“I respect the views of Julian, whom we all dearly love,” said Iaachus, “even though I am sometimes pained to disagree with them.”
“Yes?” asked the empress mother.
“But I fear that the empire, or certain distant, unimportant parts of it, may now indeed be in some slight danger.”
“But there is nothing for us to fear?” asked the empress mother.
“No, of course not, your majesty, not here, nor in Telnaria itself.”
“Give us your counsel,” said the empress mother.
“We might begin slowly,” said Iaachus, “and then, if things did not seem auspicious, withhold support, simply abandon the project.”
“These men could go where we want, be sent to the points of greatest danger!” said Julian.
“They might prove a most useful arm in the service of the empire,” said Iaachus.
“I am not convinced of the value, or necessity, of such a thing,” said the empress mother.
“No decision need be reached at this instant, of course,” said Iaachus.
“Pretty, pretty!” said the emperor, lifting up the globe.
“Yes,” said the empress mother. “It is very pretty.”
“Your friend is barbarian?” said a man.
“I think so,” said Julian.
“And what are his qualifications for such a captaincy?” asked me man.
“Assess them,” said Julian, angrily.
“Camarius,” said the man.
“Sir?” said one of the guards.
The man pointed at Otto and Camarius rushed upon Otto who seized his descending arm, twisting it, and kicking the man from him, but not releasing the arm, jerking it from the socket and the man cried out with horror and pain and then Otto, with an inhuman noise, at once a snarl and a cry of rage, for he was an impatient and easily angered man, jerked him by the injured arm to him as he screamed, and threw him, face upward, down, upon his knee, thrusting down, in fury, to break his back across that living fulcrum.
“No!” cried Julian. “No!”
The guard’s eyes were bulging and wild, one arm lifted helplessly, the other useless at his side.
“Civilitas!” screamed Julian.
Otto rose up, throwing the guard from him, angrily, to the carpet. The guard rose to his feet, half crouching, and hurried away, whimpering.
Otto’s eyes were terrible to behold.
“Civilitas,” said Julian, soothingly.
Otto then regarded the man who had ordered the soldier to approach him, but the man stepped back. The hands of guards were on their weapons.
“It is all right,” said Julian. “It is over now.” Then he faced the man who had ordered the soldier forward. “Have you further questions?” he asked.
“No,” said the man.
The assemblage in the court was stunned, and silent. Otto stood there, in a narrow shaft of light, it sparkling with dust, descendant from one of the high windows in the dome. All eyes were upon him. Even the emperor regarded him.
“The decision of the emperor will be conveyed to you,” said Iaachus to Julian. “I will do my best to press for a favorable response.”
Otto angrily looked about himself, from face to face.
He looked into the face of the men, and into the faces of the women. These latter seemed to draw back, some lifting their hands to their bosom.
The eyes of the slave girls were wild.
Had Otto so much as snapped his fingers they would have hurried to him, to kneel.
He regarded the sisters of the emperor, blond Viviana, and dark-haired Alacida.
They seemed startled.
He had no doubt that now something stirred, and profoundly, beneath those robes.
They looked wildly away, flushing scarlet.
He conjectured, in his anger, in his fury, what they might look like, kneeling naked, on ropes.
They too could learn, like any other woman, to respond instantly to the snapping of a man’s fingers.
“I am afraid of him,” said the empress mother.
“There is nothing to be afraid of,” said Julian.
“Oh, oh!” suddenly cried the emperor, putting his head down, holding the colored globe close to him, as though to protect it, and striking about with his free arm.
“What is it?” cried a man.
“It is a fly,” said a man.
“Guards!” said the empress mother, she, too, leaping up from her throne, to rush to the emperor.
The emperor burst into tears.
“What is wrong?” asked Otto.
“The emperor fears insects,” said Julian, irritably.
Two guards were about the imperial throne, trying to drive away the insect.
“It is all right,” said the empress mother, holding the boy to her.
“The audience is at an end,” suggested Iaachus.
“Yes, yes!” said the empress mother. “There, there, darling,” she crooned.
The older of the emperor’s two sisters, Viviana, the blonde, regarded the emperor with ill-disguised contempt. The younger, Alacida, dark-haired, looked upon him with embarrassment, and pity.
“The audience is concluded,” said Iaachus.
Men and women began to take their leave.
“I will do my best to further the success of your business,” Iaachus said to Julian.
“My thanks, Counselor,” said Julian. “Your majesties,” said Julian, to the dais.
Julian and Otto watched the men and women leaving the room.
The slave girls had hung back, looking at Otto.
“Go!” snapped Iaachus to them and they turned about and hurried from the room.
The two sisters of the emperor, too, it seems, had dallied. But then, seeing Otto’s eyes upon them, they lifted their heads and took their leave.
“I wonder what they would look like, in collars, curled in the furs,” said Otto.
“They are of the highest class of patricians, the senatorial class,” said Julian.
“I wonder what they would look like,” said Otto.
“What do you think?” asked Julian.
“I think they would look well,” said Otto.
“So do I,” said Julian.
The emperor, clinging to his globe, was hurried from the audience chamber, in the keeping of the empress mother, followed by ladies-in-waiting, and guards.
“The emperor has not yet lost interest in his toy,” said Otto.
“It will doubtless continue to fascinate him for a long time,” said Julian.
“He is simple?” asked Otto.
“He is feebleminded,” said Julian.
“Who rules?” asked Otto.
“Iaachus,” said Julian, wearily.
“Who is Iaachus?” asked Otto.
“He is the arbiter of protocol,” said Julian.
“Do you trust him?” asked Otto.
“No,” said Julian.
CHAPTER 15
It was a light knock, a timid knock.
Tuvo Ausonius looked up from his columns.
The knock was repeated, a timid, light knock, but rapid now, pressing, urgent, as though someone might fear to remain outside in the ill-lit street.
Tuvo Ausonius gathered his papers together, arranged them, and inserted them in one of the pockets of a leather portfolio, which he then buckled shut.
Again the tiny frightened knock sounded, pleadingly.
Tuvo Ausonius rose from the table in the sparsely furnished room.
He went to the door.
He slid back a viewer and ascertained the frightened eyes of a woman, her face muchly concealed in a dark hood.
The woman was admitted, and, behind her, after looking about, outside, Tuvo Ausonius shut the door, thrusting home two bolts, then locking them in place.
In the room there was now an aroma of perfume, strong, heady. The woman thrust back her hood, revealing her loose, dark hair. She looked about, frightened. “Is this the place?” she asked, disbelievingly. The room was quite simple, quite plain, and almost bare of furnishings. There was, however, a table, a simple, worn, scratched table, once darkly varnished, with one dark, wooden chair. On the table lay Ausonius’s portfolio. There was also a heavy dresser to one side, and a heavy, massive bed, anchored to the floor. At the foot of this bed, though it could not be seen from where the woman and Tuvo Ausonius stood, there was a heavy metal ring, fixed in the floor. There were two windows, rather high, one in the same wall as the door, and the other across from it. The height of the windows was to prevent individuals peering into the room. There were no coverings for the floor, save a small throw rug, ragged and grimy, near the table. There were no hangings, or pictures, at the walls. They were unadorned, and cracked and chipped. In numerous places paint had peeled from the plaster. There was much peeling and cracking in the ceiling, as well, and several brownish circles, like rings, were overhead, where water had soaked through. There were run marks, too, of water at the walls, some from the ceiling and windows, some from tiny crevices high in the walls, stains which wended their way downward to the floor.