Friendly Enemies

A handful of days followed with the resumption of routines. Even with the Imperial administration still at work, running a city the size of Morcaster was a daunting task. In addition, the eastern provinces also remained under their control and thus fell under the captain prefect's imperium, adding further administrative work. While most of it was handled by various subordinates and clerks, Martel wondered why anyone would envy him his position.

Matters only became worse when both Eleanor and Lara joined forces against him. "More than half a month has passed. It will be at least another before the northern envoys will arrive," Lara mentioned. "Until then, it may help our grip on the city to hear them out. And if you can gain their support for peace negotiations, everything will be resolved far more easily."

Martel gave each of them a sceptical look. "You consider it at all likely that a single member of the High Council would support us?"

"Most of them have their seat because they understand politics," Eleanor pointed out. "Begin with the leaders of the factions. If that proves fruitless, we move on to the individual members."

He could not think of a good argument against, unfortunately. "Fine. Grant them each an audience. I'll need you with me in the room," he added, looking at Eleanor.

"Of course," she acquiesced.

"I shall send a message straight away," Lara promised.

Martel sighed. "Might as well start with the worst. Send for Cheval."

***

The duke arrived with a single personal guard afforded him as a courtesy; twenty legionaries on horseback and a prefect collected him from his mansion, surrounding his carriage on the journey through the city. He strode into Martel's study confidently, as if the soldiers posted everywhere in the fortress obeyed him and not his enemy.

Loss of power and confinement to his house had not affected him outwardly, but given the spacious nature of his home, that was to be expected. His clothing and personal grooming was impeccable; his face looked like he had just left the barber.

"Captain," he said with a respectful tone of voice, bowing his head deeply.

Martel did not greet him in return nor offer him a seat. "You have requested an audience a number of times now." Next to him, Eleanor stood; she had refused a chair on the grounds that only the imperator should be seated in this exchange.

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"I have. I am glad time now permits you to see me."

"What do you want?"

"Given these tumultuous times and your new responsibilities, I wish to place myself at your disposal," the duke declared. "Along with any other member of the nobility whose ears I have."

"What would I need you for?"

"Rumour claims you will negotiate with the northern provinces for peace. Depending on who they choose as envoys, my connections may help sway them to your arguments, or I can provide you with relevant information about those you negotiate with," the duke explained.

"And why would you do such a thing?" It took all of Martel's willpower to keep his voice neutral.

"Firstly, for the good of the Empire. This civil war only strengthens our enemies. The sooner it reaches a conclusion, the better for us all."

"Secondly?"

"A new High Council must be chosen once the situation returns to normal. I would only ask that I and others who have been of use will be in consideration for the various positions as high magistrates."

Martel stared at him. "You are the most ruthlessly pragmatic person I have ever met." He felt Eleanor lightly touch his shoulder with her fingertips.

The duke inclined his head. "Thank you."

"Across the hall, you'll find my legion prefect, Sir Lara. Tell her every name that you expect would follow you in matters of opinion," Martel commanded.

"As you say, captain. I look forward to our next meeting already." He gave a bow and strode out with the same confidence that had taken him into the room.

***

Once alone and with a closed door, Martel let out all the breath in his lungs. "How bad would it be to have him killed?"

"We shall know when he is done giving his list to Lara," Eleanor remarked prosaically. She moved around the desk to sit down. "All jest aside, given his considerable power and influence, it would guarantee the peace negotiations fail. If you would execute such a man as revenge, nobody will trust your intentions."

"I would have expected him to ignore his actions towards me – it would do him no good to bring it up," Martel considered. "But we killed his son. Maybe not you or I personally, but someone under our orders did. And he seemed entirely calm meeting us."

"Perhaps he is distressed in private, but in public he is not, and in politics, perception is what matters."

"I would have liked to see his face when he found out about our uprising," Martel mused. "I bet he didn't expect that when he got us exiled to the Tenth."

"Regardless, it fits his reputation that he would seek to gain favour with us. Given our precarious situation, we should not be swift to dismiss him," Eleanor warned.

"But we can't ever trust him, can we? He'll smile to our faces and tell the northern envoys we are fiends of the Nether. I can only assume he wants us all dead. Sol's Eye, he ruled half the High Council until we came along!"

"Only half. If he thinks he can end up in a better position working with us, I think he will seize that opportunity and be happy for it," Eleanor speculated. "I doubt he gives a fig for the emperor or who sits on the throne, as long as he wields the real power."

"Maybe. But that also means if he sees an opportunity in betraying us, he'll do that without hesitation."

"Undoubtedly," Eleanor agreed. "I suspect this is but one scheme for him while he already has one or two others in the works, trying to come out on top no matter the outcome."

"Charming," Martel mumbled. "Well, we'll do the duchess tomorrow. I can only take so much venom in a day."

She sent him a reassuring smile. "Tomorrow it is."