S. Turney - Interregnum

He leaned back in his chair. “Though you’re welcome to try.”

Darius cleared his throat. “I came here, Silvas, to appeal to your sense of duty and tradition. I may have been mistaken in that. From everything I’ve seen so far, you are in no need of any more sense of duty or tradition than you already have. Your army is loyal and strong and you have the support of your men. You seem to be basing your decisions on the good of your men and your lands, which is as noble a thing as I could ask.”

He stood and stepped away from his chair.

“When was this flagstone floor put in, could I ask?”

Silvas shrugged. “Almost a hundred years ago. Why?”

“This floor shows your domain as it is today. That means that at least four generations of your family have controlled these lands. Unusual, I’d say. What did your ancestor do to receive that kind of honour from the Emperor?”

Another shrug. “Marcus Pilatus Silvas was a Marshal of the army and a close friend of the Emperor. He saved the Emperor’s life during a riot at the games in Velutio. These are our lands in perpetuity by Imperial decree and we look after them.”

“Can you imagine Velutio giving out such an honour?”

Silvas shuffled in his seat. “This rhetoric’s tiring. No; to answer your question, I can’t see Velutio doing such a thing. And before you say it, I’ve also given thought to the likelihood that he would not allow hereditary titles. All I can do is try to convince him to leave me my lands and if he will not, at least I will have saved them from destruction at his hands.”

Darius nodded. “Frankly, lord Silvas, I think you give more credit to Velutio than he deserves. I don’t know how much dealing you’ve had with him in the past, but I would assume not much by the fact that you remain independent. Velutio is cruel and vindictive and not trustworthy. I have personally seen him crucify and beat men to death for doing nothing other than protecting their family. He has burned entire estates and trampled lands merely to remove an inconvenience. You claim to have thought in advance about these things, but I think you are, in fact, being short-sighted. You have no conception of what you are letting yourself in for if you accept Velutio as the power of the land. I don’t think I’m here to convince you to join us. I think you should convince us to let you come to Munda.”

Silvas blinked. His voice was low and angry. “No one has spoken to me like that in my entire life. I ought to have you flogged for it. I do not have to answer to someone with a spurious claim to the throne with the backing of an army led by a regicide. Careful of the ground on which you walk, young man.”

Darius nodded. “Small threats should be beneath you, lord Silvas. You are not the man I expected.” He glanced across at Tythias. “Gather the men. We’re leaving Silvas to his fate.”

Turning on his heel, he strode toward his honour guard by the doorway. For a long moment, Athas and Silvas glared at each other across the table and then the rest of the Imperial entourage stood and made their way across the hall.

Silvas clenched and unclenched his fists rhythmically, his teeth grinding until he stood sharply. “Stay your ground young Emperor. I offered you my hospitality and I still do.”

Darius stopped at the door and turned. “You have something further to say, lord Silvas?”

Silvas growled as he strode across the hall toward them. “You’re a strong willed young man and quite brave; very brave in fact. You may be a good choice for the throne and you’d certainly be a better choice than Velutio, even though I can’t conceive of any way in which you can win this. The fact remains that I still haven’t made my decision and that despite your apparent unconcern, I know that you need us as much as we may need you. I still will not march my men to Munda and leave my lands unprotected and I also that you are equally unwilling to bring your army here. And so we’re at something of an impasse. However, I respect that you truly believe that you are doing the right thing by me and I have the serious nagging feeling that you may be right. We cannot compromise, but I will give you my word on this: If Velutio arrives at my door demanding fealty, I will give it and will not renege. I believe that an oath should not be broken. However, if your army marches and arrives in my lands before Velutio sets his sights on me, I will willingly take your oath and my men will fight for you. More than that I cannot say. Do not think me short-sighted or a coward. I must look after my people and if you aim to be Emperor, you must understand that.”

Slowly, Darius nodded. “I apologise for any perceived slight on your honour, lord Silvas. I never intended to imply cowardice. Very well, our army will move out soon and I very much believe you will see us march before Velutio.”

Ushering them back toward the seats, Silvas smiled weakly. “I hope so, young Emperor. I very much hope so.”

“Do you think he’ll really join us?” Darius asked, tipping more rich red wine from the jug into his goblet. “I felt he would have liked to have pledged to us today had we been ready to march.”

Athas nodded. “He meant what he said. Silvas is very old-fashioned and believes in the sanctity of the Imperial oath. He’ll join us if we can give him a show of strength before Velutio threatens his lands.”

Tythias nodded, tearing off a piece of lamb and waving it to emphasise his words. “That’s what I’ve been coming across for months: people who want change and are hopeful that we’ll succeed, but unwilling to commit at the time. They won’t leave their lands. If we’d rallied our army down here on the plains, we’d have seen a lot more lords join us.”

He chewed on the fresh lamb as Brendan leaned forward, slamming his empty mug back to the table. “Problem is, if we’d gathered here, Velutio’d ‘ave been on us in a week. We’ve only stayed safe coz ‘e didn’t know where we was.”

Tythias winced as he turned to reach for his mug. The bandages across his shoulder showed only a small trace of blood, despite the obvious discomfort he felt. Silvas’ doctor had been thorough and efficient.

“Nevertheless,” the scarred prefect added. “We need these people. Lord Cirpi was nice and easy to convince and I’d say he’ll be as loyal as the day is long, but he’s got less than four hundred men and they’re not even particularly good soldiers. I can’t see them making that much difference. Lord Sala said he’d take the oath but that he’ll only march his men with ours when we pass his lands. Now he’s got over a thousand good men, but I’m not entirely convinced he’ll do what he says.”

Darius reached out, waving his finger at Tythias, but before he could say anything there was a knock at the door of the suite that had been set aside for Darius.

“Come in” the young Emperor called out.

The heavy wooden door swung open and one of Silvas’ guards stepped in, sweating and out of breath. “Sorry to interrupt your lordships, but some men have turned up asking for a sergeant Athas and my lord told me to find you.”

The group looked around at each other in surprise. “Must be from Caerdin,” grunted Tythias. “No-one else knows we’re here.”

Gathering their cloaks and weapons, Darius, Tythias, Brendan, Athas and Sathina made for the door. “Take us to this man.”

The guard led them through the corridors and stairwells of the palace and finally down to the great hall, into which they stepped through a side door. Silvas sat in his chair behind the table looking tired. He nodded at them as they entered and gestured to a small group of dusty and travel-worn men that stood in the centre of the room. As the Imperial party approached, Darius started to make out more details in the low light of the sparse oil lamps in the hall. There were five of them. They were all dressed in heavy and stained travelling leathers with weapons slung at their sides, but one was little more than a boy, perhaps nine years old and the man beside him was old and quite tall, favouring one leg, presumably due to some ancient would. His hair covered only half his head, hanging long and grey down his back, while the other half was a network of scars that ran down his face and around his ear, disappearing at the neck into his tunic. A fearful sight, the wounds made the man appear to wear a sardonic grin even when he frowned, as he did now.