafted through thin foliage, dabbling the gnarled roots twisting out of old leaves thick in the mold. Nearby in the dark, a mountain spring babbled. A falcon scythed over their heads, rasping in a sound typical of the southern breed. Remus shot a leery glance at the night sky, then turned to his shoulder and put up a hand. His guards drew up. Cupping a hand over his mouth, he made a sputter of clucking in an octave that mimicked the falcon.
A moment later, from the other side of the glade, responded a similar clucking, with the accent on the first note of every interval. Shadows rustled, peering into the shapes of burly men. The one at the front was tall and broad-shouldered, with a square face, and a shock of lustrous curls the color of dark honey flopping about. He wore a gauntlet on his right arm and a short-sleeved, silk tunic of expensive Kygerian purple gilded with palmette. Around his neck, Remus saw a gold carcanet, spliced at the front with a chiseled jade the shape of a crescent moon inside two platinum circles. The Aelius' emblem. Proceeding into the light, the young man greeted him with a bow of his head.
Remus dismounted. "Hardien," he said, his mouth fashioning a warm smile. "How're you, son?"
"Can't complain." Hardien returned a smile, his dark skin a foil to the flicker in those large, hazel eyes. "And yourself? In good health, I take?"
"I was," replied Remus with a shrug. "Until a young man inquired after my health. Now I feel old."
"But you are old," Hardien japed. "Feelings should align with facts. It's a good thing you feel as you are, old man."
Remus chuckled. "But what do men kill and die for if it wasn't to spit on facts and call privilege a right? To call how I feel in my head more justifiable a fact than what you see with your eyes, that's power."
"Neh." Clucking his tongue, the islander quirked his brows. "That's tyranny."
"Can you obtain power without tyranny?"
"Can tyranny retain power?"
They met in the eye. A laugh followed.
Remus clapped the young man on the shoulder, then glanced at the two auxiliaries standing astride behind him. Attired in a southern fashion featuring a muscled cuirass, a protective skirt of many layers, and a pair of bronze greaves over the knees, each man bore a spear roughly two meters long, with a flat, leaf-shaped iron head on top and a butt spike on the bottom.
"I believe Lady Ariadne is safe?" he asked.
Hardien nodded in reply. "And the messenger intercepted?"
With the tidings Hardien had provided about the war, Remus set up his men and captured the messenger from the north. "Two days prior."
"Good." Compressing his full lips, the young man whistled to the sky while he stepped to the side with an arm out lengthwise at an angle. The falcon that had been hovering over their heads swooped down and landed on his gauntlet. He petted the raptor, his knuckles stroking along its back. "Ain't you the Prophetess' favorite?" he mused and wheeled himself around to Remus. "Despite all the power to terminate any life in the realm, one has yet the luxury to disclose such trivia as a favored pet."
The wind rose, ruffling the trees; petals spun from the flowering hedges. Because of Laelia Euphrates' predilection, the state had decreed falcon hunt a capital offense, which inadvertently facilitated their communication. All the power gained in the name of protecting those we loved only rendered them into our soft underbellies. Remus savored the bitter truth.
"We rest for the night at the Admiral's Tavern close to the Cothon," Hardien continued in measured cadences, his eyes without a stir. "The lady is waiting for you there, and we will proceed with our discussion about the message. I believe you've dressed for the occasion?"
Remus lifted his cloak, revealing a plain, cambric tunic underneath. Swinging from a brace on his waist were a couple of hammers commonly used in carpentry.
The young man allowed himself a broader smile. Crooning to the falcon, he gave his arm a shake. The falcon flew off. As the forlorn shadow disappeared into the night, he turned to his shoulder and whispered a few words in Kygerian. Upon the command, the southern auxiliaries went behind tall hedges and returned with a low-sided wagon, drafted by three blood bay coursers whose manes gleamed in the dark.
"After you, my lord," said Hardien, lifting a cured hide on the side.
Remus left a man behind to look after their horses and had the other accompany him inside the carriage. As they all took their seat, the wagon wobbled into motion.
"Is everything secure?" asked Remus, his eyes lifting at Hardien perching on the buckboard opposite to him at the front.
"Paid the keeper enough to have the tavern all to ourselves," replied the islander while he threw his head at the auxiliaries driving the wagon. "As for why we have all the armed men, we are making a personal delivery to House Scipio. Naturally, the valuables require protection. Upon our arrival, unfortunately, an expensive cart Father bought only recently suffered a mishandling at the dock and needed a seasoned carpenter, such as yourself, to come and take a prompt look. Nothing suspicious." Keeping a straight face, he winked at Remus.
Who only smirked. While all sounded well planned, he couldn't shake off the unease that wrung from the pit of his stomach. Too many loose threads.
"Something else I want to discuss," the young man went forth, his eyes fixing on Remus. "You know how Father always longs for his return, so the offspring of House Aelius may come home one day. Since the Catasto Tax, this began to seem more likely a prospect."
"Lord Marcellus wants to buy land so he can legally own businesses here," Remus finished off the other man's sentence, the back of his head tapping on the wood plank of the carriage. "And it doesn't matter what the businesses are, or even if they profit, so long as they'd help legalize the gold your house has illegally made with me over the years. You want to leverage the Renanian market over his Praetorship."
The islander winked again.
"You need a lawyer," Remus resumed. "And not those established old fools, or their sons and grandsons, too privileged to know flexibility. You want someone relatively new but not callow. Someone with a stellar record and an ego hungering for more."
"Any name you recommend?"
"Will you trust me if I do?"
"Ain't we in the same barque?"
"Of course," Remus seconded, stroking his chin. "And isn't it why we both keep hidden our rafts lest the barque scupper? Haven't you kept one too from your lord father?"
Wheels creaked under them while rooks cawed from afield. Silence enshrouded the inside of the wagon for a few short breaths.
Hardien guffawed.
Groomed since the age of five by Lord Marcellus Aurelius himself, Hardien Helvius Aelius was more phlegmatic a player in the game of trade and politicking than most men Remus' age. That said, thought Remus, joining him in his laugh, every mask of equanimity, as impenetrable and imperturbable as the one before him, meant to cloak a feral creature never to see light. He entertained the prospect of nights on which the young man released in private his creature-ness.
They continued through the rolling hills interspersed with meadow pasture in gradients for about two and a half miles southeast and arrived at the Cothon, the Pethenian harbor.
As Remus stepped off the wagon, he couldn't help but behold again the sight of the unique circular bay, once home to the proud Renanian war fleet. While all the shipyards had now been abandoned for commercial purposes, back in the age of Consulship, trading vessels were only allowed in the rectangular harbor on the lower level extending into the Huron Sea. Enclosed by embankments, the military bay concealed all their ships, ensuring their strategic moves and numbers from the inquisitive eyes, while all foreign ships entered under their watch through the civilian harbor, an opening over twenty meters in width between the two docks. At the end of each pier was erected a simple doric column, and just below the waterline were thick iron chains that could block entry once reeled in tight from both ends.
A draft slithered past Remus, making him shiver. He tugged at his cloak.
Nigh on thirty years since the end of the first Huronic War. Remus still felt the weight of the past at his heels, of those they had lost to the sea. It was through the opening between these docks that Augustus Gaius sailed out with his galleys, each equipped with the claw, an iron ramp latched to the bow. When the enemy's ship approached, the gangplank would be dropped like a draw bridge while the spikes underside would bite into the deck of the Senecan's ship like metal fangs. No more could the Senecans sink their vessels with the ram on their ships now their fates were bound. In their moment of panic, the Renanian infantry charged through the claws and seized control of the enemy's ships. Hence wrote the end of the first Huronic War, followed by a period of peace so prosperous it felt as if a promise of eternity.
Feeling at a loss, Remus glanced at the ivory columns presiding over the rippling sea, and the darkened hulls of many galleys jiggling along the piers.
"That's ours," said Hardien as he disembarked, his arm pointing at the one with double masts and a flying jab adorned with pennons of many a crescent moon. "We arrived only yesterday," the young man went on, "taking the longer but more familiar route through the south. The Huron Sea is too risky, watched by both the Scencans and the Turisians. So, we traveled west, cutting through the archipelagos, and stopped by Kygeria, where Father supplied us with cargo enough of a wealthy caravan, then sailed back up north."
Remus nodded as he walked abreast with the man along the harbourfront while the past kept haunting him. The last time he came here was with Marcus Cornelius Uranus to fight the Second Huronic War. As he had prodded Marcus into the conviction of duplicating Augustus' success, Marcus had all their galleys equipped with heavier claws that slowed and capsized themselves during the battle. In the aftermath of their decisive defeat was an irretrievable rift between the two Consuls that threw them into the civil war thirteen years ago.
Thirteen years. Remus lamented. Where did all the time go? And how did they wind up here? Was it fate? Or was the fate their unconscious making? If only they could make conscious of the unconscious, would they rewrite the tragedies thought to be prewritten? And if he could rewind time, would he, Remus Longinus Scipio, choose differently?
Arriving at the Admiral's Tavern, they were approached by a couple of Praetor's guards walking rounds.
Hardien greeted them with a quick bow of his head. A hand went under his Kygerian silk and out with the Imperial Pass for selected trade, a marble slate chased with the Praetor's sigil in gold. He handed it to the taller guard.
"Usual delivery to Triumvir Remus of House Scipio," he explained, his flippant tone tinged with impatience typical of a high lord. "We stay at the Admiral's Tavern for the night."
As anticipated, the guards inquired about their purpose for leaving the tavern after dark, and Remus tipped his head forward in obeisance when Hardien introduced him as the carpenter.
The tall one returned the trade pass. "It's only pro forma, my lord, you understand," as he spoke, he and the other made way, stepping to either side of the pavement.
"Of course, gentlemen. Have a good night." Hardien intoned, waiting for the guards to leave, his mien diplomatic.
The guards exchanged an unsettled look, "Good night, my lord," and spun on their heels.
When they both went out of earshot, the islander swiveled back to Remus. Leaning to an arm sidelong, he gestured to the tavern. "Apologies for the hiccup," he said. "Hope it hasn't startled you?"
Laughing in reply, Remus shook his head. The young man meant to slight, condescending to old blokes such as himself. Could such condescension arise from the fermenting strife between the two generations of the Aelius, Remus wouldn't know. He knew, however, the pride of youth no wisdom or cunning could tame. When in possession of youth, there was nothing to fear, and a man was at his closest to becoming a god. But the funny thing about this curious possession was that no one truly knew how it was only fleeting until it fled in the silent watch of the night, leaving us abandoned to our cunning, or wisdom, or nothing at all.
They went up a rise in mild gradient to the heart of the harbor and stopped before the Admiral's Tavern. A three-stories insulae, the tavern used to house commanders, always watching and forever watchful. Now, it was lathered on the heels of four walls with thick lichen.
On sentry at the front of the Tavern was a Renanian-looking auxiliary, with a rectangular face contoured by the night and bushy brows darkening the deep eye-sockets. He saluted Hardien.
"Flaccus," Hardien greeted him with a nod. "Will Decurion Pero Salvitto joined us?"
Flaccus shook his head. "By order of the lady, all await further instruction outside. Decurion Pero has just left to petrol the pier." As he spoke, he gave the front door a push.
The elm plank creaked ajar, and the light from the fireplace poured out.
Everything has changed, Remus allowed a small sigh. Where had been a magazine for tackles and weaponry was now a large dining space, with pews flanking a long, teak table, riddled and scratched, with blistering lacquer that had seen better days. At the end of the table sat a petite, young woman with her back to them, her shoulder-length, auburn hair grasping the swirling flame. Attending her were two slave girls from the southern archipelagoes, each in a sleeveless tunic of beige batiste cropped from the waist. They made obeisance to Hardien and scurried off barefoot to the rooms upstairs upon their master's gesture with his eyes.
Wood squeaked above their heads and quieted. Only the fire crackled.
"Well," the young Aelius broke the silence, "Would you, my lord, share with us the message you've intercepted?" He turned to Remus.
Who drew the message from the pocket sewn on the inside of his cloak and lay it on the fading lacquer. "We intercepted the messenger two days ago," he observed while eyeing the young woman. "We won the war, and terms have been negotiated between both Exonia and Turis that favor us. However," he gulped, his lips hanging apart.
Skewing around in her seat, the young woman turned her face him, her hazel eyes lifting. Big and feline, they glowed like tourmalines shifting between a hue of amber and green as she moved. An ethereal beauty as she was, Ariadne looked not much unlike her mother.
"General Julius, my lady–"
Before he could bring himself to bring it to her, her face crumpled. Shoulder-length, auburn hair bounced off from her ears as she flinched. Balling one hand, she had the other arm around her waist. A visible shudder coursed through her.
Hardien picked up the message, his brows bunching up while he read. Crumpling the papyrus, he hurled it at a slated wall. A flare never seen in him rose in his eyes. He whirled and booted the stool behind him off balance. Unsheathing his sword, he parred off a leg with one sweep of an arm. The block of wood spun before hitting the grease-stained floor and rolled next to Remus' feet.
Remus narrowed his gaze, watching the other man toss away his sword and heave as he stooped over the old lacquered teak, a stock of dark curls straggling over his face. Knowing the islander had long been friends with Julius in private, Remus didn't anticipate nonetheless such a reaction from him. Natural as it was to grief for a loss, could a man like Hardien permit even a glimpse into his truth? Was the creature he had so well cloaked also his humanity? Or was it pure acting to earn Ariadne's trust for his own ends? Remus had yet to decide in a profound desolation whether the lad was too good a thespian, or himself too big a fool to still want to believe in comradery. He turned to Ariadne.
Slowly proceeding to her, he dropped to a knee. The weight of his covert love for her late mother shadowed over the stretch of time. Had it not been for Lady Anatolia, he might still be a bard, penniless and purposeless, roaming the Renanian streets that would lead him nowhere. And there had not been a day he didn't rue his miscalculation ten years ago. Of all the things he had seen, the nefarious plots he had hatched, the ruthless trades partaken, never had Remus anticipated Marcus Cornelius Uranus would actually dispose of the prepossessing mother of his own daughter.
"I'm truly sorry, my lady," he said, reaching to grab Ariadne's hand. "And I'd be your butcher if you'd have me. But if you trust me, I'd urge you not to confront your father until we find out what truly happened on the battlefield after your departure."
Tears streamed. Ariadne closed her eyes. "Let me guess," she said, her soft voice breaking. Damp lashes fluttered, casting wispy shadows as she opened her eyes. "Lorenzo claimed he died fighting the enemy, did he?"
Remus confirmed with his silence.
"And you know who was the enemy before the Turisians invaded?" She scoffed, pulling away her hand. "Lorenzo."
The floor creaked. Hardien stopped behind Remus. "What should we do?"
Ariadne glanced down as she rose to her feet, her hands curling into fists. "We can't take out Marcus and Lorenzo together," she observed. "Let's see how we can tamper with the message to drive a wedge. We need these two to fight each other first, and we'll deal with what's left." She picked up the papyrus, stretching it flat between her hands. "Problem is, that weasel, or should I say, the weasel's advisor, did well with all the treaties in the aftermath. Little is there to displease Marcus. Nor could we fabricate. If we change the terms in the treaties just to ruffle Marcus, it may cause him to react in ways he shouldn't that threaten the hard-earned peace, and Julius," she paused, stifling a sob. "Julius wouldn't want that."
"What about his request for his brother?" suggested Hardien, his arms folding, eyes staring into the fire. "Lorenzo claimed he was badly wounded and would like to mend the feud with Luke. Would eat the table here right up myself if he even suffered a cut! He must have lied."
"Of couse he did, but it wouldn't matter because we can't prove it." Spinning to face the islander, Ariadne slapped the papyrus on the table before him. "And even if we had proof, this is from Lorenzo to Marcus. Why should he expose himself in his own message?"
"Fabricate some evidence, and have Marcus discover it by chance." Hardien didn't budge.
Nor did Ariadne. "By chance how?" she pressed on, meeting him in the eye. "Lorenzo has made himself a hero. Any word breathed to the Praetor dishonoring him could be read as an attempt to sow discord."
Remus coughed, compelling the two to turn in his direction. So much fire in their eyes as if it would never exhaust, so much fierceness, and so many edges yet to be smoothed out by the years to come before the ephemeral youth drew to a close. Smiling wryly to himself, he preceded to the window overlooking the expanse of the bay. Gulls squawked, and the wind skirled over the clapping waves. Moored to the long piers were galleys and sloops, rocking in the silver veil of the moon. He raised his head and glanced at the night afar, his hands steepling.
"Lorenzo has been tasked to bring you home safe and failed in that regard," he remarked. "In the message, however, he vouched you've escaped to safety before the war. What if we tweak it a little? What if we let him confess his ignorance of your fate? Marcus is the Praetor, alas. But he is still your father, my lady."
"Why does everyone insist that swine still cares after everything he has done?" Ariadne mockedl, her laugh mirthless. "And even if I were dead, it's him to blame and no one else!"
Poring over who else could she have implied by everyone, Remus slowly turned back to her. "I know Marcus has failed you as a father, and your mother as a husband. Believe me, I do. And I know if there is a choice for him to make between you and himself, he will always choose the latter." He halted his feet before her, his head hanging low while he sought those feline eyes dodging his.
As the Gaius perished, the Triumvirate was to topple. While Remus meant every word he had vowed, he knew that aligning himself with Ariadne – who had remaining influence in the north – would be his optimal choice. Over the years he and his brother rose to power, the Scipios had more blood on their hands than they could possibly atone for. Some were in favor of the Legidus; others weren't. And even the favors favored only Triumvir Luke.
Old grudges and new. Shall Lorenzo rise to supreme in the aftermath yet to come, he would not easily forgive the Scipio brothers for their indifference bordering on offense. Nor would he forget the mole Remus had implemented in his camp. Had he lied about his injury, or should he return to Pethens unscathed, he would come after his house. And never had Remus seen his road ahead as clearly as in such tenebrous disquiet. Either he helped Marcus bring down Lorenzo – an unlikely outcome to fashion given the Legidus' control of the Renanian legions – or he angeled for an excuse, consented by both the father and the daughter, to flee Pethens before too late. He had to stay alive, after all, should he be of any avail to Ariadne.
"To a man like Marcus who will always choose himself, he can fail no one," Remus continued. "And if any misfortune befalls you, he needs to hold someone else accountable. And that's the position Lorenzo will find himself in."
Out of the corner of his eyes, he espied Hardien fiddling with his carcanet. He entertained the thoughts that had the islander truly engrossed.