The King of Attolia Read online

  Costis got dressed. He pulled on his undershirt and a leather tunic, a leather kilt under the chain skirt that hung from his waist. He had guards for his shins and shoulders and a breast and back plate that hung from his shoulders and buckled together under his arms. Aris had brought back his kit the night before. He’d agreed with Costis that the king would exact his revenge in their sparring session this morning, but evidently the king would have to wait.

  Costis belted on his sword after he had pulled it from its scabbard to check its edge. The chain at the collar of his cloak hooked to his shoulder guards, so that the cloak hung down his back without tangling his arms. He had no gun, because he wouldn’t be on duty. Each soldier owned his own sword, but the guns belonged to the queen and were locked in the armory. Only guards on duty with the queen carried them, and they collected them before going on watch and returned them when their duties were completed.

  When he was dressed, Costis went downstairs and out to the court that lay between the barracks. There were other guards there, but no one spoke to Costis. They looked away and stepped back as he walked up to the fountain. He splashed a little water on his face and used the dipper to get a drink, careful to keep his face turned away from the other guards, as if there were something fascinating on the far side of the narrow court. He went back into the barracks to find his squad and make sure they would be ready at the parade ground by the appointed hour. Diurnes in particular was sometimes slow to move in the morning.

  This morning, however, his men were up and ready, waiting for him and looking him over in speculation. He had only to nod a greeting and then lead them toward the parade ground. Costis’s squad was in the Eighth Century. When the dawn trumpets sounded from the walls, he was in line, beside his squad, one of more than a thousand men standing in orderly blocks across the parade ground, waiting for their captain.

  Teleus didn’t keep them waiting long. He signaled, and the centurions one by one called their ranks to order. When they were finished, the only sounds to be heard across the wide parade ground were the distant calling of birds and the muffled noises of the city waking on the far side of the palace walls. On the parade ground, no one moved or spoke until Teleus raised his voice to shout, “Costis Ormentiedes.”

  Costis felt the twitch that ran through the men around him. No one dared move to look at him except Diurnes, who turned his head just slightly, in order to watch the squad leader from the corner of his eye. Costis didn’t know what he should do and was relieved to see his centurion arrive at the end of his rank. The centurion jerked with his head, and Costis stepped from the line and paced to the center of the field.

  He and the centurion turned smartly on their heels and moved together to stand below the podium, looking up at their captain.

  With a few words, the captain stripped Costis of his rank of squad leader.

  “By the will of the king, you may be relieved of your oath to serve him. You may take your things and leave the palace this morning. Do you choose to go?”

  Costis hadn’t anticipated such a question. He’d assumed Teleus meant to dismiss him from the Guard entirely in order to thwart the king. Suddenly he was offered a choice to go or stay. His tongue felt wooden and he had to force the words out of his mouth. “I’ll stay, sir.” When Teleus continued to look down at him, Costis realized that he had spoken too quietly. “I’ll stay, sir!” he shouted.

  Teleus lifted his head to shout over the parade ground. “By the will of the king, any one of you today may be released from your oath to serve him. Any man who chooses may leave his rank, collect his belongings, and leave the palace without penalty.” Across the parade ground, not a man moved.

  “You will be given time to consider your decision,” said Teleus. He nodded again at Costis, who returned to his rank but not to his squad. He followed the centurion to the end of the rank and took his place with the unassigned men there. The Guard remained at attention. Several minutes passed, and then several more. There was a very quiet murmur as a few daring men whispered a comment to their mates. There was the barest scuffling of boots. A centurion cried out to his men to dress their ranks, and the scuffling ceased.

  While they stood, the sun rose higher in the sky until its rays struck the ground at the western edge of the parade ground. Those still standing in predawn chill envied their comrades their place in the sun, until the chill disappeared and the sun rose higher and the Palace Guard still stood at attention. At the change of watch, the centurions called out the men for duty, but the rest remained. Those men who had been on watch arrived in twos and threes and quietly filled in the empty places. Teleus, who had remained standing in front of his men, offered again to release any man who chose to leave the king’s service, but no one moved. It was afternoon and the day wore on. The watches changed, offering a respite to those who had duty. For a few, the heat and the dehydration were overwhelming. They keeled over like trees. The centurions ordered them carried off the field, but when they revived, they came back to their places.

  It was summer and the day was long. The sun finally began to drop toward the horizon, and the shade crept out from the western wall of the parade ground. The sweat cooled. An evening breeze blew an unwelcome chill down the backs of the soldiers, and they shivered in place, but they didn’t shift. The sun dropped further. The trumpets had blown for the end of bird watch and the beginning of bat, and every man of the palace Guard had had hours to consider his oath when finally Teleus shouted, “Long live the king!”

  “Long live the king!” the Guard answered, and was dismissed.

  In silence, they moved heavily back toward their barracks. As they reached their courtyards, a few groaned, swinging their arms to loosen stiffened muscles. Costis turned for the barracks door, intent on retreating to his room until the storm Teleus’s discipline had provoked lessened a little in its fury. He knew he would have to face the Guard, just not yet.

  Four or five men stood talking just inside the door, and he couldn’t get through. As Costis tried to slip behind them, he heard one say, “We know who is to thank,” and he flinched.

  A hand reached out of the crowd for him, forcing Costis to stop. “Oh, I don’t know, Seprus, I don’t think we can blame everything on poor Costis.” The hand and the voice belonged to Sejanus. Until his appointment as one of the king’s attendants, he had been a lieutenant in the Queen’s Guard. He was the second son of the Baron Erondites and had, no doubt, been selected as an attendant because of his father’s power and not because Erondites was any friend of the queen’s.

  Gods alone knew how Sejanus came to be in the barracks, though of course the whole palace must know of Costis’s disgrace and Teleus’s discipline. The Guard had been standing in view of the palace all day. It was impossible that anyone would not know the full story, and there was nothing to stop Sejanus’s coming to the barracks if he chose and if he wasn’t called at the moment to serve the king.

  “No, I don’t think you can blame the last straw on the donkey’s back, gentlemen.” He ruffled Costis’s hair as if he were a boy. “If the king has finally lost his temper, I think you’d better look to the sand in his bed as the cause. Sand in your sheets is such an aggravation, especially when that’s all that’s in your bed.” The men around him laughed. Sejanus pushed Costis toward the stair, and gratefully he went while the guards were distracted by their former lieutenant’s comments about the king, the sand, and his sleeping habits.

  “There were a few other aggravations, weren’t there?” one of the guards asked Sejanus.

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” Sejanus answered with one of his cool smiles.

  “Relius will,” said the guard. “Relius will know by morning.” There was more laughter. The Secretary of the Archives had his own army of spies to ferret out any information he desired.

  Once on the stairs, Costis was shielded from the view of the room, and he reached back to pluck the sleeve of Aristogiton, who was standing nearby, a fringe member of Sejanus’s group of
seasoned, but not yet veteran, soldiers. Aris twitched his arm free, but Costis grabbed him at the elbow and conveyed with a sharp tug his intention to pull Aris up the steps backward if necessary, and Aris gave in.

  Even so, Costis nearly dragged his friend through the dark to the top of the narrow stairs. He stopped just below the landing. There was a lamp there that cast its light on Aris’s upturned face. Costis, on a higher step, bent over his friend.

  “Tell me,” he said in a fierce whisper, “that you don’t know anything about the pranks Sejanus has been playing on the king.”

  “Why would I?”

  “Don’t lie to me, Aris. I saw your face!”

  “I—”

  “What have you done?”

  Aris rubbed his head. “I think I delivered the message that said that the king wanted to review the hounds in the lion court.”

  “What do you mean, you think?”

  “It was written on a folded sheet. How was I supposed to know what it said?”

  “But you knew something was wrong? Why would you be sent with a message from the king? Who gave it to you to deliver?”

  “Costis…”

  “Who? And why did you deliver it, you fool?”

  “What was I supposed to do? Say no?”

  “The thought might have crossed your mind!”

  “Well, of course, it would have crossed yours, Costis, because you’re not an okloi. You want to know who asked me to deliver the message? The second son of the man my father pays his taxes to. What was I supposed to do? What would you have done?” Aris threw up his hands. “I know what you would have done. You would have said no, and damn the consequences, because you have a sense of honor as wide as a river. I am sorry, Costis, I guess I don’t.”

  “Well, maybe I don’t either,” Costis snapped. “Or I wouldn’t have taken a sacred oath to protect a man and then knocked him flat on his back.”

  Aris snorted.

  Costis paused to collect his temper. He had never felt so irrationally hot-blooded. He didn’t like the feeling, though he knew other soldiers often did. “What are you going to do?” Costis asked, and Aris could only shrug.

  “Relius will know who delivered the message, if he doesn’t already. Tell the captain before Relius does.”

  “What happens to my family, then?” asked Aris.

  “What happens to you if you don’t tell the captain?”

  Aris thought it over. “Maybe I should.”

  It was Costis’s turn to shrug. He didn’t want to sound like a hypocrite. “I think it’s the right thing to do.”

  “So, so, so,” said Aris, “at least my honor will be intact.”

  “And that’s very important,” said Eugenides.

  Aris and Costis both jumped at the sound of the king’s voice. He stood on the landing above them like an apparition. His dark hair melted into the darkness behind him, while the light of the lantern fell on the white linen of his shirt and the gold threads embroidered in his coat seemed to glow. After a brief moment of horrified paralysis, Aris leapt to attention. Costis had known the voice as soon as he heard it. He didn’t look at the king, but rather behind him, searching for the attendants that he thought must be there. He was a second later pulling himself to attention.

  It was impossible that Sejanus would be downstairs talking about the king’s sleeping arrangements if he knew his lord was standing on the landing upstairs, but just as impossible that the king could be there without his attendants and without Sejanus’s knowing it.

  Eugenides leaned forward and whispered into Aristogiton’s ear. “Speak to Teleus in the morning,” he said just loud enough for Costis to hear as well. Then he stepped behind the wall of the stairwell into the corridor that ran alongside it. There was no sound of footsteps. When Costis bent to look around the wall, the king was gone.

  Costis woke the next morning before the dawn trumpets and dressed with a sense of dread, oddly familiar. It was the same feeling he’d had whenever he’d gone off to meet his tutor, having spent his day playing in the woods instead of preparing his lessons. Whatever happened this morning, the bruises, like the marks left by his tutor’s willow switch, would fade, and Costis was certainly no stranger to bruises. He tried to encourage himself with the thought that he could have been facing a hanging, not a beating. But it had never been the fear of bruises that sickened him when he faced his tutor, and he felt distinctly uncheerful as he walked toward the training ground.

  He arrived early. No one spoke to him. The Guard ostracized those in disgrace. The captain did come to stand beside him, but did no more than nod a greeting. When the king came, he was accompanied by four of his attendants as well as his guards. He left them all at the entrance of the training ground and walked across the open space alone. He arrived at Costis and Teleus and nodded a greeting at them both. He had his practice sword with him and tucked it under his right arm in order to wave a hand in invitation. Costis winced. The captain would have thoroughly humiliated any of his own Guard who treated a practice sword so thoughtlessly.

  “Shall we begin with the first exercise?”

  Costis obediently assumed the stance for the simple practice of thrust and parry in prime. He knew that the king was not a soldier, but he was surprised that Eugenides had not at least mastered the basics with a sword. Perhaps he had lost his skill along with his right hand, but Costis thought the king should have adapted to fighting with his left. There had been time to learn since the queen had caught him traipsing through her palace and cut off his hand. Back when he was the Thief of Eddis, before he’d stolen the throne of Attolia as well as its queen.

  Teleus dropped back and pretended not to watch. The rest of the Guard did the same. The flesh crawled between Costis’s shoulder blades.

  “Your guard is low,” Eugenides said calmly, and Costis took his attention off the guards around him and looked at the king. Eugenides put one eyebrow up. Costis had to pull his chin down to stop his head from shaking in disgust. He wasn’t a very talented swordsman, and he didn’t have the experience of the veterans around him, but he was a damned long way further down the road than first exercises in prime.

  Eugenides read his mind and smiled wickedly. Costis clenched his teeth, adjusted his sword, and fixed his gaze on the embroidered front of the king’s tunic.

  The king didn’t move. Costis stood with his sword extended while the king stood with his own sword still tucked into his armpit. Costis’s arm and shoulder began to burn. The wooden practice sword was weighted to feel as much like a real sword as possible, and it was no joke to hold it extended as the moment stretched on, especially as his muscles were still stiff from hours of immobility the day before.

  Finally the king stepped into position. He knocked Costis’s sword aside and completed the thrust, stopping just a bit before Costis’s breastbone.

  “Again?” he said.

  Costis returned to position. And so it went. The king may not have had the skill to engage in a pretend battle and give Costis the beating everyone in the Guard assumed he had coming, but the king could and did commence exercise after exercise only to leave Costis immobile in the middle of it, straining his muscles to keep his body motionless and to conceal the effort immobility demanded. He was determined not to let the effort show. He concentrated on the point of the sword held out in front of him and willed it to be still, as the least waver at its point would reveal his strain.

  The king, after his first mocking smile, addressed himself to the practice as if it held his whole attention. His concentration was worse than the mockery had been. If he had laughed, Costis could have been angry and his anger would have given him strength, but Eugenides was almost preternatural in his calmness as he moved his sword for a thrust, back to a ready position, to the block, marked by the quiet tack as the swords hit, to the thrust, and to ready again. Tack, thrust, ready, tack, thrust, ready.

  Costis wanted to throw back his head and howl. This was the king the gods had given Attolia?
/>   At last, the men around them began to break off their exercise and move away. Costis expected every repetition to be the last, but the king seemed oblivious and only remarked, “Again?” after each.

  The other soldiers had left. The only people on the open ground between the palace walls and the barracks were Costis, the king, Teleus, and the king’s attendants lounging near the entryway. One of the king’s attendants approached. He was taller than the king, about as tall as Costis, expensively dressed and heavily built.

  “Your Majesty?” he said, in cool, arrogant tones.

  Eugenides lowered his sword and stepped back from Costis to look around at the empty field. He looked up at the position of the sun.

  “I see the day is passing,” he said mildly. “Thank you, Costis.” He nodded dismissal. Costis stepped back and almost stumbled. The king saw the hesitation and raised an eyebrow. Costis had no doubt that his concern concealed malicious delight. He bowed and strode away. Behind him he heard the king speaking to Teleus, but he didn’t listen.

  He went from the training ground to the mess hall, hesitating for a moment in the doorway. No one greeted him. No one even looked at him. He looked, but didn’t see Aristogiton. Costis hoped that it was because he was on duty, but suspected Aris had avoided a situation where he must either throw in his lot with Costis or publicly ignore him. Costis headed toward the kitchen, and the line of men gathered there melted out of his way. He collected a bowl of ground cereal and a dish of yogurt and a handful of dried fruit. He sat at a long table at the side of the room.

  He looked at the food and couldn’t bring himself to eat.

  He was too proud to get up and leave.

  A bowl dropped, not lightly, onto the table beside him. The wooden bowl hitting the wooden table announced like a knock on the temple door that someone had come to sit beside him.