Through the Foggy Dew

By M. K. Dreysen

In which we discover...

That being the guest at your own execution is probably not a good idea...

Being chased by an entire Roman legion does not make for the most entertaining hiking trip...

Stopping for philosophical discussions in the midst of that chase has a tendency to sidetrack things...

Dragons and their caves can also be a little bit distracting. Unfortunately, not all dragons consider Roman legions appetizing enough to fool with...

Sea crossings, while very useful for providing some breathing room, can bring in reinforcements for the pursuers; there are in fact competent members of the Imperial command staff, and in this case they're part of the Navy...

That being the guest at your second execution in a matter of weeks tends to get one talked about in certain circles...

And, finally, that one should probably be just a little suspicious of traveling philosophers...

• Language: English
• Publisher: M. K. Dreysen
• Release date: Feb 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370323647

Book preview

Through the Foggy Dew: Book One of the Old Empire

The Old Empire 1

By M. K. Dreysen

Copyright © 2018 M. K. Dreysen

Aimward Drift Publications. Visit aimwarddrift.blogspot.com for news, updates, and upcoming stories.

Dedication

To my family, friends, and to the readers. Thank you all.

Chapter 1: Through the Foggy Dew

Through the foggy dew, an eagle in red on linen; forest of spears on all sides, and a drum, beating beating beating. No quick march here, only the long slow draw to siege.

Leagues were covered yesterday and yesterday. Today, the prey has been brought to heel; bears in their caves may be baited out, if you have the patience.

And the dogs. If there is anything the empire far to the south may summon up, it is their legions. They are yet to lose that magic that brings all to their door, looking for any favor from the rulers of the world.

When you wrong them, the empire, they seek redress. First time, money will do. Second time, virgins and slaves.

Third time? Blood, flame, heart's treasure alone will pay your debts. There will be no fourth time.

The young man they chase has wronged nothing but the pride of a minor administrator, a flunky concerned with little but her own aggrandizement and the weight of coin sent home every season. In this case, the princeling had been graciously invited to seasonal entertainments, as scores before him had been, to be shown the weight of all the empire could bring against him.

The iron behind the silk.

Trade interested this particular prince little, and the earthy delights on offer were no mystery to one who had traveled, and studied.

The administrator had been given personal charge of the princeling's territory; the emperor claimed it, and she was the voice of the empire. The princeling could, if she wished, return to the territory under her favor, or he could swing by the neck, and someone else would serve in the emperor's name, but to the administrator's benefit.

Either way, she didn't much care.

But the man who called himself prince of this territory, this Gwynedd in the local tongue, he very much did care. Bowing over his knee and tugging his forelock may have been the way of it in the empire; here, it simply meant that you were useless, a courtier or worse, no one who could be trusted in matters of importance.

Dogs bare their necks when threatened by their betters; wolves fight to the bitter end or surrender and disappear to the wild. The family stories of this prince boasted of wolves, not dogs.

He had walked the streets of the empire's town. Listened, watched, learned what differences he could spot against his mind's eye view of the cities to the south. The Roman's world was the same, whether in Africa or Britain; the empire would sacrifice whatever was necessary to insure it.

And here as everywhere, they built baths, the forum, colonnades and shaded porticoes, proof against snow and icy rain as they were against the sun in warmer climes. The empire was adaptive, of that there could be no question, but the men and women of the empire much preferred that the world be adapted to their desires, were it possible.

So far, the world had always obliged them.

The princeling observed this exported slice of Roman life in silence. He had spent time both in the heart of the empire and on its edges. His parents were determined that he know something of the people who laid claim to the world. Then as now, what he found most helpful in that learning was the ability to listen.

This habit begat the trouble with the emperor's representative. She was not familiar with the practice of silence; a quick tongue in her experience was a vital weapon, proof that one was capable of dealing with those around her, whether as betters to be negotiated with or lessers to be given orders.

She made the first mistake; she assumed his silence meant he was simple minded, or ignorant of her tongue. So naturally, she did that which she would have done, were she home and gossiping with her social circle about the foolish behavior of yokels come to the City. She forged insults, and cast them to her sycophants.

She thought she was practicing social warfare on a target of convenience.

The princeling bore the insults, noting only when the emperor's bootlicker managed one he hadn't heard before, or a variation that taught him more of the Latin idioms.

Until he made the second mistake, the one that would lead to an army on his doorstep; he lost his patience. The toady unwittingly used the social weapon he had no defense against. She found the opening by first wondering aloud why it was that a young man, in the prime of his life, was left in the position of deferring to his parents rather than seizing his own land and treasures.

Surely there are territories here abouts that would fall, even to an untried youth? They claim kingship, there must be shields enough to come to his father's call. They were walking through the middle of the forum; it was midday, and even here the majority of the Romans sought a soft bed for an afternoon nap.

The young man pretended to study beadwork on a tunic in a nearby stall. The proprietor was nowhere to be seen, but the youth didn't care; all he really wanted was space from his minders. The woman continued her insinuations. Perhaps he isn't much of a fighter; one wonders whether he's bloodied his spear.

The sycophants surrounding the emperor's representative all laughed dutifully at the double meaning. That the joke was ancient was irrelevant; when your job is to laugh at the boss's joke, you laugh at the boss's jokes, even though they were old when Hector was a pup.

Besides that, there was a running bet on whether the head woman in charge had ever held a bloody spear of her own, as it were. The plurality of opinion amongst her courtiers held generally that she was more interested in female than male bedwarmers; what kept the consensus from majority was that a significant fraction of the hangers-on didn't believe she had even that interest. They felt more that power was her lover, her lodestar, the only thing needed to keep her warm at night.

Amongst those with this minority opinion, none were known to be alone with the emperor's voice if they could possibly avoid it. They universally felt the risks were greater than any possible reward.

By curious coincidence, all but one of this subset of courtiers knew something of the lady's family history, including the fact that her mother and grandmother were known practitioners of that most vital political trade: poisoners.

The last amongst the fearful was a former schoolmate of the lady; she felt that in this case experience was the most useful guide to dealing with her current predicament of being forced to kiss up to a madwoman in the making. If there is any way you can provide me with appropriate materials, perhaps the vapors of that curious silvery liquid, or the extract of the poppy, mother and father, it may be that my fortunes might be improved in a small way through careful application, she noted in more than one letter home.

The emperor's spies cataloged these letters and the requests, with careful attention to the relevant dates. That the requests didn't appear to be honored was also noted, and the family marked down as loyal and dealing with an impatient youth.

The princeling, though he knew much of the empire, was unaware of the details of the great families, and their jostling for position. As with many studied amateurs, the details on which professionals feast were hidden from him by convention.

The emperor's voice continued. Children, and this was an insult to her sycophants; she was always happy to indulge in multi-party gratuitous social violence. Children, I may have wronged the lad. Could it be that he's no longer a virgin, but that he's been receiving rather than giving?

No, that wasn't the insult he responded to. You can't spend time around soldiers and not develop emotional dignity against casual insults. But the petty insult did set up the next one.

That, or he's been more interested in his brothers or sisters than in outside entertainment. Best keep it in the family? Or maybe Oedipus is more appropriate? I wonder how well he honors his parents.

And that was the one that did it, finally. The young man couldn't quite control his response. Perhaps the emperor's tongue should learn to wag behind her teeth, he muttered, trying to turn the curse into a muttered grumble.

Unfortunately, the forum was almost empty, and the small crowd surrounding the emperor's voice and her unwilling guest had dropped to silence in the wake of the lady's exercise in uncouth behavior. And the princeling's outburst, muted though it was, floated through this unprincipled, ill-timed silence.

The gasp from the crowd was suitably theatric. A few of the courtiers even covered their gaped mouths to match wide eyed looks of shock. It was quite carefully done, the practiced measures suitable to long consideration of your place in things, and courtly propriety.

The emperor's voice accepted the gasps as her just due. A director appreciates her applause; she milked the moment, carefully not looking to see who amongst her sycophants dropped the look of shock moments before the others. Satisfied that the moment's drama had been wrung complete of its potential, she turned, pacing her response so that it matched the expectations of the audience.

My children, it appears that our unlikely peasant lad has had some tutoring. She pulled her tunic folds out, draping the hem so that it fluttered as she circled him.

Think of a rooster pairing off with a rival, dragging his tail in the dust to demonstrate his displeasure. At that time and place, cock fighting wasn't the height of entertainment in the empire, but it was an essential part of any well-born family's presentation for company. All of those present were well enough familiar with the practice to recognize the source of the choreography, and appreciate the symbolism.

Too bad the barely literate peasant would be unable to appreciate the honor she gave him, raising him almost to the social level of 'relevant'.

The young man pushed his back to the wall of the shop, forcing the woman to remain in front of him. She didn't notice; she had only staged theatrics in mind, tactical maneuvers meant only for the audience to see the resolution of the drama. For that purpose, his choice of placement served admirably.

Child, have you been listening to our conversation? Do you pretend to understand the language of your host?

He nodded. I have some understanding of the language of the empire. It was thought necessary...

She cut him off. I don't wonder. Your parents seek an advantage in dealing with us. It's the way of the world; all seek handouts when the legions come. We're used to the maneuvers of barbarians.

The old Greek term wouldn't have any meaning to him, she thought, even if he had some small understanding of Latin. She couldn't conceive of any way that he would have an understanding of the language of science and literature.

She was wrong, of course. His tutors were not satisfied that he learn only of commerce. But he now trod even more dangerous ground; he ignored the implicit further insult. 'Master yourself,' he thought. 'Control your emotions, don't let her know what you're thinking.'

But I do wonder this. How is it that, if you knew you were being insulted, you yet managed to pretend otherwise? Is your blood cold? What would warm your blood, boy? She whispered this last, a low warm sibilance directed to his ears alone.

An observer, were one close enough to see her face, would have been impressed by the absolute lack of emotion.

His face was not so disciplined. And so his world was turned upside down by the fact that, still barely through puberty, he couldn't hold revulsion from his face at the thought of sexual contact with the, to his mind, ancient hag in front of him.

No, of course she wasn't unattractive. She just wasn't a maid in first bloom, all that the young man had ever contemplated.

Combine ignorance on the one hand with a vast pride and lust for power on the other, and vanity with her ever interwoven pressure points, and the results were explosive.

The emperor's voice reached for her wand, symbol of her office. One of the courtiers, tasked with carrying it for her, stepped forward to place it under her hand. Boy, your place in this world was to be a foil, at best. A plaything, suitable for framing in the Forum when stories need be told of my exploits in this gods-forgotten place. But I'm afraid that your usefulness to me is at an end.

She waved the wand. The ritual was familiar to the array of courtiers. Here was the foundation of the Empire: social magic, the belief of the crowd, called to represent the Will of the Romans. Now the gasps and emotionally charged expressions weren't simply the playthings of the emperor's toy. Now they were the ritual of scapegoating, refined by the evolution of the Empire from the old Republic. When she called them to her need, she called on the family memory of the Romans around her, their psychic connections to the ancestral foundation