“A hundred ships, two hundred?” asked Otto.
“Dissidence racks the empire,” said Julian. “Worlds secede, barbarous fleets arm themselves. Citizens turn away from ancient altars. Want roams barren fields. Faiths spring at one another’s throats. Vultures wait with patience. Weakness and rottenness festers at the core of power.”
“May the empire fall,” said Otto. “And may I strike the blow of its death!”
“Rather let the empire be cleansed, and live,” said Julian.
“Give the Otungen ten ships and they will hurl themselves against a thousand.”
“And fruitlessly scatter their bones in the airless fields of space.”
“You council patience,” said Otto.
“That of the lion waiting in the shadows, by the watering hole.”
“You have been here, have you not, before?” asked Otto.
“Once,” said Julian. “To learn of you.”
“One here, Brother Benjamin, was as a father to me,” said Otto.
“I met him,” said Julian. “You were brought to this place as an infant, nearly newborn, by a Herul, one named Hunlaki, in the month of the god, Igon, in the year 1103, of the Imperial Claiming Stone, set at Venitzia.”
“I know some of this,” said Otto, “but not much. I was not told much. I did not know the name of the Herul. I gather it was not deemed necessary to tell me much.”
“One gathers so,” said Julian. “It was probably just as well. One must be careful of what one speaks, and to whom one speaks. Princes seldom sow grain. Few kings remain at the handles of the plow. How foolish it would be for one to seek vanquished and vanished worlds, to seek thrones which no longer exist. Is it not best to remain ignorant of glories which are unattainable, from which one is barred? Let the peasant be content in his hovel. Let him not glimpse far-off golden walls.”
“You speak strangely,” said Otto.
“There was a medallion and chain, deeply cut, profoundly formed, weighty and gold, with the babe, the found infant,” said Julian. “I saw it. Brother Benjamin had held it for years. It is the symbol of office of the King of the Vandal Nations.”
As I may have mentioned, the most likely origin of the word ‘Vandal’ is from “Vanland,” or “woodland,” or “forest land.” The Vandals, thus, would be the “woodland folk” or the “forest people,” or such. Later semantic accretions to the term should not be allowed to reflect on the etiology involved. Such accretions have more to do with historically acquired associations.
“The Wolfungs, of whom I am chief, and the Otungs, of whom I am King, are Vandal nations,” said Otto.
“Yes,” said Julian, “and so, too, are the Darisi, the Haakons, and Basungs.”
“True,” said Otto.
“And there are other nations, too,” said Julian, “who are related to the Vandals, or look up to the Vandals.”
“Perhaps,” said Otto.
“The greatest threat to the empire,” said Julian, “is the threat of the Aatii, as they are referred to in the imperial records. You know them as the Alemanni, a nation which consists of eleven tribes, though I fear it influences and enleagues others, as well. As you are well aware, the largest, the mightiest, and most fierce of the Alemanni tribes is the Drisriaks.”
“The Vandals and the Alemanni are traditional enemies,” said Otto.
“That is known to me,” said Julian.
“You would use me for your purposes,” said Otto.
“For our purposes,” said Julian.
“But, perhaps, trained and armed, we will turn on you,” said Otto.
“Do you think the Alemanni would share worlds with the Vandals?” asked Julian.
“No,” said Otto, “nor with the empire.”
“The empire is sick with a thousand poisons,” said Julian. “Men do not love her. They hope to thrive in her body as parasites. They suck blood they refuse to replenish. Virtue is mocked; honor derided, trust forsworn. Weapons rust; barracks are empty. Patriotism is jeered, loyalty scorned. Incense no longer perfumes our temples; the smoke of burnt offerings no longer rises to the sky; ancient altars are bereft of gifts.”
“The empire is done,” said Otto, “even if it should take a thousand years to die.”
“No!” said Julian.
“Small men,” said Otto, “will not do the work of giants. They will concern themselves with small things.”
“The empire was the work of giants,” said Julian.
“The giants are no more,” said Otto.
“A miserable fate, that the heritage of lions must be bequeathed to filchen.”
“There are few lions, many filchen,” said Otto.
“I fear the sky will become dark with the coming of ships.”
“What is that to me?” said Otto.
“The loss of civilitas, the beginnings of chaos and tramplings, the rise of a thousand tyrannies,” said Julian.
“You would pit Vandals against Alemanni,” said Otto, “your enemies against one another. Let them erode and exhaust themselves, and then, wounded and weak, drained of blood, succumb to the mace of the empire. It is an old trick, one remembered in the tents and halls.”
“Rather,” said Julian, “let fresh blood enliven the empire, let forceful, clean winds sweep rot away. Let new giants be enlisted in noble, antique causes, let new swords be forged.”
“Where is the medallion and chain?” asked Otto.
“You are interested?” said Julian.
“Where is it?” asked Otto.
“You could use it for your own ends, but I would that it be used for the needs of worlds, for the promotion of civilitas, for the cleansing and rebirth of the empire.”
“The empire,” said Otto, gesturing to the cool, white, quiet, desolate expanse before him, “did this.”
“Forces within the empire,” said Julian, “which must be thwarted and overcome.”
“Let the empire perish,” said Otto.
“And with her the walls beyond which hungry beasts lurk, walls which for ten thousand years have kept the thoughtless, encroaching, teeming forest, and its creatures, at bay?”
“Where is the medallion and chain?” said Otto.
“I do not know,” said Julian. “I have had it much searched for. Officers have combed the ruins, moved stones, sorted rubble, pried up tiles, raked and sifted ash, all to no avail.”
“Then there is nothing to be done,” said Otto. “Without it the Vandals cannot be gathered. The empire must deal with the Alemanni, and its allies, as best it can.”
“It must exist,” said Julian. “I saw it. It would not be destroyed.”
“It must be concealed, perhaps in the ruins,” said Otto.
“It was not hidden. Brother Benjamin kept it in a box, a leather case, in his cell. I saw it there. The attack was not anticipated. It was sudden and unexpected, fierce and thorough. There would have been no reason, nor time, to hurry it into hiding, to take special precautions on its behalf.”
“Then it was destroyed in the attack,” said Otto, “the blast, the heat.”
“The search was thorough,” said Julian. “Not even a droplet of gold, not even a bead, was found in the ruins.”
“It was stolen?” said Otto.
“I fear so,” said Julian.
“By a brother?”
“Unlikely,” said Julian.
“After the attack, by peasants, by Heruls?”
“Perhaps,” said Julian. “But there is no reason to believe so. Inquiries have been made, rewards offered. Nothing has materialized.”
“Then by whom?”
“A visitor, a spy,” said Julian.
“It matters not,” said Otto.
“It matters much,” said Julian. “He who possesses the artifact might rally the Vandals to any cause.”
“Not the Wolfungs, not the Otungs,” said Otto.
“Perhaps even they,” said Julian. “You do not know the portent of the medallion and chain.”
“I knew not that it existed,” said Otto.
“If nothing else,” said Julian, “its loss might well prevent another from rousing the Vandals.”