Chunk 6
Bother. I meant to write more tonight but I fell asleep right after dinner and woke up about fifteen minutes ago. I banged out a bit more, but then midnight hit. I finished the paragraph before posting, though, so you wouldn't have to remember half a sentence until tomorrow night. :)



=============

[scene break]

Duke Pormano, supreme commander of the armies which had conquered Ruvor and the ranking Imperial in the place, threw excellent victory celebrations. To the man's credit, he'd had more practice at it than anyone else Arden knew of. The duke was a brilliant strategist and tactician both, and an inspiring leader.

Effective, Arden thought. That's what it sums up to -- the man gets the job done, whatever it is about him that lets him do it. That's why he's there, in that place, and he's welcome to it.

Arden was more comfortable when he could focus on one task at a time. Even if it were the sort of task where a mistake was likely to get him killed. Even if it were the sort of task where he occasionally did absolutely nothing wrong save being in the wrong place when some terrified little man finally collapsed under the weight of his fears and decided he needed to kill someone.

Even then, Arden preferred his own life and would happily kill anyone who suggested he might want to take Pormano's place.

Of course, that very attitude contributed quite a lot to his continued health. As his father's twenty-second son -- by a lawful wife rather than a slave, unlike quite a lot of his elder brothers, but not a particularly favored wife -- his chances of ever taking the throne were remote at best. Which hadn't stopped a number of low-ranking sons farther up the family tree from trying, mind. Any ruling family which lasted more than a generation had to be able to learn from history and the Molanos were particularly good at it. Arden was scrutinized constantly from his twelfth birthday on, under guard day and night, his contacts limited and his messages studied and censored.

He'd been strongly encouraged toward men from the first time his cock had hardened, and it'd been no hardship for him to go along with the encouragement. A man who'd lain with another man was banned from the imperial throne, and the public taking of a male lover was the traditional method by which double-digit imperial sons gracefully took themselves out of the competition. Arden had known from a young age that he wanted no part of the throne hunt and had been happy to bow out.

The Imperium, like commanding an array of armies, required not only attention to infinite details and the ability to put off sleep indefinitely, but also the ability to depend upon others -- many others, sometimes of unknown competency -- to perform vital tasks quickly and well. Having to rely on other people, on strangers, in order to fulfill his own tasks drove Arden distracted. He much preferred to rely only on himself, his own skills and his wit.

Such a man could never be a good ruler and well Arden knew it, so he was content with a lesser role in life. Whichever one of his brothers inherited from their father, he was welcome to it and Arden would happily pledge loyalty to him.

But Pormano did know how to arrange a victory celebration. Normally Arden would be drinking and enjoying himself along with everyone else -- even if he had had to borrow clothing fit to be seen in, since his own role in the war had precluded much in the way of baggage -- but that night he was just wishing they'd get on with it.

He was fairly sure he'd get his choice of slave. He might not be a general but he was a prince and the order of choosing was by rank and status. He knew he was going to have a fight on his hands, though, and not just physically. It was going to be grim for a while -- he hoped only for a while -- and he was impatient to get on with it.

Food followed drink and Arden, seated at the head table, picked at the offerings. Pormano had imported the best of everything into the seige-starved city, along with skilled cooks and bakers. Beef and mutton, boar and swan, eels and oysters, along with an array of spiced fruits and pickled vegetables passed by, accompanied by more wine. The slaves, all of whom had been starving for much longer than the length of an evening, looked on from the circumference of the room while their conquerors feasted. Arden had never cared about that before, nor even particularly thought about it, but this time he felt a pang of empathy for one particular slave.

By the time Pormano stood and began to speak, praising everyone in the room (the slaves didn't count) for their courage and might and guile, and thanking them all for their assistance in winning the recent war, Arden was tapping both feet under the table and thinking, All right, come on, get on with it....

Finally. Pormano, as the highest-ranked man there (purely circumstantial -- back home he'd defer to Arden and the five of his brothers who were present), chose first. He modestly declined to recite his deeds, which everyone there knew anyway, and chose a pair of beautiful women with flowing black hair and sharp, kitten faces. Since he was conducting the selection ritual himself, he couldn't take them immediately; he brought them up to kneel near his seat at the high table.

Next was Arden's second eldest brother, who'd commanded a thousand cavalry and defeated the last desperate sortie on the part of the city's defenders. Everyone listened to Pormano's recitation of his deeds, occasionally banging a fist on the table. Prince Veren also chose women; he was definitely within reach of the throne and hadn't been allowed any intimate contact with a man since his twelfth birthday. And damn little casual contact either. All his body servants were women, as well as his personal physician and surgeon.

Veren made his choices, one woman near his own age but still beautiful and with a knowing look in her eye, and another young enough to be his daughter. He knotted a scarf in his colors around the neck of the younger woman, then went over to the older. He unlaced his breeches, pushed her down and plunged into her, accompanied by a chorused roar of approval from around the room.