Аврам Дэвидсон - Vergil Magus - King Without Country

When such strong, knowing, and confident men were loyal as well… ’Twas a formula for disaster. In their self-certitude, they would feel for their Master a combination of protectiveness and condescension. They would think it proper to follow him to a dangerous confrontation, from a distance to be sure!, and wait nearby with their hammers and amulets to see its outcome. And when their Master swept by the alley in which they lurked, dark-browed and clearly defeated in his purpose… why, then, they would bethink themselves to take matters into their own brawny and capable hands.

So reasoned Vergil Magus as he ran through the piss-yellow streets of Rome, the nameless sword slapping against his side with every running stride, the Chinese magician squeaking and scurrying in his wake. Back the way he had come. Into the slums. To the tenement where the Black Man dwelt.

He turned a corner and stopped, aghast. Before him stood Petronius, smith-gen. and artisan… burning, aflame, sooty flakes rising from the crisped horror of his body. And his five sons as well. They all six burned like candles fallen into the fireplace coals.

It was too late to help any of them. Yet still, Vergil tried. He did try. Moving widdershins, he called up his salamandaric powers, learnt in the Phoenicia of Sidon and not in the Phoenicia of Tyre (Tyre, burned to rock and ashes; Sidon, yet standing), and attempted to quench the flames.

With such lore had he defeated Phoenix himself. Yet now did the flames respond most disobediently, leaping toward the sky, hottening, burning whiter than angels… until, fuel gone, they dwindled, guttered and died.

Leaving nothing behind but greasy stains on the brick street.

Beyond where Petronius and his sons had been stood the Black Man, unblinking. Their eyes met and Vergil’s mind filled with words. He had heard others, both human and not, speak within the sanctuary of his skull before. This was not like that. Rather, it was as if every word in his head, other than these, had temporarily been erased.

You were shown hospitality. And betrayed it.

Vergil Magus stumbled away, numb with horror.

A here and a there and of a not infrequent time, the presence of a king was requisite; even the times of the republics had known the Kings of the Sacrifices. Kingdom after kingdom had been added to the Empery, was it not so? So it was. An empiry was by definition a foederation of kingdoms and of kings. Not so? So. And so it was not alone natural, it was necessary, that kings of kingdoms, roys of royaumes, should participate in certain matters of empery, that empery being as it were a kingdom of kings. The Council to Confirm the Accession of Territory. The Council to Advise on the Sending of Envoys into the OEconomion and Beyond. Council to Supply the Tars and Spars for the Fleet. Council to Authorize Debasement of Common Currency. And so on. And on, so. Now on the one hand a king might well agree that action on this matter or on that ought not occur saunce consent of kings, still, not always did a king wish to leave his own kingdom. Dost tha see? as Festus Imperator et Rex used to ask. Suppose a needed council required the presence of a set of kings. Perhaps to authorize (or not) the inclusion of another kingdom yet. Might the King of Cappadoce not feel affairs at home steady enough for him to leave. Perhaps the three Kings of Gaul did not trust one another at the time. Possibly the King of Aspania was in sooth sick. And yet a quorum was needed. Suppose said quorum of kings required another king more? what to do… what to do…? And then as well. Imagine that a king from outside the Empery arrived as visitor and guest, what more pleasant that, on route to be received by the Emperor said King (of Cush, let one say) said foreign king be first received by a king of the Empery? Agreed: ’twould be pleasant, good for good relations —Thrice welcome, Scion of Memnon, Melcarth’s Heir.

—but suppose there was no King of the Empery to receive him?—

Eh?

What then?

Often the Emperor might wish to take council of someone higher than a mere councilor. Aconsul? one of the (always) two Consuls of Rome, of which by now the Emperor was always one? This would not always, for various reasons, do. Hence the Emperor Ptolemy, but three reigns ago, finding himself in need of a King in Rome when no Kings were in Rome, took hold of The Patrician Ser Appius Appian, and crowned him King. “King over what?.. Your Imperial Majesty?..” “All in good time, there. Presently. Come forth thou, then, King Appius Appian, and sit at my side in a royal seat.” The need, whatever it was, being by and by over: so what then? See now Ptolemy showing that what wit he had was not a false byword: a Document of Full Appointment of Appius Appian to be King Without Country.

King Without Country!

A master stroke.

Every right and pleasure and duty that any other King had (outside his own country), so had the King Without Country. Any office that any other King could hold (outside his own country), so could be held or holden by the King Without Country. And… but… here came the kernel within the nut… however… no one who had ever held the Office of King Without Country could ever hold the Office of Emperor. At one stroke just about any cause for jealousy among any of the Seven (or Seventeen) (not less than Seven) (not more than Seventeen) Selectoral Kings was removed. Why be jealous of some fellow in distant Rome? Why fear any plotting, what might he plot about? The King Without Country could never be selected Emperor. He might resign. He might be appointed and crowned another time or another hundred times: never might he, in royal office or in out, be selected Emperor.

And even, mark this, many ones said to many other ones, should an Emperor suspect that such a one, a clever fellow, capable, popular, charming, might possibly even if not now take steps to become Emperor e’en though not a King (in within the letter of the Iron Laws, some man not a King might be selected to the Seat Imperial)—that such a one might someday intrigue… might plot… take up arms… plan… connive… this or that… someone alas not politic to kill… Well! A solution was always at hand. Kneel, thou loyal subject dan Fulano. We crown thee King Without Country. Rise, Fulano King.

As for income, income must follow. Income might follow out of the condescension of the Imperial Hand. And… even if the Hand Imperial be stayed a bit just then… there was always this: A purse of such and such at every Ides or Kalends. To be paid out of the Salt Gabelle. For salt was not very difficult to procure. Salt was an Imperial Monopoly. Byword: the Roman Roy doth eat no salt. Meaning: The Hand Imperial received all the income from the Salt Gabelle. And gave it all away. The astronomer Such-a-One had discovered a new star? named it after the Emperor? or the Empress? A purse of six gold solids. From the Salt. The salt. Byword: The Roman Fisc is full of salt. Somewhere there was said to be a tribe, a sect, a sept, which designedly did eat no salt. So ’twas said, and, ’twas said, always their teeth fell out and their finger- and toe-nails, too. Nay, but each soul it must eat salt. There was always plenty salt. The tax itself? A trifle. A few stivers to the sack. The sack was large. Even if the Emperor was not lavish in assigning fiefs and such, still, never lacked for money in his purse, Whosoever: King Without Country. Nom.

When you have led through the Court Ceremonies a maritime magnate almost like a bear save that he had braided nostril-hair and broke wind with every ponderous step, then a well-mannered wizard was perhaps an acceptable relief. The Mage Vergil was more than civil to the Master of the Ceremonies. The Master of the Ceremonies was never more than civil to anyone.