Chapter 14
Zuberi had forgotten about the functionaries. When he'd made his list of the men who knew that the emperor was missing, he'd forgotten the functionaries who ran the imperial household and accompanied the emperor everywhere. They knew that none of their number had accompanied the emperor to either Sarna or Eluktiri—and though they were forbidden to gossip, he'd not thought to tell them to lie.
It had been a simple enough matter that unraveled it all. Prince Hadeon lived in Ikaria as hostage to ensure the continued cooperation of his father, the ruler of Kazagan. When Hadeon had received news that his mother was ill, perhaps dying, the prince had sought permission from the emperor to return home.
If Hadeon had made his request in a letter, Lucius's clerks would have brought it to Zuberi, who would have dealt with the matter. But instead Hadeon had gone to Sarna, apparently feeling that honor required him to make a personal plea for release.
But the emperor was not at Sarna. Returning to the capital, instead of going to the proconsul, Hadeon had instead approached one of the functionaries to request help in sending a message to the emperor's summer palace at Eluktiri.
Only to be told that the emperor was not at Eluktiri, either.
The functionary hadn't told Hadeon that the emperor was missing, but the damage was done. The prince had seen their refusal to tell him where the emperor was as a sign that he, and his kingdom, were unworthy of the emperor's attention. He'd complained loudly to his friends over the slight, and others, more cunning than he, had seen what the prince had not. If the emperor wasn't at either of his summer retreats, then where was he? He was too important to pass unnoticed for long.
Fortunately one of Zuberi's clients was among Hadeon's circle of acquaintances, and so he'd learned of Hadeon's indiscretion even before the rumors started to swirl through the city.
Zuberi realized that the time had come to put his plans into motion.
He chose the senatorial baths for the first part of his plan, arriving in late morning when the baths were quiet, so that his presence would be duly noted. He began by indulging himself in a long soak in the warmest pool, where the heat inspired only desultory conversation with fellow bathers.
When he left the pool, the attendants dried him, then dressed him in a loose cotton wrap that belted around his waist and fastened rope sandals on his feet.
He left the bathing room for the antechamber, where patrons mingled as they sampled the delicacies on offer, or gathered on benches for conversation. He accepted a cup of chilled fruit juice and made his circuit of the room, pausing now and then to engage in conversation. At last he spotted Senator Columba sitting in close conversation with his companion.
Perfect. Columba was a known gossip, who would not be able to resist this tidbit. He paused to make certain he caught the eye of his aide Hanif, who'd been carefully observing his master from the periphery of the chamber. Hanif nodded, then held up his hand showing five fingers.
Five minutes, as they'd agreed.
Zuberi made his way over to where Senator Columba sat, then paused, as if by chance. Summoning a passing servant, he ordered “Run and find out if the barber Tomasso is free. I will wait here.”
The servant disappeared, and Zuberi turned slowly, as if surveying the room.
As he caught sight of Columba he inclined his head. “Senator,” he said.
“Proconsul, greetings of the day to you,” Columba said. “And may I present my cousin Parnassus, who has just arrived in the city?”
“Parnassus,” he said, inclining his head.
“I am honored,” Parnassus replied.
“Will you join us?” Columba asked.
Zuberi shook his head. “I am waiting for the barber,” he said.
Just then Hanif hurried over, panting as if he'd run a great distance. His face was red, covered in sweat. If Zuberi had not known otherwise, he'd have sworn that Hanif had run the length of the city to find him.
“Proconsul,” Hanif said, gasping for breath.
“What is it? Have they found him?” Zuberi demanded, as they had rehearsed.
Hanif shook his head. “No, but the commander has returned and wishes to meet with you at once,” he said.
“He was ordered not to return alone,” Zuberi ground out. “If he has failed, and the emperor has been harmed—”
He bit off his words, as if suddenly recalling that they had an audience.
“Come,” he said, taking Hanif by the arm.
He left, without a backward glance, but he knew that Senator Columba's eyes would be fixed upon him.
By fortunate coincidence, that night he'd already planned to host a select dinner party, for his most important clients and closest allies. Two additional invitations were sent out, and he informed his wife of the extended guest list, so she could alter the preparations accordingly.
As night fell, fourteen guests joined him for dinner, along with their wives and companions. They ranged from Matticus of Alondra, who held the obscure if lucrative post of inspector of roads, to Senator Demetrios and General Kiril, both men who could challenge him for the emperorship, if they dared.
As the guests arrived they were escorted to the inner courtyard, where hanging lanterns illuminated the statues and frescoes, while the perfumed waters of the bubbling fountain filled the air with the scent of flowers. A musician played the kithara, while servants circulated, offering glasses of wine and delicacies to whet the appetite.
Several of his guests eyed him closely, showing that rumors had reached their ears, but in the presence of the women the conversation was general.
Only Demetrios was bold enough to break with custom, drawing Zuberi aside.
“Have you heard the rumors?” he demanded. “It's all over the city that Lucius is dead.”
“Only just,” Zuberi lied. “This is not the time, but stay after my guests leave, and we will decide what must be done.”
Just then Petrelis entered with his longtime mistress, Savina, on his arm, and Zuberi excused himself so that he could greet them.
When the last guest arrived, he nodded to Eugenia, who gave the signal that they should proceed inside. His wife's reputation as hostess was well earned, and for the next three hours the guests dined on a succession of exquisite dishes. Wine was offered freely, but no one drank to excess.
They spoke of the things that were oft discussed at such gatherings—high-minded discussions of intellectual matters mingled with the gossip of the court: which senator's wife had demanded a divorce, and which minister's clients had deserted him after he'd gambled away his patrimony.
Matticus of Alondra described his recent visit to inspect his new estate in the country, which was being rebuilt after an earthquake. There was general commiseration as he described his dismay when he realized that the builders had ignored his directions, allowing the laborers to simply rebuild the old villa, rather than tear it down and start anew. All agreed that his mistake had been in trusting a provincial factor rather than sending his own man to supervise.
Savina told a humorous story of her reception where both Senator Aeaneas's wife and his mistress had decided to attend, much to the horror of both women. The guests laughed, as they were supposed to, but their laughter had a brittle sound and soon died away.
At last, when the final savory was offered, none had the stomach for it. Eugenia caught his eye, and as he nodded, she rose from her couch.
“Honored husband, the evening grows late, and it is time I retired,” she said, in accordance with custom.
“Honored wife, on behalf of my guests, my thanks for your splendid hospitality,” he said, rising to his feet.
The rest of the party rose as well—some having to be helped to their feet after having reclined for so long.
The women followed Eugenia as she led them to her private sitting room, where they would drink tea and discuss the foibles of their men, before litters were summoned to take them home.
The men followed Zuberi, who led them back to the courtyard, where chairs had been placed around braziers to ward off the chill of the night. Some men paused to use the adjacent lavatory, but Zuberi had drunk only sparingly at dinner and did not join them.
Tables held pitchers of wine, along with crystal goblets, and his guests served themselves as they took their seats. It was understood that the servants would not approach unless specifically summoned, so the guests could speak freely.
Demetrios maneuvered himself so he took the chair to Zuberi's right, while General Kiril took the seat across from him, so that he faced both Demetrios and Zuberi. When the last guest had found his place, they exchanged uneasy glances, no one wanting to be the first to break the silence.
It fell to Telamon, who'd replaced the murdered Simon as Chancellor of the Exchequer, to say what all were thinking.
“Three people came to me today, and swore that they'd heard the emperor was dead,” Telamon said.
“Mere rumors,” Demetrios scoffed.
“Rumors or not, they would not have dared say such a thing unless they were gravely concerned,” Telamon replied.
“We cannot be responsible for every bit of idle gossip,” Zuberi said.
“It's not just gossip,” Matticus of Alondra said. “The emperor has been gone too long—and all know he was ill when he left. If he could be seen—”
He could not have asked for a better prompt.
“No,” Zuberi said swiftly.
“Why not?” General Kiril asked.
“It's not possible,” Zuberi replied.
Kiril leaned forward. “What is it that you're not telling us? How ill is he?”
Zuberi made a show of hesitating.
“We have a right to know,” Kiril said. “I have that right.”
Zuberi took a deep breath. “What I say must go no farther than this courtyard,” he said. “I'll have your oaths.”
His guests exchanged glances among themselves before pledging themselves to silence.
“Do you think this wise?” Demetrios hissed.
“They have the right,” Zuberi replied, careful not to look at his onetime ally. “The emperor is not ill. He is missing. We believe he was kidnapped the night he was to leave Karystos.”
There were shocked exclamations from his guests. Kiril did his best to appear surprised, though he'd had the news earlier from both Zuberi and Demetrios, though naturally neither had informed the other of what they had done.
“We've kept it quiet, hoping we'd be able to discover his whereabouts and free him,” Zuberi explained.
“Who did this? And why?” Matticus asked.
Zuberi shook his head. “I have my suspicions, but no proof.”
“There's been no sign of how he left the city,” Petrelis said. “Neither by land nor by sea.”
There was a long moment as the guests digested the implications of that.
“Who knew of this?” Telamon demanded, quick to see the implied slight.
“Myself, Demetrios, and Petrelis,” Zuberi said. “And Admiral Septimus, whose navy helped in the search, though they know not for whom they were looking.”
Septimus had left the city a few days before, sailing with his fleet on a mission that was both training exercise and a chance to show the imperial flag, to remind vessels whose waters they sailed in. He hadn't bothered to request permission, merely sending a report stating his intentions, but Zuberi was not unduly worried. The imperial succession would be determined on land, not by any act at sea.
If it had been the legions that were on the move, rather than the navy, then Zuberi would have had cause for concern.
“It's been two months,” Kiril said. “How long did you plan to keep this news from his subjects?”
“Until we knew what to tell them,” Demetrios said.
“And what if he was murdered? What if he never left the city?”
Once again it was Telamon who voiced the obvious.
“I am the emperor's loyal servant,” Zuberi said. “I will not give up hope.”
“Neither will I,” echoed Demetrios, apparently determined to prove himself equally virtuous. “The proconsul and I were agreed from the start that we would keep silent until we knew the emperor's fate.”
“It's been too long,” Kiril said. “If the emperor was alive, you'd have heard from him.”
“Or from whoever took him,” Petrelis added, as smoothly as if he'd been prompted.
“The empire cannot be left adrift. This may be precisely what our enemies intended. We must have a new emperor,” Telamon said.
“Zuberi, I know you refused this burden once before, but this time you have no choice,” Kiril said. “For the good of the empire, you must declare yourself.”
He could not resist stealing a glance at Demetrios, who appeared thunderstruck by Kiril's declaration. No doubt he'd deluded himself into thinking that Kiril was his ally, just as Zuberi had intended.
Zuberi shook his head. “I say it is too soon—”
“You must,” Telamon said. “We need an emperor. And there is no one more fitted to serve.”
Zuberi looked at his guests, meeting each of their gazes in turn. “You are all in accord?” he asked. “I cannot do this without your support.”
“I and my legions will support you,” Kiril said.
“As will I,” Telamon echoed.
The rest chimed in, Matticus gulping nervously as he realized that he was being asked to help decide the next emperor.
At last Zuberi turned to Demetrios. “Friend, I could not have held the empire together without your support. As you speak, so will the senate. What say you?”
Demetrios knew when he was beaten. “We must have an emperor,” he agreed. “We will announce the emperor's death and name you as emperor-in-waiting. On the thirty-ninth day, if there is still no news, you will be crowned.”
Zuberi frowned, then cleared his face, hoping that the others would think him merely hesitant to assume power. He'd hoped to take the crown immediately, but could not object to Demetrios's proposal. Propriety dictated a period of mourning for Emperor Lucius, and practically there was very little difference between emperor-in-waiting and emperor in fact.
Thirty-nine days was the traditional interregnum between an emperor's death and the coronation of his successor. He had waited this long. He could wait a little longer.
His guests soon took their leave, after once again vowing that they would remain silent until the official proclamation was made.
Zuberi thanked them for their support—and knew that they would not hold their tongues. At the very least Matticus would drop hints to his own clients, using his advance knowledge to impress upon them his close connection to the next emperor.
It was what he would have done in Matticus's place.
Demetrios stayed behind after the others had left. As soon as they were alone, he let his anger show.
“You planned this, all of this,” he said, waving at the remains of the dinner party with one arm. “You betrayed me.”
Demetrios was not angry at the betrayal. He was angry that Zuberi had acted first, before he could put his own plans in motion. But it was not the time to gloat, he needed Demetrios's support.
At least for the present.
“The rumors were none of my doing,” Zuberi said. “As it is, I'm surprised that we were able to keep this quiet for so long.”
“You didn't have to answer Kiril,” Demetrios said.
“If not tonight, then it would have been tomorrow, or the next day,” Zuberi said, holding to reason in the face of Demetrios's ill temper. “The senate convenes in less than a month. We'll need an emperor by then.”
“So you put yourself forward,” Demetrios said.
“I'll admit I was flattered tonight,” he said. “But in truth, it was always going to be me that they chose as the next emperor. I was the closest advisor to both Nerissa and Lucius.”
He'd been Nerissa's proconsul for the last half dozen years of her reign. And as for Lucius—not only had he agreed to seat Lucius on the throne, he'd held the emperor's life in his hands. Every decree, every ruling, every appearance by Lucius had been first approved by Zuberi. For the past year he'd been the emperor in all but name.
Now it was time to take his rightful place.
“I meant what I said. I need your support,” Zuberi said, as he approached and laid one hand on Demetrios's arm. “I will be emperor, but we will continue to rule Ikaria between us. On the day I am crowned, you will be named proconsul, if you so choose.”
Proconsul, but not emperor-in-waiting. That title would go to his son, Bakari.
Demetrios shook his arm free. “And if I prefer to remain Senator Demetrios?”
Zuberi shrugged lightly. “Then we will continue as we have, and you will help me decide who should take my place as proconsul.”
He needed Demetrios, needed the support of the senate. In return he was offering Demetrios the opportunity to become the second-most-powerful man in Ikaria.
The trick was to offer Demetrios enough to ensure that he saw the value of remaining loyal but not so much that Zuberi seriously diminished his own power.
But if Demetrios was tempted to conspire against his new emperor . . . Well, once Zuberi had secured his grasp upon the throne, there were others who would be eager to take Demetrios's place and to prove their loyalty.
It would be unfortunate if he had to have Demetrios killed.
“Do you think he's really dead?” Demetrios asked.
“Who?”
“Lucius.”
“Does it matter? If he's not dead, he may as well be,” Zuberi said.
It had seemed a kidnapping at first, but with no demand for ransom, Zuberi had begun to wonder. Had Lady Ysobel kidnapped the emperor for revenge? Or had Lucius been killed, perhaps deliberately, perhaps accidentally as he tried to escape?
In any case, she'd gravely miscalculated. She'd thought to strike a blow against the empire. Instead, by ridding the empire of a weak ruler, she'd actually strengthened it.
But there would be time to deal with her later—and to decide if he wanted to seek vengeance against the federation for the loss of Emperor Lucius or simply blame a faceless assassin for the emperor's loss.
“Tell me that I can count on you,” Zuberi said.
Demetrios gave a thin smile. “You can count on my support—just as I know that I can count on yours. I will be your proconsul, and together we will guide the empire back to greatness.”
Zuberi embraced Demetrios as if he were a brother, then stepped back and called for the servants to fetch star wine.
They drank a toast to the future of Ikaria. And as each man swore his friendship, both knew that they were lying.