At last they emerged at the centre of the maze, where several benches and tables of stone had been placed around a large marble pool. Fiallach sucked in a deep breath. From here he could at least see the walls of the palace building, with its balconies and windows.
Jasaray sat down, beckoning the tribesmen to join him. 'I had this constructed after one of our western campaigns,' he said. 'It is copied from a design I found in a captured city.'
'What is the point of it?' asked Fiallach.
'For me it is a representation of life,' said Jasaray. 'We wander through it, always wondering where we are going, and rarely able to go back and put right past mistakes. I come here most nights, and wander the maze. It helps me to think.'
'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.