Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king-Chapter 1020: A night of art(1)

The night air was a crisp, velvet curtain, illuminated not by the stars above but by the fierce, orange glow of a dozen great pyres positioned around the courtyard.

Alpheo had ordered a massive wooden stage to be erected beneath the open sky, its fresh-cut pine smelling of resin.

To be sure, Alpheo’s current state of anxiety did not formally entail the luxury of theatrical performance; in a time of mounting strife, the last thing a prince required was the distraction of a masked actor mimicking tragedies that would fell short of the one he was already living in.

Yet, that did not mean he abhorred the arts.

On the contrary, Alpheo viewed the stage with a dual passion, both as a man who sought the pleasure of a well-turned verse and as a sovereign who understood the utility of it.

During the frantic, bloody dawn of his reign, he had been forced to bury these interests under the immediate demands of survival. He had not had the leisure to dig deeper into the mechanics of culture, but the seeds of a grander design were already dormant in his mind.

He was acutely aware that in a world where fewer than eight percent of his subjects could sign their own names, the written word was a gatekeeper, not a bridge. To reach the hearts of the illiterate masses one could not rely on parchment and ink. He knew that for his future plans of conquest to evolve into true assimilation, he would eventually need to shape the very air his subjects breathed.

And how to do that?Well some good old state propaganda.

He needed to cultivate a culture that accommodated his vision of a unified kingdom, which meant taking a direct, "present hand" in the aesthetic and the intangible. These were investments that bore no fruit in the short term but they were the mortar that held the stones of a state long before a king’s death.

He wanted his state to have something akin to a Roman sense of identity.

For now, however, such grand cultural reforms remained dreams tucked beneath his pillow. The bloom of the future was a secondary concern to the survival of the present.

Still Alpheo was a pragmatist above all else. He knew enough of his guest’s legendary eccentricities to realize that the man’s soul was anchored in poetry and the dramatic arts. If Alpheo was to secure the alliance he needed, he had to leave an indelible, positive image of himself upon this visitor.

Which in simple terms meant that if he wanted to win the man, he had to dazzle him at his point of greatest weakness.

"Won’t Lord Varo join us tonight?"

Beside him, perched on an equally imposing seat, sat his guest, whose question made him giving the slightest of wince.

"He unfortunately won’t," Merelao replied, his voice a low, steady baritone that betrayed nothing of what he held inside. "He is plagued by heavy thoughts as we speak.."

"I do hope everything is fine?"

"As much as it could be in times such as these.’’ He gave his host a look ’’ But since we are on the matters of familiar presence," the guest continued, making a slow, deliberate show of surveying the vast empty space"I can’t help but notice the emptiness beside us? It is a large table for so few souls."

Alpheo shifted his posture, leaning back into the dark velvet cushions of his chair. He forced his shoulders to drop, mimicking a man who had all the time in the world. "I planned for the night to be just us two. After all, if your presence here were to be revealed prematurely, it would make the climate a bit... stifling for us both, wouldn’t it? I do not doubt that there are many ears pressed against the stones of this palace, all eager to know which guest I am hosting in the dead of night."

The guest reached up, adjusting a long, intricately wound blond braid that draped over his shoulder. He did it with an airy nonchalance, as if the life-or-death implications of their meeting were merely a bore.And who knew perhaps it was?

"And I am sure it would be more than useful in forcing my hand, should our talks fail to bear fruit, wouldn’t it?" He looked directly at Alpheo now, his gaze piercing. "Cutting off my retreat. Forcing my foot into a path of your choosing. Making sure that the mere rumor of my shadow in your halls is interpreted as me throwing my lot in with your cause. Whatever way our meetings go, you would have your leverage, wouldn’t you?"

For a moment, Alpheo said nothing. The silence stretched, filled only by the crackle of the many fires. The man was right, it was a move straight from the playbook of a desperate sovereign. But Alpheo knew that a wise man keeps his steel in its scabbard until the moment of the strike; a fool welcomes a potential friend with a blade already drawn. Some threats carried more weight when left unsaid, lingering in the periphery like a ghost.

Yet, the very fact that this man had come at all told Alpheo everything he needed to know. He had accepted the invitation knowing the trap that could be laid, which meant he was not as unbothered as he pretended to be. Perhaps his first meeting was just an act.

Perhaps he was a man walking into a lion’s den because the wolves outside were already at his heels.

"It would be so," Alpheo said finally, raising a single, arched eyebrow with an expression of wounded dignity, "if I were deplorable enough to conduct myself in such a way toward a guest I have broken bread with."

"And are you?" the guest challenged, a smirk playing on his lips. "Are you deplorable enough?"

"That would make me a poor host and a remarkably short-sighted ally," Alpheo replied smoothly. "Are you calling me both?"

"For now, I do not. But the night is young," the guest said, his fingers idly twining around the end of his braid. "I don’t believe for a second that the thought didn’t cross your mind. I am sure you are craving allies with the hunger of a starving man."

"A person can think a thousand things in a day; we have our brains for a reason," Alpheo conceded, his voice hardening slightly. "But I believe it is what we do that exposes our true conduct. Have I shown you any discourtesy that would lead you to believe I would stoop to such theater?"

"Desperate men have their own set of rules," the guest mused, leaning forward. "A kind man who is drowning could very well pull another under the waves if it meant he could catch one more agonized breath. It wouldn’t be unsound for you to declare to the world that we are brothers-in-arms, even if it were a lie. Whether I deny it or not, your enemies would brand me with your mark. They would force me to join your side, unless I wished to face them alone and unsupported."

Alpheo met his gaze squarely. "And did you take my invitation knowing that could happen?"

"You could say curiosity may very well be my death one day. There is a saying about a certain cat after all.

I wanted to see the man for myself, to take my own measure of the prince whom I heard so much about."

"Well, let me reassure you then," the prince said in a calm tone "I have no intention of using your presence as a leash. Whether your hands join with mine or not, your visit remains a secret held by these stones. I know which way my sword points; I have no desire to force yours, that’d make for a poor companionship.

If you shall fight alongside me, it will be of your own accord, prompted by the reality of our shared situation. Have I not already given you enough intelligence to see that the shadows you fear are already lengthening, regardless of whether I expose you?"

"Common enemies are a frequent reason for an alliance," the guest admitted, "but they are not sufficient for me. It does not mean I am fated to be their enemy forever. That is merely a conjecture you have crafted to suit your needs.There are many roads I can take...differently from you and your small bridge."

Alpheo allowed a small, knowing smile to touch his lips.Though he was right, this was his only road to walk on "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps you are not. We both look at the same map, the same horizon. It doesn’t mean we have to reach the same conclusion, not yet, at least."

A sigh suddendly rose.

"I am growing weary of such talk,"Merelao leaned back and let his gaze wander to the open sky. "Tell me, why are your wife and children not here to grace us? Are you perhaps hesitant to let me into the inner sanctum of your life? I can’t imagine you’d keep my presence a secret from a wife, you’d think such secrecy when taking to the comfort of paramours. Though, from what I’ve gathered, you are quite the priest in that regard."

"I have no intention of seeking such distractions, if that is what you are implying," Alpheo replied. He had heard much of Merealo’s eccentricities, but the man’s habit of leaping from geopolitical threats to domestic gossip was enough to give a man vertigo.

"I wasn’t implying it; I was curious," Merealo countered, his voice like silk.Unbothered however by the implication of Alpheo’s word, "I was asking if the Princess knows that such a hot potato has been invited to her table."

"It is hardly possible to hide a man when welcoming him through the front gates," Alpheo said drily. "My wife is many things, but she is not unobservant. Moreover, she is the ruling princess, which would making your presence hidden be a big slight..."

"Ah, yes. I suppose I did make quite an entrance," Merealo said, pursing his lips in a mock show of sheepishness that didn’t reach his dancing eyes.

"If you are truly willing," Alpheo offered, sensing a shift in the air, "I could present you to them tonight at dinner..."

"Oh, I would love that," Merealo said, his face lighting up with a dazzling, almost predatory smile. "I have encountered the boy already, as I am sure you know. He is a sharp one, that child. There aren’t many in this world who can trade barbs with me and keep their footing." He gave Alpheo a long, appraising look. "I suppose I am beginning to see the family likeness. But truly, I wish to see the famous ’love-enduring’ couple for myself. You are quite the legend in the courts and taverns. Did you know?"

Alpheo winced, a brief, involuntary flicker of a muscle in his jaw. "Are we now? I hadn’t realized our private lives had become public property."

"Of course you are!" Merealo laughed, the sound bright in the darkness of the sky "The ballads have made a meal of you. The Prince of Herculia insults the lady’s honor, and what does the stoic prince do? He drags the man down until he is crawling on all fours before his own vassals, forced to kiss a ring and plead for a mercy he didn’t deserve. It isn’t often that one sees the collapse of a sovereign state precipitated by a woman’s reputation.

Perhaps you did it for land, or for spite, or for a dozen cold, political reasons, but the poets found the ’vengeful lover’ a much more rhythmic lyric. It paints you as a man of volcanic passion."

Merealo paused, his smile softening into something more dangerous. "I find I like that version of you much better than the cold, logical monster the other songs describe."

"And which ballad do I seem more like tonight?" Alpheo asked, his voice low.

"I haven’t quite decided," Merealo whispered. Then, his eyes sparked as he noticed a movement in the distance. He raised a slender finger, pointing toward the heavy velvet drapery that cordoned off the end of the finger. "But I believe the choice is about to be made for me. Look, it seems the performance is about to begin."

------------

Author’s note so that you can all read it, the next three Chapters will be about the play Alpheo wrote. I am kind of satisfied how it came out, but I understand that the reader may not like it for it is outside the story. So you know if you don’t want to read of what play I thought of, (I should have been a teather composer, honest to the gods ) then do not read the next three Chapters.

But if you like theater be my guest.You won’t be disappointed.