'It makes me want to walk through it with an axe,' muttered Fiallach.
'It does have that effect on some people,' agreed Jasaray.
Suddenly, from close by, there came a terrifying roar. Fiallach spun round, his hand moving to his empty knife belt.
'Be calm,' said Jasaray. 'My animals are being fed. There is no danger. I shall show you them later.' The morning sun cleared the palace roof, and shone directly down on the seated men. 'I am sorry to have kept you waiting so long,' said the emperor, 'but there have been many pressing matters demanding my attention.' Trailing his hand in the pool he splashed a little water to his face. 'It is my hope', he said, 'that we can come to some agreement with the Rigante people.'
'What kind of agreement?' asked Bran.
'A union of friends,' said Jasaray. 'Stone has been fighting wars for thirty years now, some against foreign enemies, some between ourselves. It is time, I believe, for a period of stability and calm. Armies, as I am sure you are now aware, are costly. Connavar has fought three civil campaigns during the last two years, against rebel tribesmen from the Norvii and the Pannone. And why? Because he needs to tax the people to pay for his standing armies. And as each year passes without them being needed the populace grow more disenchanted. Here in Stone we see Connavar's armies and we wonder if they will be used against us, and therefore we also tax the public to pay for soldiers. It is very wasteful for both our economies.'
'What do you suggest?' asked Bran.
'I suggest a close treaty between our nations that will allow us both to reduce the size of our forces. The war in the east is costing us dearly, and we are beginning to have trouble with some of our northern neighbours, notably King Shard of the Vars. He also has standing armies now, and there have been several skirmishes with our troops.'
'Shard is a powerful enemy,' agreed Bran. 'My first taste of battle was against the Vars twenty years ago. Shard invaded the north of our lands, and linked with a Pannone army against us.'
'And Connavar defeated him,' said Jasaray. 'I believe your father was killed in that campaign.'
'He died, yes,' said Bran. 'His heart gave out after the battle.'
'War brings many tragedies,' said Jasaray. 'I despise it.'
'Then why are you so good at it?' asked Fiallach.
'A fair question - and one to which there is no answer. I was a scholar and a teacher. I was brought into the army to organize supplies and help with logistic matters. It then transpired that I had previously undiscovered skills in the area of tactics. In life, I have discovered, men gravitate towards what they are good at. I am a good soldier. That does not mean, however, that I enjoy the slaughter and the bloodshed. I do not. It is extremely wasteful. I have no desire to lead an army into the lands of the Rigante. The borders of the Stone empire are large enough. Further expansion would be dangerous. That is the message I want you to convey to Connavar.'
'Let us assume for a moment that we agree on this,' said Bran.
'What are you offering - in material terms - for this agreement, and what do you require?'
'Full access for our merchants, unhindered passage for our merchant ships, freedom to continue our settlements in the lands of the Cenii, constructing roads and towns and so forth. In return I will offer twenty thousand in gold to help with the costs of reducing the army, returning them to the land, or other skills and trades.'
'And we are to trust you?' snapped Fiallach.
'Trust your eyes,' replied Jasaray, with no hint of anger. 'I am a man approaching seventy. Do you truly believe I want to embark on another campaign, sleeping in tents, marching in rain and snow? If I was hungry for such activities, would I not, even now, be in the east, leading my armies against our enemies? People change as they grow older. Look at you, Fiallach. Do you still yearn for battlefields and cold beds?'
'I can still fight as well as ever.'
'That's not what I asked.'
Fiallach sighed. 'No, I don't. I want to watch my grandchildren grow.'
'Exactly. It is time for us all to do that. Connavar is preparing for an invasion that will not happen. Cogden Field was his great victory - and I take nothing away from that. Indeed I felt some pride in that I had a part in training him for warfare. But Cogden is now almost two decades in the past. I will have my clerics draw up provisional agreements for you to take to Connavar. I will then await your reply.' Jasaray rose. 'Come, let me show you my pets.'
Fiallach's heart sank as they entered the maze once more, but this time Jasaray moved swiftly through it, emerging from an entrance to the west. Here there were many large cages, containing animals from all over the empire, a giant black bear, two lions, three sleek panthers, and, set apart from the others, another lion, but this one bearing the most curious markings. Its tawny body was covered in dark stripes. Fiallach could not understand why anyone should wish to paint a lion in such a way, and said this to Jasaray.
'It is not paint, or dye,' said the emperor. 'It is a tiger, and these are its natural markings. Bigger and faster than a lion, it has prodigious strength. One blow from the paw can crush an ox skull. One bite would sever a man's leg.'
'Why do you have them here?' asked Bran.
'Once the war in the east is won I shall donate them to one of the circuses, and the crowds will watch them being hunted and slain.'
'How far has this creature travelled?' asked Bran.
'Over two thousand miles. It was quite a feat, keeping it alive.'
'I can imagine,' said Bran. 'The cost of getting it here alone must have been enormous.'
'Indeed it was.'
'And all so that people can watch it being killed? Now that seems wasteful, Majesty.'
'Perhaps,' agreed Jasaray. Then he smiled. 'But it would be an unwise ruler who did not spend a little money to keep his subjects happy. A contented people rarely see the need to overthrow their emperors.'
Regrets, Voltan would often say, were only for the weak. This was, he believed, an unarguable truth. Strong men achieved, lesser men failed, and in failing would blame external forces for their failure. Luck was against them, or they were the victims of malicious sabotage from those envious of their skills. Weaklings, all of them! Yet despite this iron belief Voltan had never been able to break free of the one great regret of his life.
Dressed now in a simple hooded toga and sandals he moved through the late-afternoon shadows to the entrance of the catacombs, and the rock tunnels that snaked under Agra, the Fourth Hill of the city. A young man was standing at the entrance, watching him as he approached.
'Good evening, friend,' said the man.
'Good evening to you,' said Voltan, drawing his hands together and making the sign of the Tree.
'Enter and be blessed,' said the man.
Voltan moved inside the darkness of the tunnel. Ahead he could see torches in rough-made brackets on the wall, as the tunnel widened into a high, arched chamber. It was cool here, and Voltan made his way past a series of jagged stalagmites, jutting up from the ground, to join the crowd waiting patiently in the torchlight.
Agents of the Temple had located the hiding place of the Veiled Lady, and she would be arrested tomorrow. Everything was coming together. By the week's end the fading emperor would be replaced by
Nalademus, the Tree Cult would begin to wither, and Voltan would be placed in charge of the army. At thirty-seven his destiny waited, a golden prize mere inches from his grasp.
Curiously he felt no excitement, no sense of fulfilment or satisfaction. This was irritating in the extreme, yet it had always been this way. Contentment and happiness were always just a little way ahead. I will be happy when I am Gladiator One, he had thought. On the day he had attained this he had felt a surge of achievement and deep pleasure. It had passed within an hour.
Voltan eased his way through the crowds and sat down on a rock, wondering yet again why he had come to this place. What do you expect to find? he asked himself. A group of fools, filled with death wish, listening to an idiot who w
ould be burned within days. He sat quietly among the almost dead, thinking through the arrangements for the assassination of Jasaray. No plan was foolproof, but, satisfied he had considered all the potential hazards, he relaxed. He felt the crowd stir, and rose to his feet.
At the far end of the chamber a young woman, in a pale blue gown and a black veil, had entered, flanked by three white-haired men. The crowd raised their arms above their heads. Voltan copied the movement.
'May the Source guide you, and bless you, and receive you,' they chanted.
The woman also raised her hands, touching the palms, then opening her arms towards the crowd in a gesture of embrace. 'What do we see in this world around us?' she asked them. 'What do we see in tree and stream, in mountain and valley? What do we feel when we gaze upon the stars and the silver moon? What do we experience when the warmth of the sun touches our skin?'
'Joy!' chorused the crowd.
'And when a friend takes us into an embrace, or a child smiles, or we receive an act of unexpected kindness?'
'Joy!'
'From which deep well does that joy come, my friends?'
'From the Source!' they cried.
'From the Source of All Things,' she said. She fell silent for a moment, and stood head bowed. The crowd settled down, seating themselves upon the ground or jutting rocks and broken stalagmites.
'There is so much evil in this world,' she told them. 'It is governed by men whose spirits have been charred by the smoke and fire of their greed and their lust. We should pity these men for they are empty now, and upon their deaths will walk the Void, lost and frightened, never to see the bright and shining Light, never to know the joy of Paradise Found. Their momentary lives will flicker out as an eternity of regret beckons. They think themselves great men. They see their lives as full of glory and riches. Not so. The reality is that they are - as we all are - seeds in the soft earth. We cannot see the sun, nor the awesome beauty of the sky. We lie in the ground, and we yearn for what we cannot see. The men of evil believe the dirt is all there is, and they embrace it, drawing it around them like a blanket. For them a belief in a sun they cannot see is foolishness, so they wait under the earth until they rot. Those of us with faith have a desire to grow. And we do grow, my friends. We put out roots of love and kindness, and we move up through the dirt, and we will see the sun and the sky. The men of evil will not. So when they drag you from your homes pity them. When they tie you to the stakes forgive them. Their lives are as nothing, worthless and dead.'
She fell silent again. Then she began to move among the crowd, laying her hands upon their heads, whispering blessings. Voltan moved back to stand behind a tall stalagmite, but slowly she was moving towards him. He had a long dagger hidden in the folds of his toga, and glanced quickly back along the tunnel. If she exposed him he would kill her and run. He did not want it to happen. Nalademus would be furious if she was not taken alive.
Most of the crowd were on their knees, so Voltan crouched down, head bowed. He heard her approach, and felt her hand upon his head.
'I forgive you,' she whispered, then moved away, returning to stand before the crowd.
'I must leave you soon,' she told them. There were cries of 'No!' but she stilled them with a gentle gesture. 'I will be taken,' she said, 'and led out to face the jeering mobs and the stake of fire. I know this. I have seen the vision. But do not fear for me. It will happen because I allow it to happen. And if the Source decrees that it is my time to leave this earthly existence, then I welcome it.' An eerie silence settled upon the group. Some began to weep.
'There is a man here . . .' she began. Voltan tensed, and eased his hand inside his toga, curling it round the hilt of his dagger. '. . . a man who does not understand the mysteries of life, or the meaning of joy. For this man I have a message. Go from here to the marketplace of Stanos, and stand by the stall with the yellow canopy. You will not have to wait long, and you will learn a great truth. And now, my friends, I must say farewell. May the Source bless you and keep you.' She turned and walked slowly from the chamber.
Voltan stood very still. The crowd began to file past him and he joined them. There were several exits and soon he found himself wandering down through the narrow streets below the hill, and walking towards the Stanos district. He moved warily. It was surely a trap, and she would have agents ready to spring upon him as he reached the stall with the yellow canopy. He did not fear them. He was Voltan, and even with a dagger he could kill any who attacked him.
There were few people in the marketplace, and many of the stallholders were packing up their wares. Ahead he could see the yellow covering above a stall selling jewellery items, mainly of green jade. Scanning the people close by Voltan approached the stall. None of the men he could see were armed, and most were strolling with wives or lovers. He stood at the stall, looking down at the items on display.
A young woman, her hair blonde, her eyes pale blue, approached and began examining a tray of pendant earrings. There was something about her that touched a chord in the former gladiator, and he wondered if he had met her before.
'Excuse me,' he said. She looked up at him, and his mind slipped back through the years, to a moment in a courtyard, when he said farewell to a tearful girl.
'Yes?'
'Have we met?' he managed to say.
'I do not believe so, sir.'
'My name is Voltan, and I ... sense that I should know you.'
'I am Cara,' she said, with a smile, 'and, believe me, sir, I would remember.'
'Where are you from, Cara?'
'I live with my grandfather.'
'Perhaps I know him,' he said. 'Perhaps I saw you when you were a child.'
'Perhaps you did,' she agreed. 'My grandfather is a famous man. He was Gladiator One, and he now trains the fighters of Circus Occian.'
Voltan felt as if he had been struck above the heart. 'Your grandfather is Rage?'
'Yes. Do you know him?'
'We have . . . met.'
'Then you should come and see us. We live in a large villa now. But we have few guests.'
'Perhaps I will,' he said, unable to take his gaze from her blue eyes. She gave him another smile.
'And I have seen you before, sir. An hour ago.' Lifting her hands she drew the outline of a tree in the air. Then she smiled again and swung away. He watched her walk from the marketplace.
Swiftly he returned to the temple, and sent a servant to fetch the file on the man Rage. In the fading light he read through it, then pushed the papers across the desk. Rising he walked to the window, and watched the dying sun fall behind the hills.
He had been nineteen when he left Stone, to join the eastern campaign with Panther Nineteen. Palia had wept and begged him to stay, but thoughts of warfare and glory had filled him. Once on campaign he found himself thinking of her often, and the times they had shared. Not just the carnal times, but the moments holding hands beneath the trees, or sitting arm in arm on the bench beneath the rose bower. He still held the memory of the scent of her hair.
Voltan had been away a year, and on his return had rushed to the house of Rage, praying that Palia had taken no other lover. He had been greeted by strangers, who told him that Rage no longer dwelt in Stone, but had moved to a distant part of the empire following the suicide of his daughter. Voltan had stumbled away, bereft and lost.
He stood now in the darkness, remembering the girl by the stall, her bright smile, her blue eyes. Voltan's throat felt tight, and there was a weight in his chest.
'I have a daughter,' he whispered.
He remembered the sign she had made, and, for the first time in his life, fear touched his heart.
Tomorrow would see the greatest cull in the city's history. Close to a thousand names had been gathered from agents, spies and informers. The lists had already been despatched to the hunt teams, and Voltan had no way of knowing whether Cara had been named. He heard a tap at the door, and a figure slipped into the darkness.
'All is ready, lord,' s
aid the man. 'So do we kill the emperor tonight?'
'Aye, tonight,' said Voltan.
CHAPTER NINE
The acquisition of power, Jasaray had always said, was not without risk. This thought came to him as he opened his eyes and felt pain at his temple. Lifting his hand he found a lump there, the skin split. He was lying beside the marble bench at the centre of his maze. He struggled to sit, remembering the man who had stepped from the shadows and struck him. I should be dead, he thought. Dragging himself up he groaned as fresh pain throbbed from his skull. Perhaps he believed he had killed me, he thought, sitting down on the bench. It made no sense.
As he sat down he saw that his pale toga was drenched with blood. I have been stabbed! Wrenching the garment open he examined his chest and belly. In the moonlight he could see no wound, and there was certainly no pain, save from the pounding in his head.
Think, man!
Jasaray calmed himself. He had known for some months of the peril he faced, as Nalademus and his Knights grew in power. Yet with his armies in the east he had been unable to confront his old friend and force the issue. So he had waited patiently, allowing Nalademus more and more power, while at the same time organizing subtle troop movements, bringing several loyal Panthers closer to the city. The first of them was camped only five miles from Stone, ready to march upon his order. At this moment Jasaray wished he had given that order, but he had decided to risk another few days. Then he could march nine thousand soldiers into Stone, arrest Nalademus and Voltan, and disband the Stone Knights.
'It could prove a costly delay,' he said, aloud.
Why am I alive? And where is the assassin? Why had he been struck, but not killed? And from whence had come this blood?
Jasaray had been walking alone in the maze. His attacker had been waiting there, armed with a cudgel. Not a knife or a sword. Was the man merely a fool? Or would he return and bludgeon Jasaray to death?
At the far edge of the maze the tiger roared. Did that signal the return of the killer? Jasaray pushed himself to his feet and left the open centre of the maze, moving into one of the darker lanes. The assassin would have to be very good to find his way to Jasaray now.