Fornulus, the current Mekos of Dardanos and soon to be Doukar, jerked his head up after his thoughts grew fuzzy for just a moment, and tried to pay attention to the funeral. The Patrianous, head of the church, had finished his opening speeches glorifying the empire and Oma and began to talk about his dad.
"His Exaltedness Holophian, the forty-sixth Doukar, Supreme King of the Empire and Arch-Commander of the Faith, was called to Oma's Empire in this, the five hundredth and seventeenth year of Doukar's Kingdom, the one thousandth, two hundredth and sixty-ninth year of Dardan's Founding. His Exaltedness ruled gloriously for eighteen years, succeeding Her Exaltedness Theodrastus, forty-fifth Doukar, who ruled gloriously for fourteen years. Her Exaltedness succeeded Euphiostium..."
Fornulus realized with horror that the priest was going to go back and list every single Doukar and their reigns in reverse order. Deciding to ignore the droning priest, he focused on the heavy drinking he planned tonight.
He wasn't enjoying his father's funeral at all. He couldn't relax because the podium for the royal family was at center of the chamber and the whole audience were staring at them the entire time. At him, especially. Meanwhile, priests droned on and on, the smell of the incense was stifling, and his throne was hurting his behind. His kids fell asleep early on, lucky little turds.
Fornulus' gaze wandered around the Chamber of Phobious. He'd always hated it. He especially hated the statues. In the middle of the chamber were three massive bronze statues of the empire's greatest heroes: Dardan the Founder, Doukar the Great, and Mekos the Magnificent, each sparkling with gilt and jewels. They loomed over everything in the chamber, except for the featureless marble obelisk of the Nameless Prophet of the Faith which stood opposite them. It was forbidden to depict Oma or the prophet in any kind of image, so no statue. Doukar Triganon had added it more recently than the three statues, but had made it just a little bit taller than them.
Flanking the three largest statues were four smaller ones, in a rough semi-circle, two each on either side. Less grand than the main three, they still towered over all the people in the chamber. These statues celebrated the next most important Doukars: on the left were Danrian the Conqueror and Hagia the Wise, and on the right Trigon the Builder and Triganon the Holy. The bronze of Triganon’s statue was still bright and new. Some of the oldest people here today had been born in Triganon's day, although they wouldn't be able to remember him. There were about a dozen smaller statues, carved from marble, circling the edge of the chamber. These honored the less glorious but still respected Doukars like Ephrasmus and Aristaphones. The marble statues looked particularly vivid today as they were all freshly painted and dressed for the funeral.
He'd been forced to memorize every Doukar and their achievements as a child. How he hated them all. It felt like they were judging him with their stern faces. "You'll never be our equal", they seemed to be telling him. He already knew! There was talk of his father getting a statue at the edge of the chamber. Holophian "the Strong" they were calling him. Fornulus doubted that he'd get a statue or name when he died.
His dad's body rested in the center of the chamber, in the open topped porphyry Imperial Sarcophagus. They’d placed it under the oculus, bathing it with sunlight, making it shine in comparison to the rest of the chamber. The chamber was too large to ever be truly lit well, no matter how many tripods the servants placed. A cloth of spun gold covered his father's body – nobody wanted to see a rotting corpse. At the end of the ceremony his father's strigulos, the best of his guards, would carry his body to the great tomb prepared for him in the necropolis. The actual structure of the tomb was over a century old: the empire was always prepared. They already had tombs built for the next several Doukars after him. However, stonemasons were still personalizing it for this Doukar, carving his greatest achievements into the tomb walls and loading it up with treasures of all sorts. Fornulus wondered what they'd carve into his tomb.
He was being maudlin, he knew, but this was his father's funeral, and the day when his mother left him. Seeing his mother, First Empress Mesalonas, led off to her retirement with the rest of the empresses, made him miss her already. It all made him think about poor Braxalus, his only full sibling, dead more than twenty years now from illness. So many people gone. Theo and Cord's poor mother, Theo and Mer's husbands, so many tiny baby brothers and sisters, all dead, and now their father too. He'd even cried earlier in the ceremony, and wished he had some wine to cheer himself up. Vicca, his beloved wife, had patted him on the arm, but he hadn't even noticed at first through all these robes.
Although he wasn't comforted by the incessant chanting of the priests, the recited poem moved him. He wasn't much of an artist himself, but he could tell when something was good. No wonder the poet was so popular with the people. Cordelian had recommended it too, saying the poem was "wonderfully absent of any felicities of style or imagery, admirably deficient in innovation". Aside from that bright moment, the funeral was getting up and down as his feet and ass became increasingly sore, listening to boring sermons, and occasionally mumbling along to some lines for the ceremony he couldn't exactly remember. Fornulus could see his whole reign laid out: one boring ceremony after another and then eventually a rotting corpse in a stone box.
Growing up, knowing one day he would rule, he'd looked forward to it. His dad was always moaning about what he did with his time. Don't play there, don't be so lazy, then later, don't drink so much, stop chasing those girls, on and on it went. He'd daydreamed about the day he'd become Doukar, bossing people around and everybody leaving him alone when he'd had enough of their ceremonies, and leading an army on some glorious battlefield. It wasn't like that at all. Instead he had people constantly wanting something from him, and never a moment’s peace. Approve this, decide on these, we need money, praise this person, condemn that person, go to this church, visit these soldiers, listen to this boring story about taxes or fish or copper. He probably worked harder now than he had as the mere heir; he missed his old life. He needed to get Cordelian and Meronion to help him more, they weren't doing their share. He was Doukar now, so they had to do what he said. It wasn't right he should lead an entire empire and get nothing for it but endless trouble.
He looked at Vicca, his wife of over a decade. She could help him too. Once the Thirty Crowns were officially his, she'd be able to stop wearing the dark green robes with the four rings sigil of his family branch, and start wearing the royal purple. He'd always worn the purple as he was firstborn and thus the Mekos, the heir. The position would now go to Euphenos, his eldest. Come to think of it, as Doukar there'd be nothing stopping him getting another pretty wife, or another four, like dad. Although Vicca wouldn't like it. She'd made him promise not to have any wives other than her. But then again, it had been years, she probably didn't remember that promise. She spent all her time with the baby, and being the Doukar was going to be so tiring, he was sure she'd understand how he needed-
"Pay attention my love!" Vicca whispered out of the side of her mouth to him, having noticed him idly staring at her.
"Sorry dear." He spoke too loudly, and whipped his eyes back to the service, embarrassed. He heard somebody snickering behind him, probably Euphastolon.
Fornulus glanced around but none of his other siblings were looking his way, apparently focused on the ceremony. It was unusual for all nine of them to be together. Cordelian and Theodorian were in their olive-green robes with the olive tree design. Meronion, Euphastolon, and Ophelion in their yellow with the chrysanthemum. Pelagius or Nikolonium, he could never keep them straight, in his blue with his star sigil, and then other one and Helastus in their black with the hawk. He'd always liked those black robes, they looked tough. Cordelian looked comfortable and poised, like a true ruler. Euphastolon was sneering at the priests. Nikolonium was rapt as he focused on the service. Meronion was sitting ramrod straight and stony faced, like always. The rest seemed to be about as bored as him, thankfully.
He caught his wife's eye. Vicca was irritated by his distraction, so he focused back on the funeral, trying to stay awake.
Finally, the ceremony started to wrap up. Fornulus couldn't withhold a sigh of relief, even though Vicca glared at him again. He couldn't wait to get back to his chambers and slip in a quick drink before some boring old Majester cornered him again. Or maybe he and Vicca could...no, probably not, he decided after eying her quickly.
Well, once he got the crowns everything would be different. He'd be the master of his own destiny. Maybe he'd cut some of these ceremonies down to a reasonable length.
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Nikolonium stood watching the very end of the ceremony, as the old imperial strigulos, Holophian's personal guards, filed out. The last part of the funeral was the strigulos of the former Doukar handing over their ceremonial spears to the strigulous of the current Mekos, the future Doukar, exchanging them for the ceremonial tomb swords, and leaving for the necropolis. They were now the tomb guards of the old Doukar. The sacrifices and gifts buried with him were a powerful temptation for the poor noumens. It would be the guards' duty to select replacements when they were too old to continue protecting the tomb, to make sure that nobody would ever violate the sanctity of the tomb, not even centuries after the death of that Doukar. After all the long centuries of Doukars there were now several hundred tomb guards in total, each paid a handsome salary to protect treasures which could have fed thousands of noumens. If it had been up to Nik he would have fired almost all the guards and sold the tomb treasures. It was disgraceful to throw all that wealth away when so many had so little.
After the ceremony was finally over everybody began to mill around gossiping and jostling for position in the new order. A lot of the patros immediately made their way over to Fornulus to try to get on his good side. Nikolonium looked around for his younger siblings and caught sight them on the other side of the chamber. They must have started to leave before was strictly proper to already be all the way over there. They looked like little children staying up late, whispering to each other with their heads together, he thought fondly. Unfortunately, before he could go over to them, his least favorite duo in the entire empire cornered him.
"Well, well, if it isn't little Nik, Nik the Gisean shit." Nikolonium scowled at his vile older brother Euphastolon, who sauntered up, smirking. His strigulos bristled at the insult and shot a dark glance at one of Euphastolon's strigulos, who appeared utterly disinterested. To think this man came from the same mother as Ophelion, it beggared belief.
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Naturally Cordelian was with him too, his olive-green robes making an ugly combination with the yellow of Euphastolon's. Cordelian carried out the formal greetings, a model of grace, which just irritated Nik even further. How two-faced. At least Euphastolon was honest with his hostility.
Euphastolon had always hated Nik, perhaps because they were next to each other in the line of succession and thus natural rivals of a sort. Nik hated him back, but with good reason, since Euphastolon was known to be a murderer, rapist, thief, and likely arsonist (Nik believed it was Euphastolon who had burned down the temple of Hekakrontis a couple of years ago, although he had no proof). Had Euphastolon not been royalty, the Doukar would have ordered him executed years ago for all his crimes.
"Euphastolon. Don't you have some old ladies' throats to cut?" He responded coldly. Neither of them bothered with any formal greetings.
"Let us not fight in this holy place," Cordelian admonished.
Nik grunted in acknowledgement.
It annoyed Nik to admit that Cordelian was right. It would be an insult to Oma to fight here, and an insult to their father. Then again, their father had always encouraged competition and hostility among royalty, and he used to laugh at their fights.
"How pleasant to see you, Nikolonium. I believe it has been over a month since we last spoke." Cordelian was outwardly polite, but it was only a façade.
“Not long enough.”
Euphastolon might be the kind of man who would stab you in the back, but Cordelian was the kind of man who would get Euphastolon to stab you in the back. Nobody had any real doubts that Cordelian wanted the crowns for himself. With both eldest siblings being weak, many among the patros viewed Cordelian, the third child of Holophian, as the most appropriate candidate for Doukar. Now their father was dead those voices would grow louder, and the old status quo would not last long.
Euphastolon offered more bile. "I heard the craziest thing about you, Nikki. Just the most insane thing, this absolute nonsense that couldn't be true. That you believed something truly moronic. This dumb, stupid, idiotic position that only a real dirt-eating, wool-wearing cretin could possibly believe."
Nik rolled his eyes as Euphastolon made his ham-fisted attempts to insult him. He didn't bother to respond. He'd heard this sort of thing so many times over the years.
"I heard..." Euphastolon drew it out, "you believe we should free the slaves! Obviously I told them no royal would be stupid enough to believe something like that. How nice of me, right?"
"I do believe it."
Euphastolon made an exaggerated gasp of shock and cupped his gauntleted hands to his mouth, before continuing.
"A prissy Gisean effete like you would think that. You little runt."
In the days before Doukar the Great the collective island nations of Gisean had been the preeminent military and cultural power in the Melancthon world. For two centuries Gisean had oppressed Dardano, until Doukar the Great broke their power and finally conquered them. The calendar of the empire began on the day of Doukar's victory over the Gisean High King Pholion, which marked the end of Gisean hegemony, five hundred and seventeen years ago. However, to simply say that Dardano won and Gisean lost was too shallow a view of history. So much of Dardano culture was taken from Gisean, like allowing women to rule, that it would be just as accurate to say the two powers merged and together formed the empire that resulted.
This didn't stop some from looking down their nose at those with Gisean heritage. The stereotypes held Giseans to be weakling intellectuals, underhanded schemers and cowards, more concerned with eating food in the right way than with winning battles. As if Gisean hadn't conquered the north shore of the Melancthon through force of arms. Nikolonium's name clearly marked his Gisean heritage, whereas "Euphastolon" was a good Dardano name. Nik didn't bother to point out how "Cordelian" was clearly Gisean, or that Cordelian was the Gisean stereotype come to life. They'd had this pointless debate many times before. Euphastolon didn't care one bit about who was Gisean or not, he just hated Nik.
Nik was more irritated by the reference to his height, since he was the shortest of the brothers. Even Meronion was taller than him, and Ophelion was probably at or about his height as well. At least Helastus was short.
"It seems you've noticed a lot of my traits, whereas the moment you're out of my sight I can never remember what you look like." Nik said. "I can see how it's easy for you to get away with your crimes Euphastolon. Nobody will be able to remember such a boring face."
"Peace my brothers." Cordelian raised his hands. "Emancipating the slaves is an admirable position, Nikolonium, from the moral point of view, of course. But you must see it simply isn't realistic."
Cordelian was being his usual condescending self while pretending to be the peacemaker. He continued to lecture Nik. "Without slaves, who will carry out the many menial tasks the empire requires to function? Who will dig sewers, press olives, or record finances? You can't ask the proud sons and daughters of Dardan to lower themselves to such work."
"We could pay members of the noumens to carry out those tasks. They won't be too proud for the work if it improves their lives." Nikolonium replied.
"Practically none of the noumens know how to read. How could they keep records?"
"We could teach them. Use some of the money wasted on pointless luxuries to spread education throughout the empire." Nik was getting heated, but he couldn't help it. He felt deeply about this topic.
"Such an effort would cost so much it would go far beyond "pointless" luxuries. We would need to cut into military spending." Cordelian shook his head. "Then there's the question of where we could find enough teachers for all these people."
"Teach noumens to read?" Euphastolon sneered. "Those sheep-herding simpletons will get uppity if we start pampering them and forget their place. A noumens who can read is a noumens who starts to think he doesn't need a Doukar."
"Maybe they don't need a Doukar," Nik said.
"They don't need a malformed little coward like you leading them, that's for sure."
"We already teach some of the slaves to read and we don't worry about them rising up." Nik spat back.
"You're as dumb as you are ugly. That's why we keep them in slavery, to keep them from getting ideas above their station." Euphastolon poked Nik in the chest to emphasize this, although he didn't feel it under his breast plate.
Nik saw red and lashed out, catching Euphastolon in the mouth. Their faces were the only exposed parts of their bodies in these robes. His gold gauntlet made a satisfying clunk as it connected with his brother's face. Euphastolon snarled and grabbed him, and the two started to awkwardly scuffle, neither able to maneuver much in their armor and layers of silk and cotton. After only a moment their strigulos broke them apart, apparently at Cordelian's urging, leaving the two of them panting heavily and glaring at each other.
"Euphastolon," Cordelian said, "it's time for you to go see your sisters." He wasn't smiling any more.
"The little shit hit me! I'm going to-"
"Now, Euphastolon."
Euphastolon visibly swallowed his anger and slunk off like a kicked dog, muttering to himself. Cordelian turned back to Nik, patronizing disapproval spread across his smug face.
"You've always had a temper. You should learn to keep it in check," he said.
Nik straightened his robes, still angry. "How many insults am I supposed to take?"
"As many as are needed to maintain your dignity as a prince. Euphastolon insults you because you always react this way. Haven't you noticed that he leaves Pelagius alone because Pelagius knows how to handle him?"
"Euphastolon is scum. Our father should have executed him for his crimes," Nik retorted. Still, he did feel regretful when he saw some of the priests looking over at them and whispering to each other. He had made quite the show of himself here. They must have looked ridiculous, fighting in their robes, barely able to move.
"Perhaps, but that isn't your decision, and it never will be.”
“We’ll see,” Nik said. Cordelian would be in for a surprise.
His older brother merely chuckled, good humor returning. “I doubt you'll gain the influence and respect you so desperately crave, Nikolonium. You have idealistic, ill-thought out notions about freeing slaves and educating farmers. You still throw your childish little tantrums at the slightest provocation. You are nineteen now, I believe; if you don't decide to grow up soon, you're going to become an embarrassment for all of us."
There was a long pause as Nik glared at him. This was the real rivalry, the two true leaders of their respective factions. Euphastolon was just a side-show.
"One of these days, Cordelian, I'm going to pull that smooth mask of yours clean off, and everyone will see you as I see you."
Cordelian shook his head and started to move off towards Theodorian, who seemed to be leaving the hall.
"Let me know when you plan to make your big move, little brother. I'd hate to miss it."
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Ophelion turned away from Nik's scuffle and back to Helastus at her side. Her younger sister was developing into a beauty, and it made her slightly jealous. She knew she wasn't as intelligent or as pretty as Hel. She also envied how close Pelagius was to Helastus – her own full brother, Euphastolon, barely had any time for her, so seeing the younger siblings' good relationship made her wish she had it for herself. Still, she did have something over Hel (besides a bit of height), and that was her sociable nature. Hel was a gloomy and solitary girl, who spent most of her free time either poring over books, or working in the gardens, in each case alone. She was closemouthed, and only spoke much around her or Pel. Even with Nik she generally kept quiet. When she did speak, she was awkward and clumsy in her expressions. Hel struggled to keep up a conversation with people she didn't know well, and witticisms would go over her head. Most people were quickly put off by her manner, whereas Ophelion was popular and charismatic.
Helastus had a kind heart though, just like her. Of all the siblings, only Hel seemed upset over the death of their cold and distant father. During the funeral Ophelion had noticed her dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. Ophelion didn't feel any grief over the Doukar's death. He'd barely seen her until she was about ten, and even in recent years he'd shown no interest in her. The man had given more attention to Pelagius and Helastus than the rest of the younger royal siblings, although the two of them hadn't had the time to get close to him. Holophian was only interested in people he deemed useful, and children were not useful, so he ignored his children when they were young. Perhaps in his old age he'd gotten interested in the last of his children, realizing he would never have any more. Or maybe he'd seen something else in them, as she did.
She didn't let her father's favoritism get her down. She was a cheerful, outgoing girl, popular with patros. As such, she'd already had a few of the patros boys hinting at marriage even though she'd only barely become an adult. Hel didn't get so much interest, good looks or not. Ophelion would have to coax her out of her shell. Now Hel was a teenager the two of them could have so much fun. Helastus could go to adult parties and they could help each other deal with the more irritating patros men. She wondered if Hel had ever been with a boy.
"What are you doing now Hel? Do you want to stop by my chambers?" She asked, as Hel dabbed at her eyes one more time with her handkerchief.
"Nothing really. I suppose I could, if you want." The younger girl appeared to shrug, as best she could in her robes. Neither of them had many official duties yet, and so had plenty of free time.
"Mm-hmm, we can talk some, get out of these dreadful robes. Maybe have some tea. I'm quite thirsty now after all the chanting, and nobody brings you any drinks." She said.
"I can get some fresh honey from the garden for it." Helastus offered.
"Lovely! By the way, where's Pelagius? I thought he was just here with us." She looked around for him.
"He went to talk to Meronion while you were staring at Nik."
Ophelion waved that off. "Don't put it like that, please."
Hel smiled.
"Anyway, he went to see Meronion?" That was unusual. Pelagius didn't talk much with her older full sister, although they were on good terms.
"He's looking to get more duties."
"Heh, ever the ambitious one, our Pel. And here I thought he just wanted to hang around chasing girls all day."
"Everybody in this family is ambitious. It's expected."
"Not me." Ophelion said. She liked being different from the rest of them.
"No, not you." Helastus agreed. "Not Theo either."
"What about you Hel?" Ophelion asked half-jokingly.
Hel didn't reply and only suggested leaving before Nik came over. Ophelion agreed. She loved Nik, of course, but he was going to spend the next hour complaining about Euphastolon and Cordelian, she just knew it. Best to leave him be.