From up close the castle looked even more impressive. We stopped at the front of the entrance – large dark wooden gates – and dismounted. Servants took our horses to a nearby large stable.
Lord Cronos turned to Tiberius and Julia: “My Lord, Vicelord,” he bowed his head yet again, “I'll show you to your quarters. My son will do the same for the young ones. You can freshen up and rest. In the evening we’ll dine and talk. There’s much to be discussed. Legionaries can camp outside – I was told there’s no need in feeding them. Is that correct?”
“It is, our legions are self-sufficient,” answered Tiberius.
We then entered the castle and from the inside it was much less exciting. Small windows, narrow dingy staircases and hallways. I felt coldness and moister creeping on me with each step.
We climbed the round stairway to the first floor and parted with Lord Cronos, Tiberius and Julia. They had rooms on the far left, and we – “the youth” – on the far right. Herodotus walked us to our chambers. They were quite large, with already lit fireplaces. Underneath the small window stood a table and an uncomfortable looking chair. In the center of the room was a bath filled with steamy hot water.
“Here it is, quite nice, isn’t it?” Herodotus said to me, while opening the door to my room. I don’t know why he asked me that and not others – their rooms were exact replicas of mine.
“Yes, it is, thank you.”
“Someone will fetch you when dinner is ready.”
“Thank you,” I answered and waited for him to go away. But he lingered.
“I wonder where my sister is. I guess you’ll meet her at dinner. I apologize for her – she should have been there when we arrived. But unlike me, she has a mind of her own,” he said as if that was bad thing.
“I’m looking forward to meeting her,” I smiled. He stood there and by that point I wanted to strangle him. GO AWAY!
“I appreciate the bath,” I said to push the conversation – and him – further.
“Oh, yes! Yes! Apologies. We’ll see each other at dinner.”
I smiled at him, which made him feel happy I guess, and he left. I immediately took off my clothes and stepped into the hot water. I closed my eyes, thought of Antonia for a bit and then meditated. After the water got cold, I dried in front of the fireplace and put my clothes back on. Then I fetched that monstrosity of a chair and put it near the fireplace. I sat there for some time, waiting. Finally there was a knock on the door. I answered and it was Herodotus with Otho, Flavia and Cecilia already behind him. He grinned at me, which made me want to hit him.
“Dinner is ready, my Lord,” he said with a face. He then turned around and started walking like a fool, with long steps. We followed. I whispered to Otho:
“Is he drunk?”
“I don’t think so, he’s just acting silly. I guess he’s nervous.”
“But he’s our age, isn’t he? He acts like a child. Next thing he’ll start making farting noises.”
Otho smiled, but said nothing. We followed Herodotus down the stairs to another hallway. Then we entered a large dining hall with five fireplaces. Tiberius, Julia, Lord Cronos, the priest and a woman of my age were already sitting at the table. I liked the non-formality of our host. I glanced towards the woman and I guessed it was Lord Cronos's daughter, Herodotus’s sister. I hoped she would make more sense than her brother. There was an empty seat next to her and I claimed it. Herodotus wanted to sit next to me, but Flavia was swifter and managed to beat him to it.
“I’m Calista, daughter of Lord Cronos,” she introduced herself, but only to me, she only waved to others.
“I’m Antonius,” I replied.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
We started eating, without the unnecessary pomp. Chicken meat, potatoes, beans, salads, bread, a boar, cake, cabbage, and much more. While the rest started chatting with each other, I focused on Calista. I couldn’t believe she was Herodotus sister, she was so different! She had long, curly black hair, blue eyes, thick bushy eyebrows and a crooked nose. You could sense she was intelligent just by glancing at her. I found her beautiful.
“Is this your first time to Porosia?” she asked, while cutting the meat on her plate.
“It is. In fact, it’s my first time being outside of Vetulonia. My mother said we visited Dwarvenlands when I was a child, but I don’t recall any of that. So it doesn’t count.”
“I’ve been to Metis. Dwarves are such unique people! Have you heard their music?”
“I haven’t.”
“It’s amazing, they growl and scream words you can’t even understand. I like it!”
“When you have been to Metis?”
“With my father, years ago, it was a diplomatic trip. Better times… Now, not so much.”
“What do you mean?”
She went silent for a moment or two, then continued:
“The League will swallow us soon. We’ll be a part of their mechanism, slaving for one person on the top.”
“Some would argue Porosia isn’t that much different. Your people are not slaves, but yet they don’t own anything. Even the land they work on belongs to the lord, and by that the king. They can leave, yes, but where can they go?”
“That is correct. But my father wishes to change that, reform Porosia.”
“How?”
“By dismantling the kingdom and reforming it into a republic.”
“Is that even possible?” I frowned.
“I don't know. Only he and Lord Titanus of the north share this sentiment. Others are fanatical Porosian loyalists, stuck in their old ways! Hah, you want to know the irony of all this? Many children of these orthodox Lords speak very favorable of the League.”
“How come?”
“Well, they’re very naive. And idealistic.”
“So… A wide-spread revolution is not an option?”
“Not likely,” she sighed.
“If you were your father, how would you proceed?”
The question startled her. Porosian women were supposed to cook, birth children and take care of the home. Having an opinion of things, politics especially, was considered an undesirable trait.
“First I’d start a mass production of armor and weapons and start training the population for the war. Women and children would act as divergence behind the enemy lines. Disrupting the enemy supply lines, performing hit and run attacks on smaller enemy units, things of that sort. All the while men would try to defeat the enemy on the battlefields. I’d dispatch diplomats all over Helena, trying to win sympathies of other realms. They could force the Porosian king to have a sit down with us, the rebels.”
“What would your argument be?”
“That it’s time to dismantle Porosia and let provinces choose their own fate. Better that than to let the League swallow it whole.”
“Yes, that makes sense. I know we Vetulonians would find this argument convincing – and by that the Dwarves as well.”
“Exactly. Vetulonia is everything but allied with the Dwarvenlands.”
“What next?”
“If our independence was won, I’d found a republic, ruled by the Cohort. The Vetulonian way. I’ve mentioned Lord Titanus of the north – we’d probably merge into one political entity so we’d be stronger. After a few years passed, I’d seek for our territories to merge with Vetulonia, so we’d be safer from the League.”
“What would keep you safe from the League until then?”
“Our military philosophy, being able to mobilize the whole population to fight the occupation. If it’s too costly to wage war against us, why bother?”
“Hm.”
“You don’t think it’s possible? Let’s have another thought experiment. You’re Lord of Vetulonia. What would you do if my father asked for your aid?”
I gave it a few moments before I answered:
“I’d come to your aid.”
“How?”
“I’d supply your people with weapon and armor. I’d dispatch military instructors to give your people proper training. I’d provide food and clothes. I'd have our legions on standby, to invade your province if the League would seek to exploit the turmoil.”
“Do you think it’s possible your Lord will follow this direction?” she asked with a hopeful voice. I was doubtful as I realized my plan of action was as naive as it was bold. Still, I answered:
“We’ll know soon.”
For the rest of the night we talked of political philosophies, history and our favorite books. It was an enjoyable night. Yet, every time I looked into her blue eyes, for some reason, I was stricken with immense sadness.