Ellen was lost in the play of light, sound, and illusion that reshaped the world around her as she sat in the little conference room. The seat she was sitting in had been a marvel of comfort, but now as the sounds and images played across her senses, she couldn’t even feel the chair, its padding, nor even her own body as she sat. It was as if her own existence was now channeled solely to experiencing the story that unfolded before her.
She could smell the resinous trees that swayed in the light breeze, and feel the warm air that moved past. There was a salty tang to the air itself, and the distant sound of gulls made her think that a beach of some sort was just out of sight over the hills to her left. A silly looking bird with black and white striped wings and a yellow head with a pronounced crest hopped about in the vines and bushes in the corner of the yard near where the handsome young man, the one Yriakos had addressed as “Di,” breathed heavily as he slept.
Watching the exchange between the king and Yriakos, Ellen could see that Yriakos was Elgin Stark. And the man looked just as he did now, in the current now that Ellen knew she lived in when not subsumed in this amazing and fully immersive mirage. Either he had not aged a single day since these events occurred, or the man’s sense of self in this modern age colored how he saw himself in all previous ages.
But that means… she speculated, …that I accept his idea of being some kind of immortal. And that is patently insane. But, so much of what I have seen these last four days is exactly that. Crazy. So, either this is more delusion, or I am here, now, and this “magic” is as real as my two feet.
As the tale continued to unfold, Yriakos listened as the small, fat, slovenly little king outlined all of the reasons that Yriakos should have been awed by the royal presence in his humble establishment, and from the looks of things, did his best to not yawn.
The man kept referring to battles he had won, when Yriakos knew by looking at Mydius’ hands, the man had never held a spear, a sword, or probably ever a knife to cut up his own food. And while Yriakos had only lived on this island for a mere twenty years, an eyeblink to Yriakos himself, when would these battles have been? When Mydius was a child?
He referred to great projects that he had undertaken on behalf of his people, to make their lives better. Yriakos had seen the dock in the harbor when he had first arrived, and occasionally visited to trade and buy materials and imported foods from across the Aegean. But “great” was a stretch. Otherwise, every “great project” looked quite a bit like expensive improvements to the little palace over in the town of Plakos, near the center of the island.
Yriakos may have moved to this small island nation when the little man’s parents had still ruled it, but he never introduced himself to them, and they never came to his little home across the bay, just outside the town of Kanos, to buy jewelry. Yriakos was not looking to engage himself in the games of monarchs in any way currently, so he didn’t really know if the man was an improvement to either of his parents’ style of rule, but from this introduction, he sincerely doubted it.
As with most things, it was about boredom for Yriakos. When he got bored he meddled, and when he meddled, things tended to go poorly. It went poorly in the last place he had lived, Lydia, indeed. Too many bodies, not enough cheese, but that had been decades ago.
…Clean slate. My tabula is as raza as it can be, here on Milos… he thought.
There was a sudden lull in the oration.
Bringing himself back to the present, he looked at the slovenly little king, and asked, “Sire?”
“Ah!” Mydius beamed at Yriakos in joy, and then looked to the head of his guardsmen. “See, Kleodos? The man is overwhelmed by the Royal Presence!”
Kleodos looked on, expressionless in the midmorning heat, saying simply, “Certainly, Sire. As always, well spotted.”
“Excellent! You see, my good citizen, I am getting married. A bride is coming all the way from Kemet, from their Sacred city of Abydos! Their Pharaoh,” He mangled the pronunciation here, though the guards didn’t seem to notice, and Yriakos let it pass. “They want to open trade with Our grand nation, and offer the hand of one of their daughters, a storied beauty, as my bride to seal out negotiations.” He held out his hands to either side, as if to say to the world watching him “Eh? Look at me! Great king here!”
Yriakos looked at the king. And looked.
“I see, uhm… good… uh… king.” He took a moment and collected himself. “Now, what can I do for you in light of your approaching nuptials?”
“The very soul of the Good Citizen!” He said to his guard, Kleodos. Then turning back to the confused craftsman, “I have seen the beautiful adornments you have made for the widow Gorgóna, and I must say my good man, Lady Myada has never looked as splendid! The necklace and earrings you made for her make her resplendent as Helios’ Chariot itself!”
“Thank you, my lord, very kind of you to say. This island has always been known for its obsidian, and so what I made for the lovely lady lent itself to using the local knappings leftover from some of her family’s mines.”
Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
“Yes, indeed. And I now need for you to make for Me a Bride Gift. Something appropriate for Me to give to my bride when she arrives… Something that shines with my devotion, and tells her of my virility, my bravery, my honorable nature, and my sincerity!”
“I see.” He said simply, trying to not start problems where there were none. Reaching a blunt fingered, broad hand up to scratch at the back of his neck, the jeweler looked to the king, and asked, “Were you looking for a bride gift to match the local styles, or would you prefer something that would remind the Lady of the lands where she has come?”
The fat face quivered, and then froze as though its wearer had just encountered an impossible riddle posed in the language of the birds themselves. He blinked several times in irritation at the question. This was more thinking than he had expected to expend of this endeavor, and Yriakos was the cause of his distress.
Eyes widening in surprised anger, the king turned to the equally diminutive craftsman, and said, “I do not care about the details, and I doubt they will mean anything to a woman of such breeding and refinement, either. Just see that it is done by the beginning of the harvest. That is when she is expected, when my marriage is to take place, and when Our ministers will sign the treaty with her father’s representative. Anything else is immaterial.”
He now knew this little man was not going to make his life any easier, and probably much of what he did made his own life more difficult than needed. Yriakos had seen it time after time, where a human, any kind of human, would tear down his own roof because it blocked the light of the sun, but then cry, blaming anyone but themselves, as his belongings were soaked the next time it rained.
Reaching for diplomacy, “My…uhm,” He really didn’t want to claim this man as his king. Even just as a turn of phrase. “Ah, well… your majesty, I will be happy to make such an item for you. With some effort I can even make that deadline, though I must say it is a bit tight. I can have the jewelry finished in time for her arrival.”
The fat little king then brightened up from his previous souring mood, “ See, Kleodos? This man is an exemplary Milosian! So industrious!”
Kleodos didn’t change expression at all, and simply nodded as he stared off into the distance, saying in his deadpan voice, “As you say it is, my King, then so it becomes. All hail Mydius.”
Yriakos looked to Kleodos, wide eyed, and then schooled his features before looking back to Mydius. “Well, yes. I will require a palm of gold and a palm of silver to complete the work. I already have the other materials needed to complete this commission. And after, what little remains, the excess of those materials, will go to covering my costs and labor.”
The king now looked outraged. His face reddened, and his pudgy little hands balled into angry, flaccid little fists.
“I will NOT be providing you with any gold or silver! You look to profit off of my marriage? You would steal from the people of Milos? You would make yourself rich as I take these holiest of vows?” Mydius was furious at the idea of paying for work. Sadly, Yriakos had seen other “royalty” with this same attitude.
Turning to the head of his squad of soldiers, Mydius almost yelled. “When was the last time this merchant paid any taxes?”
Yriakos was confused by this question, as taxes weren't usually a regular occurrence.
Called the eisphorá, it was a tax on the wealth of the very rich in times of need. In most of the kingdoms and city states scattered about the Aegean it was levied only when it was needed. And it usually only fell upon the pillars of the community. The wealthy royalty, and the rising merchants. This usually meant in times of war, or tragedy. Earthquakes? Damn that Poseidon, tax the wealthy to enact repairs! Invasion from Lydia? Tax the wealthy! Does the King want a new, great public work? You get the gist.
Kleodos’ monotone voice issued from the apathetic face surrounded by the hinged bronze cheek plates of his helmet. “Not once in the years he has lived here in Milos, oh Great King. His name has never come up in the rolls of the eisphorá.”
Yriakos looked at the soldier, wondering if the man had died recently.
“You see? This leech on My Sovereignty, like a blood gutted marshfly, drains the very life from Me! And now he wants a levy of gold and silver, too!” The king was wide eyed in anger now, and as he looked about the little courtyard, he finally took notice of the lovely young man sleeping amongst the aggressively flowering grape vines that had sprouted near the south wall.
“Kleodos!” He bellowed. “Take that man! We will hold his son hostage as surety against his good behavior!!” The frothy spittle was starting to fly, though mostly down his stained chiton and the tops of his own feet, as the rest of his guards moved swiftly and gathered the lad up.
“You will deliver the Bride Gift before the delegation arrives, or I will have your son slain before your very eyes! All I do is for my people! This treaty will bring business and wealth to Milos like never has been done before! Wealth will flow from Kemet to my palace! And if you dare to ever ask me for gold or silver ever again when I have HONORED you with my patronage, I will have you tied to the bottom of my personal ship and have the ship sailed all the way to Samos!” Mydius was stomping away, with the bulk of his retinue in tow.
Kleodos had stayed behind, however, staring off into the trees around Yriakos’ little stone house.
Yriakos looked at the head of the king’s guard, and slowly Kleodos turned his head and looked down to meet the man’s eyes.
“Will the boy be safe?” He asked the soldier.
“He will be thrown in a cell and forgotten by the king by the time his next meal is served.
He thought for a moment, digesting this news.
“But will he be safe?” He asked the bored guardsman again.
“As long as the king gets what he wants, we will all be safe.” The man ruminated a moment, his lips twisting as his tongue sought out some irritant, and then spat over the courtyard wall. “We will all be safe, if the king is pleased.”
“What will please him most?” He called out to the retreating soldier.
“Only wealth.” He said in a distant voice. “Only gold will sate his hunger. And that hunger is all that Mydius is or will ever be.”