CHAPTER 4
“Call to the attention of the emperor,” snapped Julian, turning about, angrily, in the antechamber, addressing a servitor, bearing sherbets, “that his cousin, Julian, of the Aurelianii, and Otto, first among the Wolfungs, await their audience.”
“Sherbets, milords,” said the servitor, placing two bowls on the marble table in the room, that between two couches. Elsewhere in the room were curule chairs.
Julian was on his feet, as he had been, after the first hour, striding the length of the room.
Otto, whom we have hitherto spoken of as the giant, who was chieftain of the Wolfungs, a minor tribe of the Vandals, sat, cross-legged, to one side, his back to the wall, facing the door.
He did not wish to sit upon the curule chairs. It was not that he could not sit upon such devices, or found them unfamiliar, or uncomfortable, for he had known such on Terennia, and on Tangara, and similar things on the ship. Indeed, he had stools, benches, and a throne, or high seat, of sorts, of crude wood, in the main village of the Wolfungs, which village contained the hut of the chieftain, his hut, larger than the other huts. The reason he did not wish to sit upon the curule chairs was because, lifting the corner of the small, silken rugs upon which they sat, he had detected a fine line in the floor which, subsequently traced, suggested an opening, marking a section of the floor through which, if released, a catch undone, a bolt drawn, the chair might descend.
“There are doubtless various panels in the room” had said Julian, irritably, “through which one might exit, if one were knowledgeable, eluding pursuers, avoiding unwanted meetings, through which guards might enter, surprising occupants, making arrests, and such. The traps beneath those chairs may even be benign, leading to stairwells from the room, or giving entry to it. Move the chairs, if you wish.”
“Why are you angry?” had asked Otto.
“I do not care to be kept waiting,” said Julian. He was in dress uniform, that of an ensign in the imperial navy, white, with gold braid, but, too, with three purple cords at the left shoulder, indicating the loftiness of his birth, his closeness to the imperial family itself.
“I am sorry, milord,” said the servitor.
This response had infuriated Julian.
“There is nothing untoward, nor unexpected in this,” said Julian.
“No, milord.”
“The audience has been long arranged,” said Julian.
“Yes, milord.”
“You understand clearly who I am, who we are.”
“I am sure the emperor will see you shortly,” said the servitor.
“Convey my displeasure to the arbiter of protocol,” said Julian.
The face of the servitor went white. Otto gathered that the arbiter of protocol must be a powerful man.
“Convey it,” said Julian.
“I shall commend the matter to the attention of my superior,” said the servitor.
“Go,” said Julian.
“Yes, milord.”
Julian, though one of the wealthiest men in the empire, though a member of the patricians, of the senatorial class, though kin to the imperial family itself, had, following a tradition of forebears of the Aurelianii, of service to the empire, entered the imperial navy. He had qualified for a commission, and trained, as though he might have been no more than another ambitious scion of the lower honestori. He was a gifted, dedicated officer. He performed his duties conscientiously. He accorded every due respect to his military superiors. Had he been unknown he would doubtless have been accounted, with little thought given to the matter, an excellent officer, and would have been innocently and deservedly popular with both subordinates and superiors alike, fair, if severe, with the former, expecting them to meet standards scarcely less exacting than those he set himself, and cooperative and dutiful in his relations with the latter. On the other hand, he was not unknown. He was of the Aurelianii. Accordingly men sought to enter his command, hoping to advance themselves in the service, and higher officers must view him with the keenest ambivalence. Though he was young and less experienced, his blood was among the highest and noblest in the empire, and his station was one to which one might not hope to attain save perhaps through royal marriage or through a special imperial appointment to the rank of patrician, doubtless conjoined with the gift of an auspicious post, or command, say, that of prefect, or treasurer, or master of the imperial police, or palace guard, or master of ships, master of the mobile forces, master of the borders, master of the horse, such things. One must treat such a subordinate with care. Perhaps, if one is politically astute, one may advance him in such a way as to advance oneself as well. And how uncertain a thing to have him in one’s command, such an opportunity, yet such a danger, as well. Was it not, in a sense, like being under scrutiny, like being in the capital itself?