Talos had never been to this “new capital.” Frankly, he had thought it improper, to move away from their homeland, as it had been for hundreds of years prior, nearing even a thousand years as the center of the world and their illustrious empire, never minding that for most of its history, it remained nothing more than a singular city, a trade hub at best. It was the home of their ancestors, and that was enough for Talos. However, the Princeps had a giant palace complex built here and moved his entire governing staff, for reasons that it was so much closer to imminent military threats. Sacrilege, thought Talos.
However, he could not help but
notice how grand the entire palace had become, with larger buildings of marble
than he had ever seen. It seemed amazing
to think that just twenty years ago, within his very lifetime, this city was a
mere collection of stinky huts sitting upon a couple of hills, now a sprawling
complex housing the administration to govern the entirety of the civilized
world and barracks enough to house thousands of soldiers, ready to march to
where ‘ere they may be needed. Even
within the Princeps’ living chambers, everything was done to a grand
scale. The covered walkway he hastened
down flanked him with two sets of columns, each some five feet wide and twenty
tall, elevating a ceiling elaborately painted to appear as though tree branches
stretched overhead on a summer’s day, each column a thick trunk supporting the
canopy. Talos doubted that anyone
actually cared to look at it any longer.
At long last he reached the end
of the hall, the doorway into the large room in which he was to meet the
Princeps, the door flanked by four guards, the personal Agema of the Princeps,
wearing their palace garb. Each of them
wore a tunic of bright white, sleeves and base lined with a band of crimson,
and an ivory coloured chlamys pinned to their shoulders, partly concealing the
soft leather armour they wore upon their chests, and entire calves checkered
with the bands of leather sandals. At
one time they were forbidden from carrying weapons, but this new capital had no
such sacred law that had to be abided by, and they all wore their distinctive
Kopis at their sides.
One of them stepped forward with
one palm outwards and the other resting comfortably on the pommel of his
sword. His voice was gruff, but it wasn't foreign or ill-spoken, a relief. At
least the personal guard hadn't changed with this new location. “Where do you think you mean to go with such
celerity?”
All the same, Talos was quite
irritated. He had not the patience at
the moment to deal with these low-brow soldiers. Surely they could see the purple band on his
robes which marked his nobility? He
almost snapped back, “Surely you know where I mean, through this door to meet
with your master. I have not made my way
here by means of horse and ship over so great a time and distance from the homes
of our ancestors just so that I may be questioned frivolously.” The guard lumbered slowly towards him without
saying a word, a grimace having been struck across his face; obvious with the
intent to intimidate the newcomer, but he failed on two accounts. First, his breath had ever so slightly the
sour, vinegar-like odour of old, cheap wine.
He’d obviously drank before his shift, feeling it necessary to get
through it.
Secondly, Talos was simply bigger
than the guard. To become one of the
Agema, one had to be quite tall, from a certain ethnicity, having at least one
testicle, and a myriad of other attributes, supreme examples of what it meant
to be a man all. Talos was still bigger;
he was taller than most men and somewhat thinner in frame, though not without
obvious muscle. His skin was of an olive
tone, and his hair a light brown highlighted with blonde from the sun’s caress,
his light stubble of a beard taking more this attribute. His face had definite structure, with a strong
jaw and cheek bones, with somewhat heavy brows, giving shade to his golden-hazel
eyes which almost glimmered in the sunlight.
Nor was he a stranger to the
field of battle, having participated in more than one campaign himself. He would not be cowed so easily, staring down
contemptuously as the Agema stared back up at him. The guard started to pull out the blade from
its scabbard, but Talos didn't let it move an inch before his hand was upon the
man’s wrist, preventing it from moving any further. Realistically, it was all a game, all a
bluff, each man seeking to out-bluff the other and prove himself the more
dominant figure. This man was used to
doing this on an individual basis but Talos was used to doing this as both a
battlefield commander and a politician, where one’s opponent would not cede so
easily, even if it meant their life or even the lives of thousands of
others. They stood there, eyes locked
and hand on wrist, the remaining guard starting to become uneasy, restless, but
saying nothing.
A voice called out from the room
behind, sounding soft and kindly, but yet with a determination in it at the
same time, “Talos Valerius Magnus, my old fiend, how good of you to come on
such short notice. Do come in, have a
seat and refresh yourself.” Talos
released his hand from the Agema and looked forward into the next room,
stepping around him without looking back at the man until once in the room, where
he stopped and looked back
Still standing there was his
personal slave, his valet, a thin aging man with grey-brown beard and balding
head, a long tunic draping to his ankles.
He’s stopped as the now fuming Agema had turned his gaze and attention
on the hapless slave. He commanded, “Come
Miko! Ignore this citizen.” Immediately the man scurried in after his
master.
No comments:
Post a Comment