tomsien can’t afford to strip his provinces of his troops, echoed Center. he’ll likely have rebellions springing up all over the place. as ruthlessly as he’s been ruling his provinces, he may get them anyway—even with four brigades in place to suppress them.
He’ll sure as hell get them after he’s defeated in battle.
Which remark brought everything back full circle. Adrian sighed. “After he’s defeated” . . . easy for Raj to say. But Whitehall was a ghost, when all was said and done. Defeating Tomsien’s great army would have to be done in flesh and blood—with Adrian himself the key to it.
“I hope you and Father know what you’re doing,” repeated Helga, in a tone which was still surly.
“So do I,” muttered Adrian Gellert, former Scholar of the Grove. “So do I.”
Chapter 22
“At least take soldiers with you,” protested Kata.
Ion Jeschonyk gave his young concubine’s cheek a little pat. “T’would be unseemly, girl. Dignity, you know? A Councillor’s got to have it, at all times—to say nothing of a Speaker Emeritus and a Triumvir—or his reputation is ruined. Not even Marcomann went to Council meetings with a bodyguard.”
Jeschonyk saw no reason to add: Of course, Marcomann was a lot younger than I was, and a deadly man with a blade in his own right. Not to mention being six feet tall, with shoulders like a greatbeast.
Kata was not going to be brushed off. Jeschonyk had suspected as much. She didn’t usually accompany him as far as the front gate when he left his mansion. “I don’t care. The city’s not the same any more. The street gangs are everywhere, now—all the servants say so—bolder than ever. And—and—”
She groped for words. Kata’s cloistered existence—using the term “cloistered” loosely—didn’t really give her much of a clear understanding of Vanbert’s politics. But even a young concubine, whose life experience since her capture from barbarians at the age of fourteen had been restricted to a wealthy nobleman’s villa, could sense that the capital had become dangerous. Even for a man as powerful as Jeschonyk. Perhaps especially for a man like Jeschonyk.
For a moment, the old politician simply basked in the warmth of her concern. His relationship with Kata had changed, subtly, over the past few months. He’d even found himself—quite often, in fact—spending his nights alone with her, instead of in his usual orgiastic custom.
Still, she was a concubine. More to the point, she was young—and truly innocent of the ways of the world. So there was really no way that Jeschonyk could explain, in any words that would mean anything to her.
In truth, he barely understood it himself. Rather to his surprise, Ion Jeschonyk had discovered that in the twilight of his life he was giving thought to the future. More thought, and deeper thought, than he ever had before—and, which was especially surprising, thoughts which centered on his nation rather than he himself.
It’s called a “sacrifice,” sweet girl. Sometimes a nation needs one—and sometimes, whether you like it or not, you’re selected for the chore.
A stray memory came to him suddenly, about the customs he’d heard were practiced by Kata’s tribe.
“I never asked, now I think about it. Never cared, really. But are you a follower of the Young Word?”
Kata’s expression combined puzzlement—and a trace of worry. “Yes. I haven’t done the rites much, for many years now. But my clan belonged to the faith. Why?”
“Did you ever wonder why the prophet allowed himself to be murdered? From the way I heard the story, he’d been given a warning and could have fled.”
Now, the worry swamped the puzzlement. “What is this you’re telling me?” The subservience of a slave concubine vanished, replaced by a scolding finger which would have been the envy of any middle-aged matron of Vanbert. “Stop this nonsense! You’re too old, anyway, to be a prophet!”
Jeschonyk laughed. Then, gave Kata a hug. “True enough, true enough. I certainly can’t claim to have any eternal words of wisdom. Still . . . some things just have to be done, girl.” He kissed her on the cheek, then pushed her away firmly. “And that’s enough argument. In the event something does happen . . .”