Chapter Text
Becoming Erondites
“Pheris, you are Erondites now.” The king’s words had started echoing in my head and disturbing my dreams. I found myself ranging through Relius’ study, re‑reading the history I had found so boring, examining the genealogies which showed the Erondites family and the complex relationships of Susa and the other barons. I felt sick at the very thought of my future as Erondites. I also felt very alone. My mother despised me; her hatred had poisoned my childhood. I had written to my Erondites grandmother, the old baron’s widow, as Sejanus had asked, but all I knew of her was that she was a relative of my grandfather who was Susa, and I did not trust Susa.
I had sworn my loyalty as baron to the queen and the annux not long after their children were born. I dreaded the derision of the barons as I gave my oath, which necessarily had to be written out, while I knelt clumsily before the thrones in front of them all. But in the event it was not so hard. Attolia had lost one of her barons in the war, and his heir was also swearing loyalty that day. My own contribution was quickly over, and I got myself back to my chair unobtrusively enough while the new Baron Meinedes made his way to take his oaths with far more pomp.
Later that day my grandfather who was Susa came to the attendants’ waiting room to tell me that my father was dead. He had been hurt fighting the Mede, Susa told me, but had lingered for months until overcome by his wound a few weeks earlier. I nodded, and Susa went on to meet with the king. Medon looked at me, shocked. “Your father --” he began, but Ion shook his head at him forcefully and he was quiet.
I was not the son my father wanted. Even Juridius’ evident health and vigour had not been enough for my father to forgive his first-born son for being an imbecile cripple. I had stayed out of his way as much as possible, but I could not always avoid his blows. In hindsight, I think it possible that my father’s marriage had been a disappointment to him: his wife ill-tempered and bitter at being relegated; any hopes of favour from my grandfather who was Erondites frustrated; he himself a younger son living on an estate that was only debatably Susa’s.
That land was mine now, Erondites land. Susa had given up his claim when he swore to be loyal to the king, breaking publicly with Erondites. I wondered what my mother thought, and my uncle Dite.
I had not written to Dite, in spite of Sejanus’ urging. To my knowledge, I had never met him: possibly he had been one of the visitors at the Villa Suterpe who brought my mother the news of the court. I told myself the king had already written, but knew it was a poor excuse.
I received a reply to my letter from my grandmother Elata, the baron’s widow. She offered to send an escort to bring me to the main Erondites estate at Lateras. I was sick during the night, the first time for many months.
*****
Relius
The next day all thoughts of Erondites vanished, because Relius returned.
The Pents had sent him by ship, and he arrived more quickly than anyone had expected. He carried letters from the Pents affirming their friendship and desire for a closer relationship with the rulers of the Little Peninsula, but the shifting alliances of the Pents and Gants and Braelings were of no interest to anyone at that moment. News of the arrival of the ship sent Teleus rushing down to the harbour. The king and queen waited anxiously in the palace. Eugenides sent guards to meet the boat and bring news, and Attolia sent for her physician. Relius had been captive for months, and both of them knew what the effects of prison might be on a man who had already suffered in Attolia’s dungeons.
One of the guards galloped back up to the palace, dismounted and immediately went in to report. As he came out of the queen’s rooms again he was met by a small crowd, all of us anxious for news. He was smiling. “All’s well. They are only a few minutes behind me.”
Relius was well. Whatever prison he had been held in, it seemed his captivity had not been too harsh, and the sea voyage had perhaps helped remove traces of prison pallor. To my eyes he was thinner and greyer, but he smiled, and Teleus looked happier than he had for a long time.
Relius was taken into the queen’s rooms, leaving Teleus to be congratulated and cheered by the guard. One of the queen’s attendants came out to request his presence, and he went, still smiling. I was very glad for them both.
In the king’s waiting room, the other attendants teased me. “No more private library for you, Pheris,” said Cleon, “You’ll have to work in your little cell like the rest of us.” The attendants’ bedrooms were very small.
“Your nose will be out of joint,” said Polemus. “They won’t want you around now.”
I was too happy to care what anyone said. I knew Relius would not forget me, and Teleus was my good friend.
Later, Teleus came to see me, put his arm round my shoulder and kissed my cheek. “He’s well, Pheris. A few days’ good food and good company and he will be ready for you to drive him mad with your stubbornness again.” His happiness spilled over, and I sniffed, trying not to embarrass myself by crying. I rubbed my sleeve across my eyes and waved him away.
Go on. Look after him.
*****
Talking to the gods
The next day I woke knowing I had to cease procrastinating and deal with my family. I could not bother Eugenides or Relius with my troubles, knowing what I mainly needed was courage. Thinking of the king’s visit to the temple of the Great Goddess, I thought I would ask the Oracle for guidance.
I tried to think of a suitable offering. I had no jewellery except two fibula cloak pins, and they belonged to the king. Through his generosity all his attendants were finely dressed, including me, though I was hardly a sight to draw admiration like the elegant Ion and Cleon. The other attendants received money from their families, but I had only a few coins picked up in the gardens.
I looked through the rest of my little collection. I stroked the wren’s feather, thinking. I looked at Xikos’ gold cufflink, an uncomfortable reminder, but not something I could give away. The gold was not very valuable, and in any case I knew I was no Thief to give stolen tribute to the gods.
In the end I went to the wing of the palace where the indentured and the officials of the various ministries worked. I wrote a message on my slate and showed it to the first person I came to. She gave me two pieces of vellum without asking questions: perhaps she assumed they were for the king’s use.
Over that day and the next I painstakingly wrote out an old prayer to the goddess which I had found in one of Relius’ books of poetry. It seemed a childish thing to offer, but it was the best I could think of. I made my letters slowly and carefully, but it still took two attempts before I was satisfied. The following day I was free after the king’s breakfast until the afternoon. I put the scroll in my coat pocket and went to the stables, waving away the groom who came to help me. I could saddle Snap myself if I was not hurried, and she was patience itself.
Riding up the Sacred Way was far easier than walking had been. No‑one looked at me too closely, and on my pony I was as tall as a messenger boy or one of the younger palace pages. The temple itself was still under construction, but some progress had been made and I was relieved to see a picket for horses and proper mounting blocks next to the doors. I tied up Snap, stroked her nose and told her I would be back soon. I checked her girth. Then I gathered my courage and went to knock.
One of the great doors swung open. An acolyte stood there: it was Insellia, who had greeted the king and been so unwelcoming to me, the first time I visited with him. My heart sank. I had doubted whether anyone of my age and appearance would be taken seriously, but now I expected to be turned away immediately. I held out my scroll.
“From the king?” said the acolyte. I shook my head. “What then? What would you ask the goddess?” I realised that in my preoccupation with a suitable offering, I had stupidly failed to write out my request for the Oracle. I shook my head again, gesturing to indicate that I could not speak. I tried to indicate writing my request.
The acolyte looked at the scroll in my hand. Perhaps she remembered I was a favourite of the king; perhaps it was simply too much trouble to fetch writing materials. She sighed, irritated. “Oh, very well,” she said. “Quickly.” I made my way into the treasury through the darkness, remembering the king’s hand guiding me on our first visit. When I came past the curtains, Insellia prodded me forward, pushing my scroll back into my hand. I walked around to the altar, awed by being in the heart of the temple of the Great Goddess on my own account, in a place where only kings and the servants of the temple might go. I put my scroll carefully on the altar, although I was filled with misgiving. The shelves around the walls held gleaming gold and jewels, not prayers written out by a child.
I knelt slowly and carefully. The king had prostrated himself, I thought, and went to do the same, hoping I would be able to get up without too much humiliating struggle. Insellia had gone. I thought of the request I had rehearsed in my mind; a simple prayer for courage and strength to do the right thing by my family and my people. The tiled floor was cool, and the fumes of burning coleus spilling over the lip of the brazier swirled around me without being irritating; a strange feeling, but not unpleasant. I would stay until I either had to move or beg for help to rise, I decided.
Then I felt something brush my cheek. It was Moira’s many-coloured shawl. I wriggled around to look, and she was smiling down at me. I smiled back, remembering her kindness when she led me to the dance. The only time I would ever be able to dance.
“Don’t be so foolish, Pheris,” she said. “You do not know what life may bring.” I pushed up to my knees, and she lent down towards me.
“And here is your answer: You will do what needs to be done.” She pushed my hair back to cup my cheek. “Be blessed in your endeavours,” she said, and stepped back. She was gone. I put my fingers to my cheek where she had touched it, overwhelmed.
I knelt a little while longer, trying to regain my composure, until Insellia returned and bustled me out impatiently. Back in the sunshine, I went to Snap and buried my face in her mane for a moment. Then I took the long road down the hill, not hurrying, back to the palace stables. The grooms looked at me but left me alone to take care of my pony. I took my time, and the stable master came to see if I was all right. Seeing something in my face, perhaps, he picked up the saddle himself to hang it up while I saw to Snap. “No call to hurry,” he said, and left us.
*****
New plans
The following morning, after I had assisted at the king’s dressing I showed him my grandmother’s letter. The king shook his head. “This is for the queen to decide,” he said, and led the way outside to the table where he and Attolia took breakfast in the warmer weather with the children and their nurses. After they had eaten, the king passed my letter to the queen. “We’ve heard nothing from Dite,” he said to her.
The queen spoke to Eugenides. “I take it you will not release him.” She turned to look at me as I stood with Sontos.
“Sejanus said Erondites’ widow would favour him,” said the king. “He should visit, meet his grandmother and speak with his stewards.”
The queen shook her head. “I don’t trust Sejanus’ word. I don’t trust her with Pheris.”
The king looked at me thoughtfully.
The king’s idea, it turned out, was Relius. Teleus came later to take me to his rooms, unchanged during his absence. “I know you will be quiet,” he said with a small smile. I looked at him and nodded emphatically. I understood what he meant. Relius would need to settle gently back into his old life. Teleus patted my shoulder and left me at the door.
As I had thought, Relius looked older. He sat in his armchair and looked at me, and I wondered if he saw a change in me. Even months after the fighting, there was still a difference between those who had been through the war and those who had not. Among the king’s attendants, only Sontos, Phemios and Medon seemed carefree and untroubled. I had bad dreams, and I looked back at the time when my only desire had been not to be left behind and wondered at my naivety.
Nothing, however, could stop Relius’ sardonic tongue.
“So, the young Baron Erondites!” he said.
I bowed with a flourish. I respected Relius, but his mockery troubled me not at all.
Are you well? I had to ask, though I was sure I would get a flippant reply.
“I had forgotten how noisy and crowded it is here,” he admitted. “Not to mention how everyone has to know everyone else’s affairs.” I subsided, abashed.
“Not you,” he said. “I realise you know all about being stared at.” He looked down at his scarred hands, missing several fingers, and I thought how people looked at them and then looked away.
I had so much I wanted to say to him that I could not think where to start.
“Sit down,” he said, gesturing to the chair next to his.
Not in Teleus’ chair!
He laughed. “He has gone to his duty, so you are safe for a while.”
I sat down, rather tentatively in spite of the reassurance. He has been kind to me, for your sake. He missed you very much.
“More sympathetic now, are you?”
I put my head in my hands and he laughed.
“Well, we have a lot to discuss, but the king has asked me to speak first about your barony. Pheris, if you decide to go to Lateras, I will come with you. The queen will also send a detachment of the guard. She does not trust easily where her barons are concerned.”
I looked at him, relief washing through me. There could be no better person to help me. I was grateful for the king’s kindness, and I understood what Relius did not say: Eugenides was giving him a chance to complete his recovery with a task which was entirely suited to his skills and sufficiently challenging without being dangerous. I was sure the guard detachment would be led by Teleus.
Thank you. I knew my face showed my feelings.
“Not at all. It is quite appropriate that your tutor accompany you, a boy of your age.” He laughed. “Now you wish you’d paid attention to the history I tried to force into your skull!”
It seems a lifetime ago.
“I know,” he said more seriously.
I have looked at the books and the chart you showed me.
“Eugenides says he and Sejanus discussed how the land should be partitioned for you and Dite. Do you know about this? Were you there?”
Yes. Sejanus was dying and wanted reassurance. The king comforted him.
Relius raised his eyebrows, knowing how the king hated Sejanus.
I nodded. At the end, Sejanus fought for the king. He died from his wounds.
“So. Fetch the chart and the map of Attolia and let us look at these proposed arrangements. I take it Dite is avoiding the question, but he can’t do that forever if he wants the rents from the land. There is also the question of your mother and your brother and sisters.”
I know. This was the concern that terrified me more than anything else.
“Pheris. You can have them all ganched.”
It was not true, of course, but it made me smile.
I told Relius how I had witnessed Erondites’ death; how he was destroyed by the king’s god.
The gods hate Erondites. My family are poison.
“The old baron was poison. His children were corrupted by their upbringing in that household. No‑one could have been happier to accept banishment than Dite, but he was the only one who held out against his father. Sejanus was a weaker character, but it seems he redeemed himself at the end. I’m glad of that for the king’s sake; prolonging that hatred would only have spread the damage further.”
“Pheris could tell you more about that,” said a voice behind us. While we leant over the chart of the Erondites family on the workbench, the king had come in. He lounged at his ease in Relius’ armchair. He waved Relius to Teleus’ chair and I scrambled onto my stool, wondering how he had escaped his attendants.
“Relius,” said the king, “Pheris is not entirely wrong. You may well wish you had accepted the farmhouse before this is over.” I looked at Relius, stricken, having forgotten he had turned down the opportunity of a peaceful retirement once before. It seemed the queen had renewed her offer, and surely it would be better for him than dealing with my family.
“Your Majesty,” said Relius, “not only do I relish the thought of seeing the Erondites holdings in loyal hands, but I have the opportunity to see that the new baron has some modicum of understanding beyond his own self-interest, unlike most of his peers. The court also has certain attractions for me.”
“I could send Teleus to captain one of the forts nearby.”
I smiled. Relius had many admirers. I would be interested to see if Teleus retained an exclusive hold on his affections.
“Also I need to keep my mind occupied.”
The king nodded, understanding. “You’ll go then, Pheris?” he said.
To Lateras, yes.
“Only a short visit,” warned the king. “I want you here under my eye and Relius’. What about Suterpe? There should be no danger there for you now.”
I felt my stomach twist. Both men looked at me. I know. I must.
Relius looked thoughtful. “Well, the alternative might be to come to an agreement with your grandfather who is Susa.”
“Suterpe must not become a viper’s nest of the disaffected,” said the king. I knew he was thinking of my mother.
I have to go and see. I know I will be well defended. I looked at Relius. I thought the reputation of the queen’s former spymaster would be at least as effective in protecting me as the weapons of any number of guards.
I had another worry. There would be inns, stabling, food, who knew what costs involved. I looked at the king. I have no money.
“Teleus will have money to make whatever arrangements are necessary. You will of course have your steward supply whatever funds you need from the estate.” He grimaced, and I remembered the Thief had no land of his own, but was dependent on the queen’s generosity.
Then I thought of the message Moira had given me. I was embarrassed, but I gathered my courage.
I went to the temple. Moira came and brought me a message. The gods have told me I will do what needs to be done.
I remembered the warmth of her smile. She said “Be blessed in your endeavours”.
The king raised his eyebrows. “So. The gods have recognised you. This is an Erondites they do not hate.”
*****