‘It is possible he was sent after us, but…’
‘Someone in Detrata does not like you much,’ Leana declared.
‘Or it could simply be nothing to worry about. Let’s not allow paranoia to plague my return home.’
‘You are far too trusting of people,’ Leana replied. ‘I have always said this is a problem.’
Aqueducts trailed like stone tendrils down from the mountains towards Tryum, the main city of Detrata – it was these structures that enabled life to persist. Tryum did not suffer from the humidity of Venyn City. Here the heat was drier, more pleasant, and the air was not laced with particles of sand.
But where there is life there is death, and we soon came across one of the peculiarities of Tryum, the Road of the Dead, a main causeway into the city lined with mausoleums. Flying from the ramparts of these buildings were the yellow banners of Detrata. The centre of each one featured a two-headed black falcon, along with the cross of the founding gods set within the avian’s breast. On each head was a crown, and various glaives and swords could be discerned behind the wings. The closer we came to the city, we saw families sitting in wide circles on the grass, or beneath the shade of a cherry tree, eating picnics while their children chased each other around the tall monuments. Statues of the dead were constructed here in all sorts of poses: some with a book underarm to lend an air of wisdom, others in full armour for a show of strength. One or two were surrounded by images of gods and goddesses, to represent how the deceased was untouchable or blessed.
‘Why do they eat here,’ Leana asked, ‘around the dead?’
‘Just because you die doesn’t mean you get out of your family duties,’ I laughed. ‘At least not in Tryum. Besides, it’s good to keep them involved, make offerings on their behalf, light incense to purify them.’
She nodded approvingly at my response. Perhaps there were more similarities between the many religions of Tryum and her own tribal cults than I liked to give credit for.
‘These are impressive statues and buildings,’ she said.
‘This is where the wealthy bury their dead. For the poor, the end is not so dignified. A swift pyre for the lucky. For the not so lucky, a bloated corpse in the River Tryx is the best one can expect.’
‘I am not sure I will like this place,’ Leana said. ‘I already miss Venyn.’
‘Why?’
‘Such differences are not good omens, spirits save us. At least in Venyn everyone had the same chance that they would end up like a bloated corpse.’
‘I’d suggest the ideal is for everyone to be buried in splendour.’
‘That would,’ Leana replied, ‘mean a lot more people having to eat out here.’
The East Road was exactly as I remembered: first, a wide avenue of ancient poplar trees for half a mile, dappled sunlight across a busy road of traders and travellers and their belongings. Beyond stood the rectangular barracks of the King’s Legion, King Licintius’ private guard. When Licintius first became king as a young man, before I left, there were few soldiers in Tryum. The military was certainly out on parade today, in crests and purple tunics, their armour bright in the afternoon sun. Some were engaged in displays on horseback, busy with training regimes that they would probably never use. Others from the City Watch were marching along the edge of the road, behind the trees, offering an intimidating presence to any who would wish harm to the city.
Towards the eastern fringes, on the lower slopes of the main hill, was the urban sprawl, row upon row of newly and poorly built housing. Tryum had become more heavily populated since I had departed, and I was surprised that people could live like this. Had it always been this way?
We passed the statues either side of the road that led to a gate into Tryum. They towered up into an azure sky and were the founding gods: Trymus and Festonia, husband and wife, and Malax, the lord of the Underworld, who looked after the dead. Further along was a statue of Polla, the goddess of the sun and of the Sun Chamber – and to whom I gave a gentle bow.
Up the slope, in the distance, stood some of the most important buildings in the city, where the highest echelons of society – priests, senators and King Licintius – would mix. As we came closer to the city gates the smell was overwhelming: in addition to the strong scent of horse manure and the bitter smell of the tannery, small plumes of smoke hung above residences as the hearths cooked food, and through the haze, way in the distance to one side, were the higher tiers and arches of the Stadium of Lentus, in which games would regularly be held, and which hadn’t been quite completed ten years ago.
We registered at the city gates with a young priest and an elderly censor, both of whom immediately became flustered when I gave them my name and office. They could not help me quickly enough, yet stared suspiciously at Leana. I wondered how her Atrewen profile, her elegant narrow nose and strong jawline, her skin the colour of rosewood, and her compact, muscular body would have gone down with these people. Presumably, being by the gates, they must have seen people from all corners of the world, yet they still eyed her warily.
‘May we ask,’ the censor said, ‘about your business in the city?’
I informed them of my father’s death, and that I was a member of the Sun Chamber.
‘You are the son of Calludian Drakenfeld?’ the priest asked, surprised.
‘I am.’
‘His death was a shock to us. There was not a man or woman of quality in this city who did not know of his name or his deeds.’
I felt again that same annoyance: that I could probably never be my own man in this city, along with a pang of regret that I would never see my father again. This conversation was happening too soon, so my short answers and sense of urgency saw to it that we were permitted through quickly.
A few steps later and we were inside Tryum. The wide, well-kept stone road led in a straight line through the centre of the city. Carts rocked through these immediate poorer districts, while further along livestock was being driven along the road, barging people out of the way.
All along the side streets, people lived in squalor: women sat outside houses, homeless men lay in the shade with bowls in front of them, and dogs nosed the legs of passers-by. Ragged bits of cloth were strung between walls.
‘I thought you said this was different from Venyn City?’ Leana asked. ‘Could be the same place.’
‘No city is without problems,’ I replied. Though I never recalled Tryum’s problems being quite as bad as this.
New Luxuries
The family residence was located in one of the ancient parts of Tryum. The walls of the house were made of thick stone, in the old style – a blessing in any season. But even more fortuitous was how the old buildings blunted the sound of hammering by the local smiths in the streets beyond. Set further away from the streets were the main living quarters, a simple, classy affair, with chequered stone tiles, rich red drapes, pleasant seats and rustic tables. On the walls were paintings of great battle scenes and of gods.
All of which was a step up in the world from our hovel in Venyn City.
Outside the front gates was the splendid architecture that had echoed in my dreams for so long: the colonnades, fountains, market gardens, statues, frescoes, and the bowed or domed rooftops so typical of the Polyum and Regallum quarters. In the street, two children were practising their spelling by scratching low down on the pale walls, as I used to do myself. From here the view that presented itself was of the hill leading towards Regallum, filled with temple roofs and, just beyond that, the mighty royal residence and centrepiece of that district, Optryx.