Chapter 4: Changes

Macro shifted uncomfortably in his pew seat. He had to be careful not to fidget too much since a lot of eyes were directed at him and at the other high dignitaries, and the occasion was a most solemn one. It was still new to Macro – to sit with the King, the Queens, and the ministers in the seats reserved for the ruling class of Tanitsar. As Vice-regent of Tanitsar, he ranked just behind the five Royal Ministers, normally ahead even of the Duke of Beyreth, and the Steward of Tabar. However, since the Duke was also the High Constable of Tanitsar, meaning the supreme commander of all armed forces, Macro found himself sitting in the third pew, between the Duke and his family and the Steward whom he knew well from the campaign against the pirates.

Before them on the dais stood the ornate sarcophagus of Queen Ada. She had finally succumbed to the wasting illness a week ago, and Tanitsar was in a state of mourning. The King seemed deep in thought but composed. Macro knew from his mother that Ada had been his least favourite wife. She had chafed under her childless state, and had sometimes vented her frustration on her sister-wives and even the King himself. Most of all, especially in their younger years, she had taken out her frustration on Javila and her sons.

Javila was not in attendance. Although she was the King's favourite, she was a slave when all was told and she had no place at a royal burial. Macro assumed that she was watching the ceremony anyway from one of the walkways in the ceiling of the Temple.

The Deacon was pulling out all the stops. It had been fifteen years since the last ceremony of similar importance had been conducted, and it was the first under his tenure. He read no fewer than three long sermons, had four different dignitaries speak eulogies, and then went through the most elaborate consecration ceremony for the sarcophagus.

"Twenty guilders say the King will sack him before this week's over," the Duke whispered to Macro.

"Father!" his young daughter hissed from underneath her veil.

"No takers," Macros whispered back. "He's already tapping his foot."

That was true. King Odar was showing impatience. Even the Deacon noticed – fortunately – and he rather rushed through the rest of the ceremony to the relief of the assembled dignitaries.

Only the King, the Queens, and the pall bearers followed the Deacon into the crypt where the sarcophagus would be entombed. The rest of the officers, nobles, and wealthy citizens sat through almost a half hour of complete silence before the King and his wives stepped out of the crypt and marched along the centre aisle towards the huge doors.

Pew after pew, in strict order of rank, the dignitaries followed their ruler to form a column of black-clad mourners. Outside the Temple, the lesser citizens, the freemen and their wives stood bowing before their King and offering their sympathies in murmured words.

The dignitaries followed the Royal family to the New Palace. Once the door of the palace closed behind them, Macro had a duty to perform. On a podium to the left of the main gate of the palace, a herald was ready and a trumpeter blew a signal whilst Macro walked up the stairs.

"Hear ye, hear ye, People of Tanitsar! Hear the Vice-regent of Tanitsar!"

Macro stood before the crowd that filled the large square in front of the palace. He unrolled the script and began to read with a carrying voice.

"By orders of our King, Odar the Brave, and in memory of our revered Queen Ada, I herewith proclaim a state of mourning over all of Tanitsar. No wine or spirited drink shall be quaffed, no music shall be played, no cards shall be dealt, and no dice cast in all of Tanitsar for a full moon, with the exception of a child's birth which shall be celebrated as a joyous occasion, for the wonder of birth is higher than the mystery of death. So speaks our King!"

He stepped from the podium to the grumbles of merchants and publicans alike. The King had already told Macro in private not to enforce that edict too strictly. What people did in the privacy of their homes would not bother the King and it certainly could not bother the dead Ada.

Having thus performed his duty, Macro signalled for his guard to follow him and walked the short distance home. His mind was busy with the various tasks he had to perform in the aftermath of the burial. An additional worry had come up three days before when a caravel came to port and reported a gruesome find.

They had come across an abandoned ship on the high sea, a slaver. They found only one dead body on the decks, but the log book told the whole story. A deadly disease had broken out shortly after the ship left Tanitsar, and for days, the survivors threw the dead and dying over board until only one man, the Master Navis, remained. He too caught the sickness, and in his last written words, he blamed their own wickedness for their fate.

Looking into the matter, Macro had discovered that it was the same ship and crew that had brought Thesia ashore, and the same men who had violated her. Sometimes the old Gods reared their heads, Macro mused – it was a fitting end to the slavers' wicked lives. Yet, he had felt dread over the possibility that Thesia might have caught the same sickness. Only the careful study of the log book had given him relief, as all the men had died within four or five days as the Master Navis had duly recorded. If Thesia had caught that plague, she would have shown the signs weeks ago.

On the other hand, this could mean that the slavers had caught the disease in Tanitsar. Reports had come in of dead rats showing signs of the plague, and Macro had ordered a thorough fumigation of all the sewers in Tanitsar. So far, the measures had prevented any spread of the plague into the human population.

Lamas was on duty organising the security at the Palace. Javila, however, was at home and she looked up when Macro entered the large atrium. With her was Thesia, and they were sitting in the low resting chairs talking in low voices.

Thesia had shown an astounding development over the last two months. Working with Macro or his mother on an almost daily basis, she had lost all shyness around them. The fear that had lurked in her eyes was almost gone, as were the bruises. The pewter slave collar had been replaced by a silver necklace that could pass for a collar only on a very liberal interpretation. Her wonderful reddish hair was now bound in a long braid much like Javila's, and the dresses she wore barely qualified as those of a slave.

Working with her had made Macro more relaxed around her and he no longer feared to lose his control and violate her trust. However, seeing her now sitting at ease and talking with his mother, gave rise to even more far-reaching ideas.

No longer was he just attracted by her physical beauty; the work she had done for him had inspired new feelings of appreciation and even admiration. When she was not busy translating old books, he had her compose the official announcements and decrees that left his office. Within weeks, she had become his private secretary, nullifying earlier plans for Thesia to work for his mother.

Now she looked up, and the smile that formed on her face made his longing even stronger. He quickly joined the two women, remembering in time to give his mother a kiss before acknowledging Thesia with a friendly greeting.

"How was the ceremony?" Javila asked.

For a moment, Macro thought she was teasing him. But then he realised that she really had not watched the proceedings from a hiding place as he had thought. Javila read him easily.

"The King and I decided not to run the risk that I might be discovered. That would seriously jeopardise some of our plans. I've been serving my King and Master faithfully for twenty and five years, and a scandal now would make the next steps difficult."

"Really?!" Macro almost shouted, catching the implication immediately. Thesia looked at both of them.

"Should I explain, Mother?" he asked, and Javila nodded.

"We have an old law, a privilege so to speak. When a female slave has served her master faithfully for twenty-five years, meaning she had been his concubine for that length of time, he can break the collar and hand her the pieces. By this she will become his rightful wife, and any offspring — Mother, really?"

"Yes, Macro. Any offspring resulting from their time together become the master's body-heirs. Jolia could explain it better. She researched this old privilege once more to make sure we had it right. When a man could not have rightful heirs from his married wives, this would allow him to continue his line with offspring from his concubines. The privilege has even been claimed by a King before. Lothas, King of Tanitsar, was the son of Ediris, a concubine of his father Elgar. That means there is a precedent. With poor Ada gone, there is even an opening."

Thesia's eyes grew big at first with the realisation that her master Macro would one day become King of Tanitsar. But then her face fell and her eyes misted over. Excusing herself, she almost ran from the atrium.