waggons of the baggage
train. Then the thing began to move. The clouds broke open and yellow sunlight
made of their passage an immense, barbed snake slithering west, the endless
companies passing by the walls they had not been called upon to breach.
In their midst,
Rictus trudged silently at the head of his men, and his black armour reflected
not a gleam of the autumn sun. He did not look back.
PART TWO
GRINDING THE CORN
SEVEN
SPEAKER
OF MACHRAN
Karnos ran his fingertip down the
spine of the girl from her nape to the silky crease of her buttocks. She was
wet there, and she shifted slightly under his touch, her white body arching up
like a cat being stroked. His fingertip moved upward again, traced the geometry
of her ribs, touched the side-swell of one breast. He brushed her ear-lobe
where the dark tresses of shining hair fell over it.
“I don’t care what
Polio said, you were worth every obol,” he murmured.
A knock on the
door.
The girl smiled as
Karnos kissed her delicate ear. His hand ran down her body again, more urgent
this time. A flare of base delight as she lifted her rump up in invitation.
Again, the knock -
not so discreet this time. A rapping of knuckles.
“Fuck you, Polio!”
Karnos shouted. “I was not to be disturbed!” The girl stiffened beside him, and
her eyes took on the blank slave-look. Duty had replaced arousal in a moment,
though she remained stock still with her white buttocks up in the air.
“Master, my
profound apologies, but there is news here that cannot wait. Kassander himself
is here, and awaits you in the court.”
“Kassander? Ah,
shit,” Karnos said. He rose to his knees in the bed, pushed the slight
pale-skinned girl to one side and reached for his chiton.
“Get him some wine
- have Grania bring it.”
“I have already
done so, master. He demands to see you at once.”
“Of course he
does,” Karnos snarled, pulling his chiton over his head. To the girl he said, “Get
out and clean yourself up.” She scampered naked from the bed, leaving by a
side-door. The hanging that half-hid it was still twitching as Karnos rose
barefoot and said, “Tell him I’m on my way. And it had better be important -
Phobos’s arse, it’s the middle of the night.”
Polio came in
bearing a bronze lamp, shielding the wick with his long fingers. “Shall I call
for the cook?”
“No, let’s see
what we have first. Light the way for me, Polio. Kassander is an impatient son
of a bitch, but even he doesn’t turn out at this hour on a whim.”
The two men walked
along the passageway in a fluttering globe of yellow lamplight while their
shadows capered around them. Polio was a spare, elderly man with a broad grey
beard. He wore a slave-collar, but it was chased with gold, and from his
shoulders hung a himation of fine white linen.
Karnos wore a
food-stained chiton of plain undyed wool. He was a broad, beefy man with a
round paunch and a close-cropped black beard. His hair, worn long, was dressed
with oil and he bore several rings on each hand. His bare feet slapped on the
stone floor.
“Was he alone?”
“He came with an
escort of spearmen, master, but they remained outside.”
“Fuck - then it’s
official. Rouse the household and lay out my council robes, and a good cloak.”
“Some food,
perhaps -”
“Wine - lots of
it. The good stuff. It must be bad news; no-one ever brings good tidings in the
dark. We’ll have it in the study. And have some sent out to the escort.”
A wide space
surrounded by pale-pillared colonnades, open to the sky. Karnos gritted his
teeth against the cold. There was the rill of water from the courtyard
fountain, the glow of the solitary lamp kept burning by the gate-shrine, and a
brazier for the doorman, the coals dull and almost dead. Beside it stood a
large shadow, red-lit by the charcoal, and to one side the slim shape of a
shivering slave-girl, a glass jug in her fists.
“Leave us, Crania,”
Karnos said crisply. The girl
train. Then the thing began to move. The clouds broke open and yellow sunlight
made of their passage an immense, barbed snake slithering west, the endless
companies passing by the walls they had not been called upon to breach.
In their midst,
Rictus trudged silently at the head of his men, and his black armour reflected
not a gleam of the autumn sun. He did not look back.
PART TWO
GRINDING THE CORN
SEVEN
SPEAKER
OF MACHRAN
Karnos ran his fingertip down the
spine of the girl from her nape to the silky crease of her buttocks. She was
wet there, and she shifted slightly under his touch, her white body arching up
like a cat being stroked. His fingertip moved upward again, traced the geometry
of her ribs, touched the side-swell of one breast. He brushed her ear-lobe
where the dark tresses of shining hair fell over it.
“I don’t care what
Polio said, you were worth every obol,” he murmured.
A knock on the
door.
The girl smiled as
Karnos kissed her delicate ear. His hand ran down her body again, more urgent
this time. A flare of base delight as she lifted her rump up in invitation.
Again, the knock -
not so discreet this time. A rapping of knuckles.
“Fuck you, Polio!”
Karnos shouted. “I was not to be disturbed!” The girl stiffened beside him, and
her eyes took on the blank slave-look. Duty had replaced arousal in a moment,
though she remained stock still with her white buttocks up in the air.
“Master, my
profound apologies, but there is news here that cannot wait. Kassander himself
is here, and awaits you in the court.”
“Kassander? Ah,
shit,” Karnos said. He rose to his knees in the bed, pushed the slight
pale-skinned girl to one side and reached for his chiton.
“Get him some wine
- have Grania bring it.”
“I have already
done so, master. He demands to see you at once.”
“Of course he
does,” Karnos snarled, pulling his chiton over his head. To the girl he said, “Get
out and clean yourself up.” She scampered naked from the bed, leaving by a
side-door. The hanging that half-hid it was still twitching as Karnos rose
barefoot and said, “Tell him I’m on my way. And it had better be important -
Phobos’s arse, it’s the middle of the night.”
Polio came in
bearing a bronze lamp, shielding the wick with his long fingers. “Shall I call
for the cook?”
“No, let’s see
what we have first. Light the way for me, Polio. Kassander is an impatient son
of a bitch, but even he doesn’t turn out at this hour on a whim.”
The two men walked
along the passageway in a fluttering globe of yellow lamplight while their
shadows capered around them. Polio was a spare, elderly man with a broad grey
beard. He wore a slave-collar, but it was chased with gold, and from his
shoulders hung a himation of fine white linen.
Karnos wore a
food-stained chiton of plain undyed wool. He was a broad, beefy man with a
round paunch and a close-cropped black beard. His hair, worn long, was dressed
with oil and he bore several rings on each hand. His bare feet slapped on the
stone floor.
“Was he alone?”
“He came with an
escort of spearmen, master, but they remained outside.”
“Fuck - then it’s
official. Rouse the household and lay out my council robes, and a good cloak.”
“Some food,
perhaps -”
“Wine - lots of
it. The good stuff. It must be bad news; no-one ever brings good tidings in the
dark. We’ll have it in the study. And have some sent out to the escort.”
A wide space
surrounded by pale-pillared colonnades, open to the sky. Karnos gritted his
teeth against the cold. There was the rill of water from the courtyard
fountain, the glow of the solitary lamp kept burning by the gate-shrine, and a
brazier for the doorman, the coals dull and almost dead. Beside it stood a
large shadow, red-lit by the charcoal, and to one side the slim shape of a
shivering slave-girl, a glass jug in her fists.
“Leave us, Crania,”
Karnos said crisply. The girl
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