Chapter twenty-two

Ortia

 

‘I should warn you sir’ the warder whispered as they made their way down the dungeon steps, ‘I think he has rather lost his mind…’

Antonius stopped on a step.  This was the last thing he wanted to hear.

‘Lost his mind? In what way?’

The warder shrugged in the shadow of the wall brazier – it made the gesture look huge, like a vast shudder of uncertainty.

‘In most ways…anyway, you’ll soon see’

Antonius walked as slowly as he could down to the bottom of the stairs. They were now in the deepest vault of the old Imperial dungeon. This was the high security area and it hadn’t been used for years, not even by Perclivius during his brief reign as usurper-proconsul of the city. There were just three cells down here, and Baron von Eisen was in the one at the very back.  It had taken the new proconsul an age to find time to go and see him. He had to now, however, as the Emperor needed a report – they had no idea what to do with him.

They had taken his army, his possessions and all of his clothes from him and now he was dressed in a brown toga and flimsy sandals. The cell was a reasonable size and he had a few books on a table next to his bed, which was piled with warm blankets. He looked physically fine.

Antonius approached the bars. The Baron clearly saw him but didn’t immediately react.

‘My lord…’ said Antonius, in Ethian, ‘I hope you are being treated well’

Von Eisen looked up.  His eyes were blank. Wherever his spirit was it was clearly not with his body.

‘Do you have an invitation?’ he asked, hardly moving, ‘if you do not have one you should talk to my secretary…’

‘An invitation, my lord?’ Antonius was completely at a loss.

‘To the coronation – to my coronation… who are you, anyway? Are you on the guest list?’

‘I am Antonius Hesperiensis, proconsul of Ortia’

Antonius swallowed hard and allowed himself a brief moment of sympathy for the grandmaster. Then he frowned, moving on to the far more important question of his own problems.  What he could do with a mad crusader-cum-traitor? He couldn’t stay here forever, but also he couldn’t, in his present state, be moved.

Von Eisen seemed to try to focus a little more intently on the real world. He stood up and walked to the bars so that he could look more closely at his visitor.

‘No, you’re not the proconsul’ he said, shaking his head, ‘you are undoubtedly not she. I’m sure Lord Balliwick would agree…’

 ‘Why do you mention Balliwick? He betrayed you completely, you know’ the proconsul said, flatly, ‘that wasn’t even his real name’.

‘No, no – that was evil, hideous, witch-lord Kratos. Lord Balliwick is still with me now: he is so loyal and so wise. What would I do without him?’

 Antonius’s hands felt clammy – madness is rare in elves and many of them feel uneasy around it. It implied a lack of control and restraint, two things that Imperial elves, at least, valued very highly.

‘You are completely alone, grandmaster, there are no others here…’

 

Von Eisen looked around the cell and there he was, Lord Balliwick, sitting at the table in his study, dressed in his comfortable tweed jacket, happily writing invitation cards. The Ethian looked up at him and smiled.

‘It’s amazing how many unworthy people want to attend, your highness.  I propose that we refuse to put his name on the list’

‘Agreed. Anyway, we can’t have two proconsuls at my coronation, can we…’

‘No, sire, particularly given what great friends Marthian and her husband have become to you – and their beautiful children’

The Baron smiled, remembering numerous social events that could never occur shared with a family that had never existed.

‘Yes – we should only invite my friends’   

‘Noted, sire’

‘It seems such a shame’

‘What does sire?’

‘That Kratos launched that attack on Ortia, when we were elsewhere, when we had no way to stop him’

‘Yes, your highness, it was a dreadful thing; so many killed unnecessarily’

‘Highly regrettable’

‘But of course no-one died because of us, your highness – it was all Kratos’s doing…’

‘Good – that is how it should be. We must always follow the chivalrous rules of war, we must never stoop to ambitious treason’

Balliwick coughed violently, but still managed, between his paroxysms, to nod his enthusiastic assent.

‘All is fine then – all is good,’ said the Baron, ‘all manner of things are well’

 The Ethian coughed again. A trickle of blood began to run down from the corner of his mouth.

‘What is that’ asked von Eisen, with an edge of terror in his voice

‘What, sire?’ said Balliwick trying to brush away the steadily increasing flow of blood with the back of his hand.

‘The blood’ sobbed von Eisen, ‘where is that coming from?’

Balliwick smiled, but by now the blood was spilling out his mouth and all over the invitations.

 ‘No!’ screamed von Eisen, putting his hands up to his face,‘no blood, please – stop bleeding’

The invitations were ruined. They would have to do all of this once again.

‘There’s no need to worry at all, sire’ murmured Balliwick, ‘it’s not my blood’

 

Antonius turned to the warder and shook his head. He could no longer stand to watch this strange pathetic pantomime.  He had had enough of listening to one side of an insane dialogue.

‘Thank you, Malvus’ he said, ‘just keep him as you have been – I see no hope for him, to be honest. It is good that human lives are so short. Death will pluck him from his miserable insanity soon enough’

The proconsul walked back up the stairs. He had more far more useful things to do.