"The late king’s sorcerer and his man, I doubt not,” said Conan to his assembled company. “Let them go; the he-witch said he would betake himself to some distant eastern bourn. He'll trouble us no more.” Then turning to Dexitheus, he said: "We must set up a government on the morrow, and you shall be my chancellor.”
The priest cried out in great distress. “Oh, no, Gen—Your Majesty! I must take up a hermit’s life, to atone for my resort to magic despite the regulations of my order.”
“When Publius joins us, you may do so with my blessing. In the interim we need a government, and you are wise in matters politic. Round up the officials and their clerks by noon.”
Dexitheus sighed. “Very well, my lord King.” He looked down on Silvanus’s body and sadly shook his head. “I much regret the death of this young man, but I could not maintain defensive fields around you both.”
“He died a soldier s death; we’ll bury him with honors,” Conan said. “Where can one take a bath in this marble barn?”
Newly shaven and shorn, his mighty frame arrayed in ebon velvet, Conan rested on the purple-pillowed throne in the Chamber of Private Audience. All traces of violence had been erased—the bodies removed, the poisoned dagger buried, the carpet scrubbed free of bloodstains. An expectant smile lit Conan’s craggy countenance.
Then Chancellor Publius bustled in with several scrolls under his velvet-coated arm. “My lord,” he began, “I have here—”
“Crom’s devils!” Conan burst out “Cannot that business wait? Prospero is bringing in a score of beauties who have volimteered to be the king’s companions. I am to choose among them.”
"Sire!” said Publius sternly. “Some of these matters require immediate attention. 'Twill not hurt the young women to wait a while.
“Here, for example, is a petition from the barony of Castria, begging to be forgiven their arrears in taxes. Here are the treasury accounts. And here the advocates' briefs in the lawsuit of Phinteas versus Anus Priscus, which is being appealed before the throne. The suit has continued undecided for sixteen years.
“Here is a letter from one Quesado of Kordava, a former spy of Vibius Latro. Meseems that we had dealings with him before.”
“What does that dog want?” snorted Conan.
“He begs employment in his former capacity, as intelligence agent to His Majesty.”
"Aye, he was good at skulking around and acting like a winesop or an idiot. Give him a post—on trial, but never send him as an envoy to a fellow monarch.”
“Yes, Sire. Here is the petition for pardon for Calenus Selo. And here is another petition, this one from the coppersmiths' guild. They want— “
“Gods and devils!” shouted Conan, slamming a hairy fist into his other hand, “Why did no one tell me that kingship entails this dreary drudgery? I'd almost rather be a pirate on the main!"
Publius smiled. "Even the lightest crown sits heavily betimes. A ruler has to rule, or another will govern in his stead. The late Numedides shirked his proper tasks, and he was— “
Conan sighed. “Yes, yes. I suppose you’re right, Crom curse it. Page! Fetch a table and spread out these documents. Now, Pubius, the treasury statements first…”