contents to dribble down the stem onto his cloth of gold tunic. “Quite right, my boy, quite right.” He waved his left arm dismissively, revealing a bandaged stump where his hand should have been. The young scribe quickly stood in response, bowed once and scampered away. “Make sure you get that written up by tomorrow, lad!” Turbis called after him. Pausing, Turbis eyed the space where his hand should have been as if surprised he could not find it, then leaned forward awkwardly, proffering the stump to Martius, “What do you think? Properly armless now? A completely armless General, eh?” He slumped back into the mountainous heap of cushions, a flash of revulsion crossing his face.
Martius laughed politely whilst the servants and slaves exchanged furtive glances, making a mental note to speak to Unclus, the master of the house. He wondered if his friend’s condition was worsening. “It’s just another hard-earned war wound; a badge of honour, if you will.” The words sounded hollow even to himself. “You know, you really should not have tried to take the whole damned army on single handed.”
Turbis ceased all movement for a moment then began to chuckle. “Single handed, Single handed. How wonderful!” He shook his head and took another gulp of wine. “That’s one for the memoirs, Felix. Oh yes, one for the memoirs.”
Martius raised an eyebrow. He could not remember the old general ever using his first name. Although he knew Turbis was not an aristocrat himself, he had always adhered to the old ways, where first names were used only to identify individuals in the same family. But then he could not remember seeing Turbis in this fragile a mood before. Martius cursed himself for letting the old man join him for the battle. He held no official rank, after all, but somehow it seemed right to have the man who saved the Empire with him again as a trusted advisor.
“Forgive me,” Martius said, raising a hand, palm outward. “Forgive me. It was an unintended jest and a bad one at that.”
“No, no, it’s fine.” Turbis’s eyes shone with forgotten light. “However, I fear that was the last battle of Turbis the Great!” He looked again at his stump. “I sometimes get the damnedest feeling it’s still there. Even tried to scratch my head the other day…”
“I’ve heard men tell similar tales.” Martius hadn’t seen the loss of the hand himself, but by all accounts Turbis had been foolishly brave in the battle, allowing himself, in his eagerness, to get separated from the rest of the men. His horse taken out from under him, he had fought on foot till aid arrived. If nothing else, his legend had been rekindled at Sothlind valley. “I once knew a trooper that lost his manhood, sliced clean off if you can believe that. He swore blind he still got a hard on every morning.”
Turbis, roared with laughter, tears running down his ruddy cheeks. “Ah, he did better than me then! Can’t remember the last time the little man arose!” With that, perhaps feeling he had revealed too much, Turbis seemed to calm somewhat and make an effort to recover his dignity. “You always made me laugh, lad. Even when you were a snot-nosed youngster!”
Martius smiled indulgently. “I am glad to be of service, my general.”
“Ah, gods, man.” Turbis brandished his stump again. “You are the only real general here. You saved the bloody Empire, you did.”
“Not the first…”
“And you won’t be the last.” Turbis paused to swig more wine flamboyantly. “But for the moment there’s only the two of us can claim to have done it.” He eyed Martius conspiratorially over his goblet. “At the moment, you are the most powerful man in the Empire. How does it feel?”
Martius straightened on his stool. It was dangerous to talk of power in the capital, but Turbis seemed blissfully unaware of the ears around him. “Perhaps I could try a glass of the wine? What is it you are drinking?” he asked with a
Martius laughed politely whilst the servants and slaves exchanged furtive glances, making a mental note to speak to Unclus, the master of the house. He wondered if his friend’s condition was worsening. “It’s just another hard-earned war wound; a badge of honour, if you will.” The words sounded hollow even to himself. “You know, you really should not have tried to take the whole damned army on single handed.”
Turbis ceased all movement for a moment then began to chuckle. “Single handed, Single handed. How wonderful!” He shook his head and took another gulp of wine. “That’s one for the memoirs, Felix. Oh yes, one for the memoirs.”
Martius raised an eyebrow. He could not remember the old general ever using his first name. Although he knew Turbis was not an aristocrat himself, he had always adhered to the old ways, where first names were used only to identify individuals in the same family. But then he could not remember seeing Turbis in this fragile a mood before. Martius cursed himself for letting the old man join him for the battle. He held no official rank, after all, but somehow it seemed right to have the man who saved the Empire with him again as a trusted advisor.
“Forgive me,” Martius said, raising a hand, palm outward. “Forgive me. It was an unintended jest and a bad one at that.”
“No, no, it’s fine.” Turbis’s eyes shone with forgotten light. “However, I fear that was the last battle of Turbis the Great!” He looked again at his stump. “I sometimes get the damnedest feeling it’s still there. Even tried to scratch my head the other day…”
“I’ve heard men tell similar tales.” Martius hadn’t seen the loss of the hand himself, but by all accounts Turbis had been foolishly brave in the battle, allowing himself, in his eagerness, to get separated from the rest of the men. His horse taken out from under him, he had fought on foot till aid arrived. If nothing else, his legend had been rekindled at Sothlind valley. “I once knew a trooper that lost his manhood, sliced clean off if you can believe that. He swore blind he still got a hard on every morning.”
Turbis, roared with laughter, tears running down his ruddy cheeks. “Ah, he did better than me then! Can’t remember the last time the little man arose!” With that, perhaps feeling he had revealed too much, Turbis seemed to calm somewhat and make an effort to recover his dignity. “You always made me laugh, lad. Even when you were a snot-nosed youngster!”
Martius smiled indulgently. “I am glad to be of service, my general.”
“Ah, gods, man.” Turbis brandished his stump again. “You are the only real general here. You saved the bloody Empire, you did.”
“Not the first…”
“And you won’t be the last.” Turbis paused to swig more wine flamboyantly. “But for the moment there’s only the two of us can claim to have done it.” He eyed Martius conspiratorially over his goblet. “At the moment, you are the most powerful man in the Empire. How does it feel?”
Martius straightened on his stool. It was dangerous to talk of power in the capital, but Turbis seemed blissfully unaware of the ears around him. “Perhaps I could try a glass of the wine? What is it you are drinking?” he asked with a
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