David Drake: Tyrant

No, not that, really. Demansk had come to understand that while two spirits inhabited his son-in-law, they did not possess him. Any more than Demansk's own closest advisers "possessed" him. Adrian Gellert's mind was enhanced, surely. His soul remained his alone.

"— hence the reintroduction of the hereditary principle seems called for, although—"

He gave a quick glance at his daughter, seated just four chairs to his right. And, slightly behind her, the stools and attendants which kept her offspring in something vaguely resembling "order" at a public event. Three of them, now — with, judging from the swell of her midriff, yet another soon to join the world.

Sure as anything, no spirits did that.

As he droned on — orated, rather — Demansk had to repress a grin. He had no doubt his grandfather would have fiercely disapproved most of what Demansk was doing, not least of all the way he was favoring an Emerald son-in-law. But on one subject, at least, the stern old man would have grudgingly given Adrian Gellert his approval. Keep 'em barefoot and pregnant, whatever you do. Barefoot, you can negotiate, now and then.

"— so, to conclude, I propose a modification which, I think, will give us, dealing with present circumstances, the best of all possible worlds."

He was tempted to add: as shown to me by a machine which knows all possible worlds. But he left it unsaid. For almost all of the people gathered around this table, as well-educated and sophisticated as most of them were, the explanation would have been indistinguishable from "magic." Given that Demansk had not yet seen fit to eliminate the laws outlawing magic, that would be. . awkward.

He was nearing the end of his speech, which was going to probably be awkward enough.

"— each Triumvirate, therefore, to become a cycle. A training ground, as it were, the senior Triumvirs — with the approval of the others — adopting their own successors. Neither relying on the vagaries of fate—"

As always, the memory of Barrett ached. Not so much, true, yet never absent. But Demansk had long since realized that particular ache was the surest sign he was still sane.

"— nor the whims of factional strife—"

Drone, drone — wrap it up, damnation.

"So, in conclusion, I take this occasion to announce my own successor. A choice which, I might mention, has the full approval of both of my fellow Triumvirs as well as" — here, his voice grew stern: the patriarch in full glory—"my own magnificent sons."

And. . that's enough. There'll be endless time for all the squabbling. I'm tired of drama. Have been for a long time.

He simply pointed to Adrian, seated three chairs to his right. With no one between him and Demansk except Olver and Trae.

"Him." And sat down.

* * *

Three things happened simultaneously.

Dead silence fell over the small crowd. Except—

Olver and Trae both shot to their feet, holding up their goblets of wine and calling for a toast.

Arsule leaned over and whispered into his ear: "I thought you'd sworn off drama and histrionics."

* * *

The fourth thing which happened, of course, was a given. Far down the table, one of the officials from — Demansk couldn't quite remember which branch of the bureaucracy; some post in the Registry — rose to his feet and began speaking.

"— fully agree with the political insights of the Paramount—"

Again, a whisper from Arsule: "I told you to have the whole lot of them executed. Exile just one of them! Ha! Like trying to drown a redshark."

"— still, a well-nigh insuperable problem. Difficult, at the very least. As the Paramount's son, of course, the august Gellert will have no choice but to divorce his wife, she now being his sister. But—"

Adrian choked on his goblet of wine. Helga sat up straight in her chair and bestowed upon the far distant bureaucrat a glare of fury that would have wilted anyone except—

"I'm telling you, Verice," whispered Arsule, "they're not really human. Trust me! According to the high priest of Jassine, bureaucrats are actually—"

"— leave the legal problem of the status of the children to be decided. By rigorous interpretation of existing law, of course, exposure on a rock is the only—"

* * *

What followed next confirmed for Verice Demansk, anew, the wisdom of always having two strings for his bow. His daughter had long since given up the practice of bearing a sword in public. But — no fool, she — Lortz was always nearby, ready to hand it to her.

The official from the Registry did manage to escape from the palace grounds with nothing worse than a minor flesh wound. But it was a close thing; and, the guards who witnessed the events all agreed, was saved only by his pursuer's quite evident state of pregnancy.

* * *

When Helga stalked back on to the balcony, she returned the sword to Lortz. Then, glared at the crowd in general. Then, at Adrian.

To the first, she said nothing. Words would have been, indeed, superfluous.

To Adrian, hissed: "Go ahead. Say anything about the responsibilities of pregnant women."

Adrian, confirming again Demansk's judgement of his successor, maintained the silence of a sage.

For once, Arsule agreed with her tyrant husband. "Well, at least he's not crazy."

Afterword How It All Came About

by David Drake

Many years ago I wrote plot outlines for what became The General series. I used the career of the 6 thcentury a.d. Byzantine general Belisarius as the template for my hero, Raj Whitehall, but I gave him the support of a supercomputer and a purpose greater than that of satisfying the megalomania of his master Justinian. Steve Stirling very ably turned the four outlines into five fat novels.

Jim Baen liked the result (so did I and so have quite a number of readers) and suggested I plot a series of single-shot spin-offs utilizing other historical templates. I did so, though I'm afraid with less success. The Green Planet was probably a bad idea (no, it wasn't my idea but I acquiesced); it's unlikely ever to be turned into a novel. The Chosen , based on what I considered the reality of Steve's Draka universe, had unexpected practical problems. The result is a good book, but getting to that point wasn't a process either Steve or I would willingly undergo again.

That left two first-rate outlines, one based on an Ancient Egyptian model and the other on the fall of the Roman Republic. The latter was particularly complex; Steve, Jim, and I agreed that it should be split into two novels (as had happened with the third outline of the Belisarius series) to make up for my failure with The Green Planet .

Unfortunately there were more glitches. Steve ran into physical problems. The first half of the outline, published as The Reformer , was a lot shorter than anybody had expected, and Steve then decided he wouldn't be able to finish the series on a practical timeline. Eric Flint cheerfully stepped in (well, he was more cheerful about the situation than I was) and took up the slack.

The Tyrant is therefore the sequel to The Reformer . Eric had a very difficult task in integrating the existing novel with his own, in addition to following the remaining half of the outline and creating a self-standing novel at the same time. I'm extremely pleased with the way he handled it. Those of you who read both halves will be interested in the way two different, able writers have handled the same material.

The material itself is a subject that I've pondered for all my adult life. The collapse of the Roman Republic looks simple when you simply follow a schematic of the events: Marius and Sulla, victorious generals, fought for leadership of the state. Sulla won, returned the government to what he considered its ideal form, and died. Reckless adventurers, in particular Cataline (who was put down by the heroic efforts of Cicero), attempted to gain power by force but for a time were prevented.