Valerius adjusted the drape of purple cloth that denoted his status as Senator Callidus and eyed the other man. “Senator Theoginus. What is it?”
“I thought I might exercise my right as a member of this Senate to voice my thoughts,” Theoginus drawled, his slow Ceresian accent coming through with broadly overdone exaggeration—a deliberate counterpoint to Valerius’s classically trained, firmly northern intonations. “Assuming the Senator Callidus still intends to chair this august body in accordance with the rule of law, of course.”
“Every moment wasted is a moment that could have been used preparing ourselves to face the enemy,” Valerius responded.
“Indeed,” Theoginus said. “Does that include the moments spent on your quite excellent manicure, Senator? I’m sure the shine of your nails will dazzle the vord before they can get anywhere near us.”
A low laugh, as scattered as the previous applause, went through the audience. Amara and Bernard both added their own voices to it. The bandages on Theoginus’s knuckles made an even more stark contrast to Valerius’s appearance. “I think I like him,” Amara murmured.
“Theoginus?” Bernard replied. “He’s a pompous ass. But he’s on the right side, today.”
Valerius was far too polished to show any reaction to the laughter. He waited for it to vanish, and for another quarter minute after that before answering. “Of course, Senator, we will hear what you have to say. Although I ask, for the sake of the brave young men preparing to face the enemy, that you keep your commentary concise and to the point.” He bowed his head slightly, gestured with a single hand, and seated himself gracefully.
“Thank you, Valerius,” Theoginus replied. He hooked his thumbs in the folds of his robes, thus ensuring that the bandages on his right hand remained highly visible. “With all due respect to Senator Ulfius for his prodigious knowledge of Aleran history and Aleran law, his argument is specious and deserves to be laughed out of this amphitheater.”
Ulfius rose, making spluttering sounds, his bald, speckled pate turning bright red.
“Now, now, Ulf,” Theoginus said, giving the other Senator a broad, jowly smile. “I meant to go about that more gently, but Valerius says we’ve got no time to spare for your feelings. And you know just as well as I do that Parciar Gustus was a slobbering madman who murdered half a dozen young women, while Parcius Fidelar Martinus was the first serving Citizen to be named to the House of the Faithful after the Feverthorn Wars—and that was only after he twice declined Gaius Secondus’s invitation to join the House of the Valiant.”
Senator Theoginus snorted. “Trying to compare those two to Gaius Octavian and Gaius Aquitainus Attis strikes me as pure desperation—especially given that you have no evidence to prove that Octavian’s birth was illegitimate.”
Valerius rose to his feet, raising a hand. “A point of order, honored Theoginus. The burden of proof to establish legitimacy falls upon the parents, or if they are not living and able to do so, upon the child. Legitimacy, especially among the Citizenry, must be established.”
“Which it has been,” Theoginus said. “With the signet ring of Princeps Septimus, the eyewitness testimony of Araris Valerian, and by the signed hand of Princeps Septimus himself.” Theoginus paused as a low mutter ran through the amphitheater, among Senators and observers alike, then eyed Valerius, waiting.
“Gaius Sextus never formally presented Octavian to the Senate,” he replied smoothly. “By law, he has not been legally recognized.”
“As a Citizen in his own right,” Theoginus countered. “Which has no bearing whatsoever on Gaius’s choice of an heir—which is a clear matter of public record.”
“It is to be hoped,” Valerius replied, “that the First Lord of the Realm should have the grace to be a Citizen as well.”
“Semantics, Senator. We have all seen ample demonstration of Octavian’s evident skills with our own eyes. The proof was, after all, good enough for Gaius Sextus. Why should it not be good enough for the rest of us?”
“The testimony of Gaius Sextus’s personal physician has established that Sextus had been a victim of long-term poisoning by means of refined helatin,” Valerius said soberly. “Helatin damages the entire body, including the mind. It is entirely possible that Gaius Sextus was non compos mentis during the last year of his life—”
Valerius’s voice was lost in a sudden uproar of protest, and Amara found herself wanting to strangle the weasel again. First, he made everyone languish through Ulfius’s argument, then attempted to press and close the issue in a rush, citing the need for prompt action. Granted, such tactics had been successful in the Senate before, though generally not in the face of any serious opposition. But this… calling Gaius’s mental competency into question was a masterful stroke. If enough of the Senate was willing to go along with the idea, it would mean that nearly anything Gaius had done during the vord invasion could be found an illegal action, invalidated by the power-thirsty Senate. After all, Sextus could hardly defend his actions now.
There was a way to head off Valerius’s true thrust, though, if Theoginus was clever enough to see it.
Theoginus raised a hand, a silent call for order, and the noise diminished to a susurrus of rapid whispers. “Honored brother of the Senate,” Theoginus said, scorn open in his voice, “nearly every Lord and High Lord of the Realm worked in Gaius Sextus’s presence during the entire campaign last year. Surely you do not suggest that so many Citizens of the Realm, the majority of them gifted watercrafters, could have simply failed to notice madness when they saw it?”
“Brother—” Valerius began.
“And if he was gone to his dotage,” Theoginus continued, “then surely his adoption of Aquitainus Attis into his house must be viewed in a manner every bit as suspect as his declaration of Octavian’s legitimacy.”
“Hah,” Amara said, baring her teeth in a grin and pounding her fist on Bernard’s thigh. “He saw it.”
Bernard enfolded her fist in his hands. “Easy, love, you’ll leave bruises.”
“Aquitainus Attis,” Theoginus continued, turning to speak to the seated Senate at large, “is without a doubt one of the finest examples of talent, ability, and effective leadership that the Citizenry has to offer. His skill and personal courage in battle against the vord cannot be questioned.” He drew in a deep breath, and spoke in a voice like thunder. “But those facts give no one the grace to defy the law of the Realm! Not Aquitaine. Not the Citizenry. And not the Senate.” He turned in a slow circle to face each of the seated Senators. “Make no mistake, honored Senators. To defy the will of Gaius Sextus now is to betray the laws that have guided the Realm since its founding—laws that have allowed us to overcome centuries of turmoil and war.”
“For tradition’s sake,” interrupted Valerius, “we ought to needlessly throw away the lives of our fighting men. Is that what you’re saying, Senator?”
Theoginus faced Valerius squarely. “Half of our Realm is gone, sir. Lives beyond counting have been lost. Alera Imperia herself has fallen and been devoured by earth and fire. But most of what is left of the Realm is beyond the reach of any foe. It is carved into the intangible bedrock of the mind and heart—the law. It is within the good steel of those Legions outside the city walls, ready to give their lives in Alera’s defense. It flows within the veins of her Citizenry, called to arms and ready to face whatever foe should try to harm her people.” He swept his hand in a dramatic gesture, to the west. “And it is out there, in the living monument of the House that has guided the Realm since time immemorial. It is in Gaius Octavian.”
True silence had fallen on the amphitheater. Theoginus knew how to speak to a crowd. He knew how to draw upon their emotions—and the constant hum of low fear that permeated all of Alera in these desperate months left them primed for just such an approach.