“Brothers! You know me – you know my name. I am Karnos of Machran, Speaker of the Kerusia. You put me here today by voting openly in the assembly of all free men at the Amphion of Machran, the first time in a generation that a Speaker has been so chosen. My brothers, you have honoured me beyond my deserts…”
He watched the crowd closely, alert to their postures, his ears pricked for the start of muttered conversations.
It was like reeling in a fish too heavy for the line. The mood had to be taken, massaged, guided and caressed to where he wanted it to go. A man could not storm the crowd – Katullos, the last Speaker, had tried it, and failed miserably.
“I have no family of note,” Karnos went on. “My father hammered out metal at a stall in the Mithannon – I was born there, and I know those alleys like they were the veins in my arm. He put me to work cross-legged in the street, tapping out dints in people’s pots for an obol a day before I was ten years old -”
A growl of appreciation from the crowd. They loved this stuff, the lower orders. Who needed rhetoric, when one could work on their sentimentality, the fellow-feeling of the urban poor?
“But he saw what was in me, and hired a slave for an hour every night to teach me to read and write, for he had no wish to see me back-bent and bowed and coughing up soot for the rest of my life.”
The slave had been Polio, a dark-haired, lanky young man who had found that teaching the bright, eager son of the street-smith was one way to dull the pain of his own servitude.
“When my father died, I sold his stall and his tools, and bought a single illiterate highland boy. I educated him in his turn, sold him at a profit, and never looked back.”
That had been about the same time that the Ten Thousand had returned from their failed expedition to the Empire. Karnos remembered it well. A few centons of them had marched through Machran, invited by Dominian, Speaker at the time. The famous Rictus had not been there, but all the same, the streets were clogged five deep to see the heroes of the east in their scarlet cloaks.
Karnos still remembered the lean and hungry look on their faces, their eyes still fixed on some invisible horizon.
It was the first time he had seen the mob of Machran in full voice on the streets, and he had never forgotten it. What would it be like, to have that adulation thrown at him – or to have those thousands hang on his words? It had been the beginning of the slow fire of ambition that had burned in his gut ever since.
“But I will not bore you with my life story – you’ve heard it all before. Brothers, it is enough for me to say that I came from where you are.”
His gaze swept the curved ranks of the amphitheatre. He let the statement hold the air a moment, saw a stir of restlessness, and plunged on.
“I am an ambitious man, that is true – were I not I would still be hammering pots in the Mithannon. But I am a man of Machran – this is my city. My life has been and always will be within her walls. I would never – never – do anything that would harm this place. I would rather die first.” Now the richly clad men near the bottom of the circle stirred. He saw some smirk.
“And brothers, know this: I have never lied to you. You know I am no hypocrite. I like wine, women, and as much amusement as I can pack into my life -this I have never tried to hide -” Now the common folk were smirking, and a few laughed out loud. “Aye, we know that all right!” someone cackled, and there was a buzz of laughter.
He had to grip them again, quickly. “So I am here today with no pretences, no defences. I come to you with the truth in my hands, to give to you. It is your privilege to do with it what you will.”
The baleful stares of the other Kerusia members present could almost be felt on his back. An irrational part of him twitched at the thought of a knife plunging into him, unseen, unexpected. The Empirion had seen it happen before.
He took a few steps forward, closer to the rising slope of the crowd, until he could smell the perfumes and scented soaps of those near the floor, and the unwashed miasma of those higher up in the dome.
“I hereby formally convene this gathering as an emergency assembly, gathered in time of war, to vote upon extraordinary measures taken this day by myself and the polemarch of the host, Kassander of Arienus.” Phobos – now he had their attention all right. In the next few minutes he would either have saved his career or would be feeling that knife in his back for real.
“You have all heard of the capitulation of Hal Goshen, after an eight-day defence by its people and the leader of the Kerusia, Phaestus. The enemy of us all, Corvus the warmonger, is on the march as I speak, barely a fortnight from our own walls.
“Brothers, on my own authority, I called out the levies this morning; they are gathering now at the Mithos River. I did this with the full support of our polemarch, but without the consultation of my fellow Kerusia members. Hence, I acted illegally.”
There it was. He had admitted it publicly.
“I hereby ask now for a vote on my actions. I did what I did for the good of the city and of us all, with no thought of my own position or ambitions – this I swear to you by Antimone’s Veil. I ask now that you vote to retrospectively legalise the call-out, so that we can go on to organise an effective defence of this city against he who would destroy your freedoms forever.
“According to Tynon’s constitution, in time of war, extraordinary assemblies may be called to pass laws by popular acclaim. Brothers, I need to hear your voices now. Forgive me for my infraction of our codes, and let it be written that I did so only in the city’s interest – in your interest.
“Brothers, will you now formally legalise my actions of last night, the calling out of the army, and the convening of this assembly? Let us hear what you say. All in favour, say aye.”
The dome roared.
Karnos struggled to be heard. “Those against -”
He could see the mouths of the well-dressed men at the floor of the circle opening, but whatever noise they made was drowned out by the thunderous wave of ayes that was still shaking the Empirion. He raised his arms.
“I declare the motion passed!”
The crowd kept roaring. Gobbets of food were thrown down from the topmost circles of the amphitheatre to land on the lower benches.
Men stood up. He heard his name called out by thousands, arms lifted to him. He stood and raised his own arm in salute.
I have you, he thought. I have you.
One of the other Kerusia members crossed the floor to stand at his side. It was Katullos, the bull-necked, grey-bearded patriarch of the Alcmoi family who had been Speaker himself at one time. He leaned close to be heard and said to Karnos:
“That was nicely done.”
“Thank you.”
“You are safe for now, my friend, with the mob shouting your name. Let us see how long it lasts.” He set a massive hand on Karnos’s shoulder in what looked like a friendly gesture. But Karnos could feel the fury in the grip of the older man’s fingers.
“One day they will cheer the news of your fall, Karnos. And I swear I will be there to see it.”
Karnos smiled at him with perfect affability.
“You must count on living a long time, Katullos.”
EIGHT
Druze halted, panting, and held up a hand. He made the hand into a fist. At once the column behind him bifurcated, splitting to left and right of the road in a movement reminiscent of a shoal of fish. The men formed a line, caught their breath, and began weighing the heft of the javelins in their hands.
“Some stubborn bastard has decided to make a stand,” he said.
The man to his right, a gangling thatch-haired youth with eyes the colour of cobweb, tossed his javelin up in the air and caught it again, out of sheer lightness of heart, it seemed.