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Praetor Lucius Alden
None, but the Fair Lady tolerates it
Part III
-A small cut-
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[https://i.postimg.cc/vTWNZ18L/Islandfort.jpg]
Monica stopped at the edge of the tiled path leading to the stairs of the large estate, its marble façade appearing grey in the moonlight, all its windows dark much as the smaller buildings near it, but for the stone-brick guard-post.
“There’s another way in,” she said keeping her voice low. “Behind the gazebo.”
“Only thieves walk about, or sneak inside a house in the dark,” Lucius grunted, the whole situation trying his patience. “Crooks and… people of ill-repute.”
“How have I offended you?” Monica asked. “You could have looked the other way. This is my life.”
“The pretense of ignorance offers no absolution to one’s soul.”
“You’ll cite Uher’s words to me?” Monica argued with a frown. “I serve Naossis. Nobody loves Uher in Asturia.”
“Do you hear yourself?” Lucius snapped, the estate guards at the entrance turning their heads towards them hearing the sound carrying. “That’s Tyeus’ city too, but you didn’t mention him at all. Yes, Uher has an austere stance not conforming to your Naossis, but you’re also the Duke’s daughter. We might in our cups argue about the differences between ‘performing’ for the Goddess and a harlot’s shift by the docks, but simple people don’t think like we do.”
“That’s their problem.”
“No that’s your father’s problem and yours,” Lucius grimaced. “If word gets out, you’re ruined. No Lord will ever consider a marriage with a well-used wife. Hells not even some up-and-coming wealthy family looking to buy their way into relevance will want anything to do with you. There’s a reason the festival is only for two days in a year and not every city favors it. Beyond the ‘pond’ they burn people for less. You need to think of the future.”
Monica shrugged her shoulders, a stubborn look on her pale face. There was no denying she was pretty. Every part of her face proportional alike a statue. “I don’t care for a man, or a husband. You’ve figured that out. My future is with the temple and my sisters.”
“You don’t mean that,” Lucius cautioned. “I know more about your temple than you do. Outside of these walls you’ll find no freedom and no ‘sister’ lives on the Isle for free. You’ll have to contribute and it might come to you as a surprise, but most ‘visitors’ won’t be what you favor. Even if you didn’t mind it, the better you perform, the farther you’ll travel to offer services and buy favor. There are women with a deep purse in this realm, but you’ll find them few and far between.”
Monica stood back a little apprehensively. “How do you know all this?”
“It’s what most summer talks eventually devolve around here,” Lucius admitted. “I was young once not that long ago.”
“The guards know you’re outside with female company. They see us and it could have been anyone, although they probably know by now,” Monica noticed, her disposition changing. “But they won’t approach us. Is it fear, or reverence? How does it work? Does Lucius get to do whatever he wants? I wish I was you, down to the naughty parts. Oops, apologies. I had another word in mind.”
She was taunting him, but also changing the subject and deflecting. The duke’s daughter knew the problem and didn’t want to address it whilst on the back foot. Monica looked for a way to get on the attack, as if this was some mere palace gossip. A game of wits. Exciting but faraway. Frowned upon for the simple folk, but not for her. In the world she lived in, her love-life and status were hallowed things and could only be discussed in the vaguest of terms.
A perversion something you could just brush away with an ascetic glare.
Her callousness on what was at stake beyond that for her father and the kingdom staggering. Then again, he thought, many people, or noble scions, don’t really care. Or would have preferred this ‘uncomfortable’ throne-dispute to just go away so they could all go back to humoring their petty differences and small problems.
Fight over cattle, or the fertile mud by the bordering river, they’d never get to plow themselves.
Taxes, comfortable seating, hunt, a variety of dishes and a new horse’s combed mane, as his father used to say.
And a whole lot of politics.
Talk about the temple’s gifts and sinful acts over expensive cups of fine wine, whilst bathing in the former’s coin and turning a blind eye to what was really happening, unless it was one of their own daughters that participated in the activities.
Wow.
Lucius brushed his hair back with a hand, giving himself the time to remember how to navigate the muddy waters of court double-talk. “I don’t believe you’d enjoy it,” he argued finally too tired to beat around the bush. “Or that the duke could take the hit at this critical point. He won’t risk the distraction, you are forcing his hand.”
She looked at her small hands in numb silence.
“If I lose this war,” Lucius continued clearing his throat. “I’ll lose everything I hold dear eventually. If I win, then it would be against my last surviving brother. An uncle and perhaps my own step-mother. The easy thing would have been for me to stay away. With my wife and little son. Fix to have another one. I like many things and most I could enjoy without fighting the Three Kingdoms. Away. Safe from all this… filth,” he sighed seeing her raising an inquisitive neatly-trimmed black eyebrow. “I can’t. I assured my father I would return. It’s a matter of duty. Oaths and blood. You betray one, you’ll be judged. You betray both, you’re doomed. That’s it. No indulgence of one’s hobbies, or odd preferences can topple them in the end. Eventually you’ll understand it, or you won’t and life will shove you in it kicking and screaming.”
“You’re like my father,” Monica murmured, looking towards the gazebo longingly.
“I’m not that old,” Lucius jested and glanced at the stoic Gripa waiting for them to finish their conversation.
Monica nodded. “He won’t break an oath easy,” she elucidated.
“I see,” Lucius said. He always feared that. Lord Holt was a notoriously difficult to budge man.
“You love your wife yes?” Monica said next surprising him.
“Very much.”
She shook her head. “Then I’m like you as well,” Monica told him, though Lucius couldn’t see how she had reached that conclusion. “I can’t take Mercator’s son as husband, my heart is given elsewhere.”
“I thought the priestesses reserved their heart for the Goddess,” Lucius noted cautiously. “This is an illusion Monica. Even at this we aren’t free. Neither you, nor I have a choice.”
“Uhm, I wish you were less smart,” she replied with a pensive smile. “Or a creep. But you aren’t. I think you’ll make a great king in retrospect. Can I use my little backdoor now Lord Heir?”
Lucius stood back and shook his head at her cleverness. “Beware of beautiful tales and lofty promises of boundless pleasure Lady Monica,” he told her in parting. “They have lies woven in them.”
None tale more horrifying than Naossis lewd affair with vile Abrakas and the offspring that came off it.
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Lucius entered the lavish quarters of the estate’s third floor west corner the Duke had given them and tried to make as little noise as possible undressing. Nigh impossible in the stillness of the estate’s suite. He immediately gave up and waved Gripa away, opting to wait in his armour for the sun to come up. It was almost dawn. The door to the room Faye and Roderick were sleeping stood wide open, just like the windows that faced the west side of the gardens and the small gazebo the duke’s daughter had disappeared behind.
He removed the sword along its sheath and left it on a table next to one of the floor to ceiling windows. A moment later Gripa returned with a plate left from the servants earlier.
“Go ahead,” Lucius told him. “I’m not hungry.”
“But you’re late,” Faye’s voice came from the door, still wearing her ‘good’ armor that red head a mess, although she had made some effort to tame it.
“Went for a walk,” Lucius replied with a tired smile. “Did I wake you?”
“I’m up for hours,” Faye told him and came to take a seat at the table. “I have a terrible taste in my mouth so you get no morning kiss. Plus I’m pissed as fuck, so that’s a minus too. Is it any good Gripa?” she asked –in a surprisingly calm manner- the wolfing down the leftovers aide.
“A bit salty milady,” he replied.
“That time of year, I reckon. I’ll have a glass of wine then,” Faye decided and poured some in a cup. She downed it in a go, not bothering with the spillage, though she wiped her face with a cloth right after. “So much stuff laying about,” she noticed tossing the expensive towel on the table. “Twenty people could live in here. Wit their horses.”
“If that was a longhouse they could,” Lucius agreed.
“How was the garden?” Faye asked casually.
“Unexpectedly busy for the hour,” Lucius replied teasingly.
“I play at being courteous, but I’m really not. Also I’m not amused Alden.”
“Good acoustics?” Lucius probed seeing her sober expression.
“Ayup.”
“I’ll take this in the hall,” Gripa said and got up with his plate. “Just call if the need arises sir. Any call will suffice.”
Lucius waited for him to walk outside afore turning to his wife.
“I caught the duke’s daughter in the garden with a priestess of Naossis,” he told her. “Both of them are members of her temple really. It came as a surprise.”
Faye nodded and reached to pour herself another cup of rosy Asturian wine. This cup went down as fast as the previous one.
“That sounds surprisingly worse than what I had envisioned,” she admitted. “Were they decent?”
“Barely, depending on the city. You were swimming in the nude in Maza Burg, so perhaps I’m off here.”
“I was looking to entice you!” Faye snapped her cheeks turning the color of her hair.
“I was thoroughly enticed,” Lucius assured her.
“Gods you’re painting quite the picture here!”
“It is a shock for sure,” Lucius agreed.
“Not wher’ I was going,” Faye retorted and then sighed. “What was her excuse? I wouldn’t think she had it in her to be unfaithful.”
Ah.
Good grief.
“It was Monica,” Lucius said quickly. “I can’t believe you thought Anne would wander outside after hours.”
“Monica,” Faye repeated narrowing her eyes. “Wow.”
“The youngest daughter.”
“Uhm.”
“I let her slip inside,” Lucius explained. “Though I believe the duke knows.”
Faye grimaced, then reached and smacked his armour once. “It’s not your problem Lucius.”
“It isn’t. But…”
“But?”
“It distracts Lord Holt and I don’t want that. A concerned father is likely to be less patient to an unpalatable idea,” Lucius explained.
His disheveled wife looked in his eyes for a long moment and then shook her wild red mane disappointed. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. But I know I don’t like this at all. This part of you is scary.”
Lucius frowned. “I’m just thinking out loud. You know how I always try to see way ahead? Predict what others will do? That’s one of the methods I employ to accomplish it. Uncovering small details, little secrets will reveal as much as a good spy. The more you know the better,” He said and Faye pouted, crimson freckles spotting her small nose where the sun had touched it. “You’ve nothing to fear,” he assured her tenderly and Gripa returned at that moment without his plate. An eagle-eyed Prefect Trupo right behind him.
“I don’t fear you,” Faye whispered and reached for the bottle again. “But I fear Regia.”
Eh.
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Damnit.
“When was this?” Lucius grunted and grabbed the small missive Trupo had in his hands.
“It just arrived,” the Prefect replied and glanced at a gloomy Faye sipping at her wine. “Milady. Apologies for the tumult.”
“Don’t mind me,” Faye retorted hoarsely. “Been awake for hours.”
“The date is almost a week old,” a preoccupied Lucius murmured with a grimace, rubbing his forehead and waited for Gripa to open the large map on the table after first clearing it. He returned Lucius’ sheathed sword to him. “What does the other message say?”
“The Tribune informs us that he will march to Durio as soon as he has gathered enough supplies,” Trupo replied and Ramirus with Sirio entered his quarters as well, carrying scrolls and the more detailed maps.
“Galio is already gone,” Lucius realized and stood back thoughtfully.
“A month afore he reaches the river,” Ramirus pointed out.
“Not for Galio,” Lucius corrected him. “He’ll make it there faster and on an already cleared road.”
Trupo nodded reading the map. Next to him Sirio opened another one over it filled with markings and notes.
“Is this the revised numbers from the cartographers?” Lucius asked him and Sirio nodded. “Get the new batch in and show them to me.”
“I will my Lord,” Sirio replied formally and Lucius frowned. Ramirus shrugged his shoulders and Trupo who was still reading the first map raised his head.
“Would Durio engage? We need to know the numbers sir,” he said working at the curved tip of his mustache with his fingers.
“The missive says engineers. Civilians,” Lucius replied and sighed. “Unless Jeremy decided to start public works in the middle of nowhere and hire a Lesia firm for it, then this is our invasion gents.”
“Why come here?” Trupo murmured.
“I don’t believe this is the main force,” Lucius said. “But I’ll need more details. Trupo check on the birds every half hour. Use only our own men though. Are the Northmen at the other side of the gardens?”
“Near the stables. We had the legionnaires stationed near the barracks to avoid a mishap.”
“Use the Northmen as runners,” Lucius decided. “An officer going back and forth might alarm the guards.”
“They will know eventually,” Ramirus said.
“We need to buy ourselves time,” Lucius reminded him. “I want to see those numbers mister Sirio,” he added soberly. “Are you quite finished?”
“Yes my Lord,” Sirio blurted a fierce blush painting his cheeks, still scribbling down energetically on the map.
“Poor thing,” Faye commented from her spot. “Have some wine, you’re too stressed. He’ll redo them all himself anyway.”
> That summer, the year of the New Calendar 192, Baron Hostus Mercator of Islandport and one of the two Barons of the Plains along with Baron Marc Honorus of Aldenfort, traveled to Asturia with Duke Rupert Holt. They intended to solidify a very old alliance dating centuries in the past that had endured many hardships before King Lucius I wars of unification and after them, but had never wavered. It had divided the Lorian Plains between the two coastal cities with Honorus siding with Alden and Mercator with Asturia.
>
> The Lorian Plains were the expansive empty lands that sprawled from Canlita’s shores to Gold Wall Heights –the latter a mountain of marble and not gold surprisingly- under the name of Gold Plains in the west and from Islandport to Lake’s Watch plateau and the massive Tricorn Heights in the east, under the name Green Plains. The latter the breeding grounds for the famed Lorian warhorses.
>
> Duke Holt had offered his youngest daughter from the late Duchess Lucia Tulla of Islandport, of the Tulla merchant family to Mercator’s young son Dima. Lady Monica Holt a well-educated -like all of the old Duke’s children, but also extremely attractive young woman was a very generous prospect for the rich Baron’s firstborn. The ‘Black Rose of Asturia’, the moniker given for her characteristic rare -for the golden-haired Holts- dark hair and the famous rose-garden of Duke’s palace where she’d been born, wasn’t getting older like her step-sister Lady Anne the Baroness of Anorum had been, to be forced to take a lesser prospect. Lady Anne had been considered as a frontrunner to marry King Alistair, but the latter had turned her down for the much younger and also his relative Lady Miranda of Aegium.
>
> Baron Mercator agreed overlooking the small difference in years not favoring his son, but upon arriving in the city the talks broke down and the Duke withdrew the offer. It caused friction between the two distant relatives and close allies. It also created a whirlwind of rumors in the always susceptible to heavy gossip large city. The reasons unworthy to comment here when history offers us the much more logical answer. Duke Holt offered Baron Mercator the forested province of Lourmar in exchange giving Islandport access to Framtond River, a huge boon that perhaps illustrates the severity of the insult the affronted Baron had suffered and they both agreed to think on it for some time afore a final decision could be reached.
>
> The reason for the delay, which wasn’t in the Duke’s interests, the fact that Lucius Alden had arrived in Asturia with his wife and son, along a strong force of legionnaires and Northmen. The general unwittingly brought with him the war to Asturia’s doorstep.
>
> An alarmed Baron Honorus of Aldenfort upon being informed of Lucius’ arrival in Asturia sent word of it to Tribune Faustus Ligur, who was commanding the First Legion located at Vinterfort in the absence of Baron Domus Scylla of Sabretooth Castle. Scylla left directly for Vinterfort notifying the King’s Council of the new development, but Ligur who had rebuilt the legion in the years that had followed the Battle of the Turncoats marched from Vinterfort immediately not waiting for him.
>
> The acting commander of the First Legion, the one-armed resilient Tribune Ligur wanted to block Lucius beyond Framtond and force him to fight to cross in the plains. He knew that waiting for the consumed with their plans to crush Sula Council will slow-walk their decision to act and valuable time would be lost. Duke Doris, Admiral Brakis and Duke Ursus who were just about ready to launch their great offensive upon the surrounded Demames from all sides, both land and sea, were caught flat-footed by the news.
>
> As Admiral Brakis famously said in a tensed Council meeting, ‘the fleet has already sailed. Ships, marines and sailors. Once ye uncork the bottom of the barrel you are on borrowed time and can’t stop else you’ll burn up much needed supplies.’
>
> Whether it was a supply issue or not, Baron Scylla vouched for the Tribune’s plan and King Jeremy who had contributed little to the meeting gave him his blessing. It is worth of note that Sir Rik De Weers large cavalry force didn’t move from Sabretooth Castle with Lord Scylla as the events at Colle had forced Lord Ruud to ask his son to keep his force closer to Scaldingport. High Regent Anker Est Ravn was just about to make his second attempt to crush the rebels, a much more successful attempt, eventually foiled by the ‘Navy Revolt’ of early 193 NC.
>
> So Ligur marched down the coast to Aldenfort, where he received reinforcements afore continuing to Tenor and then straight towards Islandport. Hundreds of kilometers away to the east and near the virgin grounds of Framtond’s source tributaries the engineering detachment of Lucius Third Legion was about to be locked into a deadly fight in the mud. The First Battle of the River’s Groin as it came to be known in Lesia (named the First & Second Battle of Storm’s Rest in Regia), or Battle of the Half-Bridge for those who fought it, was just around the corner and would go on forever it seemed.
>
>
Ten days later Lucius had a clearer picture of what was going on with Prefect Durio’s detachment having received two more missives from him. Everything at least a week old.
“How many kilometers beyond the Groin?” Lucius asked Sirio waiting for the Duke to call them inside his hall, the Praetor’s mind on the men trying to finish the bridge in time.
“Eight my Lord,” Sirio replied.
“How many kilometers across at its narrowest point?”
“That would be afore the knee,” Sirio noted looking at the scrolls he carried with him. “We don’t have the numbers, but they’ll try a reconnaissance mission on the peninsula to see their progress.”
“Armando Leys Boars are a ranger unit mostly,” Lucius murmured thoughtfully. He’d already faced them in the North, but they were allowed to leave after Baron Palma had negotiated a truce. “There must be infantry near there. Kaeso will have to search further out, even near the mountain pass.”
“That would be a risky mission my Lord,” Sirio noticed and Lucius looked at his stressed out face unsure.
“It is riskier to fight blind and expecting a different enemy than what you’ll get,” he reminded him and got up to meet with the Duke.
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“Ah, Lord Heir,” Holt greeted him sitting at his conference table. Bernard was there and the dour-faced Baron Draco. Two women clad in shrill fancifully embroidered red priestly robes and wearing shell-shaped silver busts underneath, along exotic long silver strands skirts. The outfits Lucius had seen again years in the past and in his brother’s funeral of all darn places. The alluring blond-haired women wearing it familiar to Lord Heir. One he’d seen recently inside the Duke’s Gardens, the other Lucius remembered stirring up trouble during Ralph’s funeral.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Lady Flavia was a difficult woman to forget.
“Please have a seat Lucius,” Lord Holt continued, looking worn out. “We have gotten some alarming reports. A whole lot of them actually.”
Lucius expected as much.
With a last glance at the two priestesses of Naossis, he took his usual seat across from the Duke. The younger Vita returned it coldly, but Flavia kept her painted eyes on the statue of her Goddess indifferently. The resemblance uncanny, but it could be an illusion.
Lucius believed he’d gotten rid of them and hadn’t given much thought on the matter, preoccupied as he had been with the reports coming from Anorum. He was still waiting the Duke’s decision.
“What do the reports say?” Lucius asked, refusing with a wave of his arm a goblet of wine a servant offered.
“The Third Legion left Anorum,” Holt replied crooking his mouth. “I confirmed it from several sources.”
“It’s true,” Lucius said. “The Legion is gone.”
“Gone where, Lord Heir?” Baron Draco asked hoarsely. “Because it is not heading for Whitetiger.”
“That is correct,” Lucius said again. “It is not. As a matter of fact it is going away from it and towards Framtond sources.”
“Is the bridge ready?” Holt asked, probably informed of the project by scouts from Croton.
“Almost,” Lucius replied. “But Lesia is there, so the Third is heading that way as well to deter them from crossing over.”
“Lesia has army in Regia?” Holt grunted and stared at him intently.
The old man might know more than he lets out.
“It’s a civilian firm and crews. A mercenary company is present as well,” Lucius told them.
Baron Draco puffed out troubled. “Well it’s… alarming for sure.”
“Technically the…ahm, bring me a map Bernard,” Holt ordered and rubbed his face. “The Groin isn’t Asturia’s territory, but unclaimed wildland.”
“It is not Lesia’s for sure,” Lucius reminded him, using Baron Draco’s words.
“It isn’t. Has Jeremy allowed it you reckon?” Holt asked.
“I don’t think so,” Lucius replied. “The Third will find out their intentions soon enough,” he added and the two Lords faces soured just as Bernard returned with a cumbersome large furled map.
“Lucius, this strategy leaves Asturia and its subjects alone,” Holt finally said while his son unfurled the map on the marble table. “To face your brother’s forces.”
“My brother’s forces aren’t here Lord Holt,” Lucius retorted.
“Hah! That’s great,” Baron Draco gasped throwing his arms up. “He doesn’t know.”
“Multiple sources are claiming a legion is marching up the coast,” Lord Holt informed him with a grimace at Draco’s outburst.
Lucius stood back on his seat. He glanced towards the priestesses again and Flavia met his eyes this time, a small grin forming on her full dark-violet painted lips. The color matching her eyes. “How reliable are the sources?” He asked furrowing his brow.
“Very. The fleet has left Illirium also,” Holt added.
The High Priestess smiled some more, then crossed her long legs, shrill long robes parting and leaving them bare but for the golden chains strapped at her sandaled ankles, the attire’s cut cavernous and reaching above her hip. The silver metallic strands ringing alike a viper’s rattle when they touched the marble chair.
What are you doing here?
“Which part?” Lucius asked hoarsely and averted his gaze from the two females.
“The transports Lord Heir,” Baron Draco intervened. “All nine of them.”
Wow, he thought. It seems the Goddess has access to all manner of info in Asturia.
Also that means the Sextus-Brakis marines are on the move.
Ah, you cowardly fat bastard, he cursed the Lord of Illirium. I ain’t dead yet.
Here and now is when you finally decided to move fast.
“I can’t let Mercator face a legion alone,” Holt grunted and stood up crooking his wrinkled mouth. “Islandport has no defenses worth of note, it will be overrun and its port taken.”
“If you march to meet them in the field, you’ll have your south flank exposed and anchored at Mercator’s Inn which is an even less defensible village,” Lucius told him keeping his voice even. “That’s a huge front to maintain, Islandport is indefensible Lord Holt.”
“Do you have a solution for this Lord Heir?” The old Duke grunted. “I can’t have the man abandoned after I insulted him not half a month back!”
Lucius pressed his mouth tight.
“He could evacuate the city, bring everything, but prioritize boats and ships to Asturia,” Lucius offered. “Let Ligur come over the bridge or attempt a landing with rainy season closing in with each passing week. He won’t do it. The Legion will die at the bottom of the Framtond.”
“He’ll have the port, the city!” Holt snapped furious. “Hells, he’ll have the god darn plains, even have access to the Tunnel Pass!”
“That’s a lot of ground to cover Lord Holt,” Lucius retorted keeping his tempers in check. “He’ll need three legions for that and he just doesn’t have the men.”
Nobody has.
That’s why he wanted to avoid a battle on the Lorian Plains.
You don’t risk everything for an empty flatland and a god-darn lake port, however valuable it may appear. The Lakelords were the key to controlling Canlita. Their fleets dwarfing anything they had. Islandport was useless in the grand scheme of things.
A matter of pride.
No.
“He’ll never accept it Lucius,” Holt said gravely. “You wouldn’t in his stead. I wouldn’t. I’m not even sure what a promise of future gains, or lands, are worth to him at this point.”
That wasn’t exactly true. All a minor lord dreams about are loftier titles.
“Perhaps you should revisit the marriage idea my Duke,” Lord Draco offered, going another way.
Holt stopped him with an impatient wave of his hand. “It is done Draco!”
The Baron scrunched his face at the rebuke, but relented. “Your grace has the final word of course.”
“Let me think on it,” Holt said to soften it and a silent Draco nodded. He gave another curt nod to Lucius and then strolled out of the hall’s doors.
“You need to stay behind the river,” Lucius said as soon as the baron was out of the room. “What you lose, we will gain again,” he added looking at him intently.
“If you were in Mercator’s shoes, would you have trusted Asturia ever again?” Holt asked bitterly. “Your Aldenfort offer sounds hollow Lucius,” he added. “And it god darn tastes that way too.”
Lucius breathed out slowly and stared at the frowning Bernard.
“Would Mercator agree if your daughter weds his son? Will that be enough?” He asked. Lucius wanted to ensure the Duke remained a threat for his brother’s forces. Asturia standing strong beyond the river to allow the chance to maneuver and secure much needed breathing room.
“Ah,” Lord Holt gasped and stabbed both his fists on the table, his eyes ogling at the map of his domain. “Gods have truly cursed us.”
“He can take the plunge,” Lucius insisted and Flavia got up from her chair. Vita following her soon after. What in the…? “Even if the Baron knows,” he added and Holt paled realizing Lucius was aware of the scandal looming over his head. He stumbled back and collapsed on his chair.
“Father,” Bernard started, a distraught Holt stopping him.
“It’s over,” he told him gravely.
“It isn’t,” Lucius pressed on. “I’ll talk to the Baron myself, convince him. He won’t deny me. The king’s word should be enough! People have gone to war for far less Lord Holt!”
“You can’t give what you don’t own,” Flavia’s sugary voice interrupted the silence following his word, adding after a small pause. “Dear Lucius.”
“Why are you here?” Lucius grunted, not liking the uncertainty her presence brought to the conversation and she shrugged her well-shaped shoulders.
“I was summoned,” Flavia replied. “To remind the Duke we don’t take from the Goddess.”
There was that bloody phrase again.
Or else was her meaning. The threat left unsaid.
Hmm.
Lucius got up abruptly, Sirio’s startled effeminate yelp a little disconcerting on his left side, Flavia’s guarded expression on his right.
“Else what?” Lucius rustled thoroughly unamused.
“Everybody learns about it. Truth gushes out freely, like nectar out of a flower,” Flavia replied sweetly. “The Goddess rejoices.”
Good grief.
“Mercator backed away Lucius,” Lord Holt explained, although he’d already figured it out. “And he knows half of it.”
It didn’t really matter. A persistent half-lie was as poisonous as the full truth.
“You can’t hold a noble woman hostage,” Lucius warned the High Priestess.
“I don’t,” Flavia replied. “She came to us. Now she’s a priestess, her fate in the hands of the goddess.”
Perhaps Kelholt was right, Lucius thought, before stopping himself.
A guard approached their table and offered the duke a small scroll. Lord Holt read it quickly and nodded, a couple of fresh wrinkles on his face.
“Mercator?” Lucius guessed.
“He refuses to evacuate Islandport,” Lord Holt croaked.
“You have… you already talked with him,” Lucius said not expecting it.
“I did all I could to follow your plan, but this…” Holt stared at his son.
“He should not allow the ships to fall into their hands,” Lucius insisted. “I need six months Lord Holt. Then we’ll have the advantage. Write to him again.”
“I’m sorry Lucius, I won’t,” the old duke replied and turned to Flavia. “A shamed man can still be honorable, if he keeps some of his oaths. And it’s better than living as a two-timing coward.”
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Lucius burst out of the Duke’s hall livid. He marched down the corridor and up the stairs to his quarters trying to calm himself down. He needed to trust the old man would see reason eventually. Ligur wasn’t coming to fight, this was an attempt to scare the minor lords into submission and strip Asturia of its allies. Create discontent and perhaps even turn people against him, when the news eventually spread they had abandoned Mercator to his fate.
“Lucius,” Faye said seeing his face and then frowned, when a heavy breathing Sirio entered their quarters, Gripa helping him to a chair.
“Run downstairs and find Trupo,” Lucius rustled at the doubled over scholar. “And Logan.”
“All the way to the barracks my Lord?” Sirio mumbled, thinking of the kilometers ahead of him.
“And back again mister Sirio,” Lucius said, steel in his voice and Sirio all but fainted at the spot.
“You’ll use a horse fool!” Gripa blasted, snapping him out of his haze and then summarily bodied the unresisting small man outside.
“The Duke won’t agree to your plans,” Faye murmured pushing his hair back. “It is the right thing to do, but they just can’t see it.”
Lucius pressed two knuckles on his forehead to alleviate some of the pressure, Faye smoothing the wrinkles at the sides of his eyes with her fingers.
“Fucking idiots,” she cursed.
“Faye, I ask too much from them,” Lucius murmured. “They are scared, unsure. The enemy far stronger in their eyes.”
“Is it? Far stronger?”
“Probably, if they are half-competent,” Lucius admitted.
“Order them, they’ll fall in line. You’ll be king. Kings can do whatever all hells they want!”
“Not exactly. Not if the legion comes and Islandport burns,” Lucius said tiredly. “Damn that Ligur he moved too fast.”
“He was supposed not too?” Faye probed, perking up to listen for Roderick misbehaving.
“They left him on his own and he probably worked twice more efficiently without a Lord meddling in his business.”
“The boys wouldn’t be able to work without you,” Faye chuckled seeing his face.
“They would,” Lucius murmured thoughtfully. “The army shall endure.”
The Lords of the Realm were built differently.
A gesture means more to my father, Anne had told him a month back. Than anything else.
His mind slowly pulling the veil away. Reality rearing its ugly head.
> “It wasn’t me,” Lucius said hoarsely, emotion clogging his throat. “I didn’t kill her,” His eyes blurred, so he had to look away and tried desperately to take a deep breath, to get his wits back. Faye’s hand touched his right shoulder, then her forehead.
>
> “What did they say ye did?” Faye Numbers queried, her breath burning his skin.
>
> “It was best for Regia.”
>
> ‘Better to have a killer as heir’, King Alistair had decreed, not an ounce of pity in his voice, when he’d learned the news, ‘than a darn fool’.
>
> “I believe ye, Alden,” Faye whispered and pulled away again.
> Minor lords long for more titles, he thought. But the realm’s great lords’ hearts cannot bear the shame. Or the loss of pride. On the scales, even murder seems preferable.
>
> Be gone horrors of the past, this trail leads us away.
>
> You shall own it, never allow it to fester, or vanish.
>
> In the ploys of yester.
> What tips the scale in the Philomath’s favor, Di Cresta liked to say finishing his lectures, is the ability to recognize and understand what the scale needs to balance out, or tip in his favor. However distasteful, hurtful to his psyche and alas unethical, might that something be.
> “You’re like my father,” Monica had murmured, looking towards the gazebo longingly.
>
> “He won’t break an oath easy.”
>
> But he has done it already to protect you.
>
> You’re still in his home.
>
> Lord Holt’s biggest love wasn’t the army, or Asturia.
>
> Alistair would have done the same for Lucius.
>
> He probably had and they killed him for it.
>
> So would Lucius.
>
> Each man’s worth the weight of his word, against what his heart holds most dear.
>
> Come back, his father had said that fateful summer, because he knew him better than anyone else.
>
> For Regia.
>
>
“What?” Faye asked and pulled her hand away spooked.
Ah, Lucius thought moved, hearing Roderick waking up in their bedroom.
“Go to him,” he rustled, his throat numb.
“Damnit,” Faye cursed seeing his face. “How bad is it?”
“Let me work on it. I’ll find something else.”
“Is there time?”
“Not really,” he admitted and a tear run down Faye’s eyes. Oras shadow! “It probably won’t work. It’ll be difficult to palate even if it does. It’s not me.”
I can’t. This is madness.
“It’s her isn’t it?" she queried perceptively. "That vile noble cunt!”
How do you do that?
“I don’t even like her Faye. I fear the plan might fall apart and I’m trying to prevent it,” he sighed deeply. “I swear it was so much easier fighting in the north!”
“Do what you have to do,” she croaked.
Damnit Red.
“I love you Faye Alden,” Lucius muttered feeling like a monster and hugged her tight, not to hear her sobs. He just wasn’t brave enough. “I can’t let you go. I won’t do it.”
“Then don’t,” she gasped. “Be selfish.”
“Huh? That would be even more difficult to—”
Faye pushed him away and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’ll see to Roderick,” she whispered. “I was always going to share you with Regia Lucius. It haunts my dreams for years. It is exhausting. Living in fear. Actually it might even be relieving to put a face to that little bitch.”
Right.
“Might?”
“Don’t push it Alden,” she warned him.
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
“Sire,” Gripa said later. “You told me to remind you in an hour. It’s been an hour.”
“Where’s Sirio?” Lucius grunted looking at his wife playing with Roderick on their bed.
You have to solve this. Men are dying for you in the field for eighty coppers.
“He fell from his horse milord,” Gripa reported. “A broken leg. Never have I seen as bad a rider making it as far out of sheer determination. They are looking after him. Luckily it was near the barracks. Trupo is waiting downstairs.”
“I will visit Lord Holt,” Lucius said. “Has he left?”
“He’s in a meeting still,” Gripa said.
“Good,” Lucius said and got up, his stomach a knot. “Gripa, have you ever thought of remarrying?”
“That would be unwise sire. I’ve loved my wife too much. I’ve nothing more to give,” Gripa replied his face a mask.
Lucius smacked his lips feeling even more stressed. “That’s eloquently put Gripa. This is how a man should think and go about solving his problems.”
“A common man milord,” Gripa corrected him, which he rarely did. Adding with a knowing stare. “Is luckily plagued by common problems.”
----------------------------------------
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Lord Holt had aged a couple of more years in the span of a month, his return to Asturia not agreeing with him. Bernard standing next to his sister appeared sick and extremely angry. The same couldn’t have been said for the two priestesses still present in the Duke’s throne room that appeared quite satisfied with the conversation.
“Lord Heir,” Rupert Holt said tiredly. “We are in the middle of a family matter. Can it wait?”
“I’m afraid it cannot,” Lucius replied.
“I have nothing more to say to you Lucius. You have your plan. May Luthos show you favor in the pending struggles.”
“I can’t leave it to chance Lord Holt,” Lucius said hoarsely. “My plan rests on Asturia surviving and if you opt to fight with Mercator, then I may find myself cut off as well. We will all fail. I shan’t have it.”
“If you value Asturia so much, then perhaps you should recall the legion Lucius,” the old duke argued. “Help us instead.”
“I value Asturia immensely,” Lucius announced. “Because it’s loyal and because it opened its doors to me without asking for anything. But this is not how one should behave. And I won’t. I’ll make you another offer Lord Holt. You almost had the same with my father. Here’s your chance to have the likes of it with me.”
The old Duke stood back on his throne unsure. “Your father was my friend Lucius and my king.”
“Let me be the same,” Lucius replied. “Here I am. I’ll be your friend and I’ll be your King. And to prove to you that I mean it, I’ll ask for your daughter’s hand.”
Bernard blinked in shock and Vita’s eyes narrowed menacingly. Flavia just gazed his way blankly, with Lady Monica clad in a normal dress mimicking the High Priestess stare.
Lucius wasn’t surprised at their reactions, with Lord Holt being the most eloquent of them all.
“Lord Heir,” the old duke of Asturia reminded him angry. “You’re already married!”
“I married the North for I rule there,” Lucius replied calmly. “I shall marry Asturia for I intent to rule Regia next.”
“Lucius you can’t do this,” Lord Holt cautioned him. “This is common law.”
“This is my reign they’ve stolen,” Lucius countered. “I shall make the rules of it anew, so I can take it back.”
“What… you know my daughter…” Lord Holt started, then stopped and glared at her frustrated.
“She can love her Goddess in spirit,” Lucius helped him. “But not in flesh. This is an agreement Lord Holt. I shall respect her and she won’t have to hide. I will consummate the marriage.”
“She’s not chaste,” Lord Holt grunted with difficulty.
“I believe she is,” Lucius said and stared at the amused High Priestess. “What would Flavia say?”
Would the Goddess refuse a king?
Flavia bit her lower lip impressed. “She is,” she whispered.
“What?” Vita gasped in disbelief.
“Eh,” Monica mumbled very confused.
“Allgods, what is this?” Lord Holt grunted not believing his ears. “Lucius the people won’t easily accept it. The Gods above. She’s a blasted priestess for crying out loud!”
“The people won’t know for the word about it won’t spread outside this room. If it does then the sword shall test the strength of silk and I’ve seen Endariel cut through sturdier material,” Lucius countered looking at Flavia warningly. “The gods above have many rules and people break each and every one of them every moment of every day. The gods’ punishment may never come, but mine shall. And those in the wrong will be judged by my ancestors’ sword.”
Lord Holt sat back down on his throne stunned. “You’re serious. No lord will agree to this.”
“No Lord will perhaps, but it will matter naught if we win this and we shall. Then it shall be only one Lord’s word that would matter,” Lucius argued and then added, “and either way in the grand scheme of things and given the place…”
He paused again and stared at the statue of the naked Goddess holding Asturia in her hands.
“None, but the Fair Lady would ever tolerate it,” Flavia murmured passionately, raising her arm to stop Vita’s protests.
And Naossis did.
----------------------------------------
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-
----------------------------------------
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“What now?” Monica asked him two weeks later, the embroidered bridal tunic she wore held by a gold clasp over her left shoulder, leaving the other creamy slender shoulder bare.
“Have you had enough to drink?” Lucius asked hopefully, this being one of the more difficult parts of the whole unpleasant ordeal. Having to tell Faye the worst of it by far.
“I couldn’t,” she admitted standing next to the bed. “Are you going back to her immediately?”
“Not tonight,” Lucius grunted not wanting to talk about it and puffed out looking at the double bed like it was a pit of rattlesnakes. “Well, I guess we’ll make an effort and see where it leads us,” he started looking to find the right words, but failing. He felt numb. “See it as work, we’ll take it slow,” Lucius continued mostly talking to himself and then turned to face his young wife.
Monica nodded in understanding, which was nigh impressive, given that the news had taken her by surprise and her 'exotic taste' in partners.
“I know it would be awkward, but rest assured I won’t force myself on you. We shall just do what must be done,” Lucius assured her suddenly back in his teenage years confronted with his first wife and Monica much to her credit agreed with another casual nod, then reached with her small hand and unclasped the tunic. The white garb dropping like a heavy curtain and pooling at her naked legs. She wore very little underneath. That is naught but expensive jewelry and the gold clasp that had turned into a small knife in her hand.
Uher’s light, he thought impressed.
Every part of her was proportional and feminine.
“I can make a cut now,” Monica said casually, her demeanor much older than her actual years.
“A cut,” Lucius murmured numbly.
I should have had that blasted wine!
“For the blood," she deadpanned, then mimicked his voice, lowering hers an octave to recite his earlier words. “They have lies woven in them.”
Eh.
“Leave it,” he decided and followed the nimble naked woman to the large bed.
> In the third month of summer, the year 192 of the New Calendar, Praise be the Five, the Praetor took Lady Monica Holt of Asturia as his second wife. He then traveled to Islandport and convinced Baron Mercator to evacuate the fleet and most of the civilians beyond the river. There was a huge crowd at the ceremony held two weeks later and then we marched to Croton after the ‘Old Oak’.
>
>
>
>
>
> Scarlet Legion,
>
> (An Account)
>
> -Year Three-
>
> Race to the river peninsula,
>
> Summer of 192 NC
>
> Legio rank, Tribune (retired), 'the Book' Varus Trupo,
>
> Military Governor,
>
> Lord of Novesium,
>
> 3rd Legion’s Historian,
>
> Military Scholar,
>
> King’s Council
>
> (Greater Regia's Military Commitee)
>
> -Circa 205 NC-