A Question of Ruling

  77th Day of Spring

  777 Karloman’s Peace

  My name is Sergious Olearius Sulla, Karloman, it is morning, I am emperor, and I am going to die. Hopefully not today. But someday, and one probably sooner than I would like, I am going to die. I am seventy-two years old. It won’t be long now.

  When I die, someone else will become emperor. I have no children of my own, not that they would be guaranteed to be elected as my successors anyway, but it does leave the question of who is next hanging in the air.

  To mitigate the inevitable squabbling and chaos that will follow my death, I have taken it upon myself to thoroughly review my family tree in order to find a suitable replacement. Thus, I can tell you with some confidence that, having met nearly a hundred of my relatives for that very purpose, my family leaves a lot to be desired. Honestly, they are meant to be descended from gods; if you believe that rubbish, they could at least attempt to appear something a little more than… mundane.

  Today, the distant cousin trying to earn my favour is Adrius Giddenis Galbaio.

  He is not really a cousin and not really a nephew, even if he does address me as an uncle. He is a more distant relation than that. You would have to go back many generations, probably ten or more, to find the branch that connects us.

  But he is a Karloman, and therefore, he is a candidate.

  Adrius is young—a mere thirteen years old—but he is confident for his age. He is good-looking, as most of my family tree is, and he is tall. I can already tell he will tower above normal men when he is fully grown. He speaks clearly, recites from the diaphragm, and stands with a certain measure of poise.

  I am, to a degree, impressed with the young man. I understand that he and his younger brother Albinus, who is playing with some form of game board at the back of the room, are orphans. Their parents having been murdered by a ‘Truther’ raid last year. Some nobles or others took them in and have cared for them since. No doubt, this was not a charitable act but rather an attempt to curry favour with the current or a potential future sovereign.

  Despite the recent tragedy inflicted upon Adrius, he shows stoic strength and determination.

  We are in my ‘private’ study, if you can call it that.

  For a private study, quite a few individuals are present. Yerdal and Corneliu, of course, are here, as are my six manservants. Additionally, twelve palace scribes are standing at lecterns along one side of the room, each busy scratching away at the task I have set them.

  Is… is that one slouching? No, that won’t do. I catch Yerdal’s eye and nod at the scribe. He goes over to give the man a kick.

  Adrius is busy reciting a passage on the burdens of duty and command to me, trying to evidence his understanding of the responsibilities of leadership in times of great strife and conflict. This is, of course, something he does not understand. He is thirteen and has never governed people or led an army. But he has learnt and studied the writings of men who understood such things and has, with clear success, memorised much of their advice on the subject. Thus, I can trust that the boy is studious and learned, possessing a reasonably disciplined mind.

  But can the boy think for himself? That is an important trait in the emperor. You can trust me on that.

  “Tell me, Adrius,” I say, cutting him off mid-sentence, “who rules this empire?”

  I seem to have taken the boy by surprise. I am not sure if it is the question or simply the interruption that has caused him to stumble, but he has stumbled.

  It’s not technically a trick question, although the obvious answer is not satisfactory. I ask it to probe whether the boy understands the complex interconnectivity between leading and following. He is looking at his feet. He has screwed up his face. He is thinking about it. That is, at the very least, a good sign.

  He looks back up at me. Honestly, I am quite excited to hear his answer.

  “You do, uncle,” the boy answers.

  I sigh, and I feel my shoulders droop. What a disappointment.

  “You are Sergious Olearius Sulla, Karloman,” Adrius expands, “Head of the Karloman Family, Reigning Descendent of the Son of Spring, Our Saviour, Karloman. You are The Protector of Humanity, The Living Ward against Malevolence, Heaven’s Voice on Earth, and Barer of the Diven Mandate. You are emperor.”

  “Am I?” I ask him, the tone of my voice a little higher in a mildly mocking manner. “How very fortunate for me,” I say.

  I see Corneliu shake his head a little. Not obviously; no one else will have noticed it. The movement was subtle and slight. I shot my captain and a wry smile. He doesn’t like it when I tease the candidates, particularly the young ones.

  He thinks I’m petty. I think he has a stick up his arse.

  “Tell me then, nephew,” I say, turning back to the boy, “if I ordered every man in the empire to, let’s say, cut off his wife’s head. Would they do that?”

  “I erm,” the boy stammers over his words, unsure of himself. Oh dear, I have put him on the spot, haven’t I, and there is an audience present. Maybe Corneliu is right; this is cruel. It's too late to do anything about it now, though. Let’s see how the boy does.

  “No, I don’t think they would,” Adrius answered, straightening his back and looking at me. He is sure of that, at least.

  “Okay,” I say. I better go a little easy on him. He is young, after all. “So, if the people can ignore my orders, how can it be said that I rule?”

  “I erm, I think there are simply limitations,” Adrius answered.

  “And who decides these limitations.”

  “Well, I suppose the people do,” the boy says. He looks at me side-eyed, trying to determine if I am satisfied with the answer. It’s no major revelation of wisdom, but he isn’t wrong. Let’s press the point and see if the boy catches up.

  “So, if the people can limit my power, is it they who rule?” I ask.

  “No,” Adrius answers a little quickly if you ask me. “You do still,” he concludes. I shake my head. I thought he was thinking for a moment, but no luck.

  “Explain,” I command the boy frustratedly.

  He takes a deep breath. He appears slightly less daunted than he did before. The initial shock of me discarding his recital for this more probing engagement seems to have worn off. I think Adrius might even argue with me.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  That would be something.

  “Yes, the people are numerous and with numbers comes power and influence. You cannot command them to do what they find reprehensible, but you can command them up to that point. They are obliged to obey you if you are a reasonable and good ruler. You can command them in many ways, although not limitlessly, but they cannot sit upon the throne, and they cannot command you to do anything more or less than that which it is your duty to do. It is your duty, by virtue of being sovereign, to rule well. A good ruler does not command the reprehensible, and therefore, a good ruler’s power is limitless because every command a good ruler makes would be good and, therefore, not reprehensible.”

  Quite the answer. It is not a complete answer or an entirely coherent and relevant one, nor was it succinctly put, and certainly nothing that blows me away, but the boy does have something behind his eyes. He might be a good candidate after all.

  “Who says?” I ask him.

  “What?” he asks me, his youthful voice breaking under pressure.

  “You said the people cannot sit upon the throne. Who says?”

  “I… I,” the boy stammers, his eyes darting from side to side as he tries to grapple with the problem.

  “Common sense,” a small voice from the back of the room adds.

  Furious, Adrius’ head snaps back as he stares daggers at his younger brother Albinus. Albinus, however, is utterly oblivious to his brother's rage. The boy remains focused on the game he is playing. He didn’t look up as he spoke. I find that curious.

  “I am sorry, uncle,” Adrius attempts to apologise to his younger brother, but I raise a hand to silence him.

  “Explain,” I call over to the boy. Albinus’ head cranes a little as his eyes drift away from the game board for a few seconds. Then they return to it, and he continues to play as he speaks.

  “The people’s power is also their greatest weakness. Numbers. Too many voices, too many opinions. If the people were in charge, they would fracture into tribes and kill one another. The people cannot rule; they must be ruled to survive.”

  The elder brother’s face is almost purple when the younger brother has finished speaking. My eyes drift slowly from one to the other as I think. Clearly, Adrius takes issue with his younger sibling showing him up, which tells me he can be petty. This is not a good trait in an emperor. Albinus is clever, but he is young. Very young. Adrius is already a far younger heir than I wished for when I began my search. Albinus, being even younger, simply cannot be a candidate. Still, every emperor needs a good advisor. Perhaps Albinus can assist Adrius with meeting my standards.

  “Tell me, Adrius, what do you think of young Albinus’ thoughts.”

  Adrius takes in a deep breath and swallows. “I think my brother is right,” he says. I do not know if he is being honest. From the expression on the boy's face, he has sussed out that I agree with the boy, and he may also be agreeing to try to win my favour. I narrow my eyes and let the boy squirm under my scrutiny while considering this. At the very least, it shows he can acquiesce when it benefits him, I conclude, and my expression softens.

  “So,” I say in a cheerier tone, “if the people must be ruled, why me? Why an emperor?”

  Adrius looks back over his shoulder, but it is hard to tell if Albinus is even listening anymore. When he looks back at me, his face is screwed once more, but he attempts to answer.

  “The faith tells us that a Karloman must sit upon the throne,” Adrius states unsurely. “Perhaps it is as simple as that. They must be ruled and know the ruler must be a Karloman.”

  “So, it is the faith who truly rules, is it?” I enquire. “If the people only allow me to rule because the faith tells them to, and the faith was to tell them otherwise, I would no longer be emperor.”

  The boy's eyes go wide. “No, uncle!” he stammers, “No, I wasn’t trying to suggest that at all. That is the kind of thing a Truther would say. The Truthers are mad men, savages; they murdered our parents. I hate them. You must believe that.”

  I raise a hand to silence the boy. “Calm yourself, nephew. I wasn’t suggesting anything of the sort. I know you are no sympathiser.” The boy’s posture, which had gone ridging, flopped with sudden relief. He took a moment to catch his breath and nodded, indicating he was ready to continue.

  “There are many Karlomans,” I add with a shrug, “so why me? Why would the faith and the people let me rule specifically.”

  Whatever adrenaline Adrius’ fright had flooded him with was clearly good for the boy because his answer came fast and confident. “Because you are the one in favour. The people must be ruled, but they are too numerous for a single man to lead effectively. For that reason, we have the nobles, titled and otherwise. The nobles compartmentalise the people. They represent the nation's feelings toward you, and in support of you over all other candidates, they grant you the right to rule. You rule because the nobles have chosen you on behalf of the people.”

  “So, it’s the nobles who rule then?” I ask. Adrius starts shaking his head in frustration. Before he can argue further, however, Yerdal clears his throat, interrupting. I had forgotten he was here again.

  “Yes?” I ask, giving him my attention.

  “The scribes have finished,” Yerdal informs me, somewhat nervously. I nod my head in reply.

  “Very good,” I say. “Please oversee the handovers and make sure nothing prevents these missives from reaching my messengers.”

  “At once, my Emperor,” Yerdal says with a bow. He then proceeds to usher the twelve scribes from the room. I watch them go. I feel the weight of the papers they carry rest upon my shoulders tenfold.

  This is going to be a long day.

  When Yerdal is gone, I take a deep breath before returning to Adrius. His time is almost up, but there is still enough for one last question. “Tell me, nephew, what role do you think the One Hundred Sorcerers play in this game of ruling?” I ask.

  “The sorcerers?” Adrius repeats back to me, looking genuinely perplexed.

  “Yes, the sorcerers.”

  “None. The sorcerers are forbidden from ruling,” Adrius states. That was a very naive thing to say. I shake my head. The boy knows nothing.

  “You and your brother should return to your chambers and go about your day. I must prepare for Curia.” Adrius can tell he has failed, although he does not know why. His shoulders drop, and he walks to collect his brother from the back of the room. They make their way to the exit but stop just before the door.

  Adrius turns to me, and in a voice far more real than he had used thus far, he asks me, “Uncle, who do you think rules the empire?”

  I smile. “No one,” I answer.

  Adrius raises an eyebrow at that and looks at me for several seconds. Then, his expression turns somewhat brazen as the confidence of a man who has already lost fills him. Earning himself my approval, he commands, “Explain.”

  I chuckle at that but indulge in it. “No one rules because no one can. We are all free beings. That was Karloman’s gift to us. No one man can control another. The entire system is a made-up structure that gives the illusion of control. We all go along with it willingly because, up to this point, we have wanted to go along with it. Power is a lie. That is the job of an emperor. To ensure that everyone continues to prefer the lie.”

  “I don’t understand,” Adrius stated.

  “Few do,” I replied and gestured toward the door.

  An hour later, I stand at the back of my study alone, except for Corneliu, as I stare at the gameboard Albinus had been so engaged with. I can’t really envision the game that would be played upon it. It is a hexagonal board with an intersecting grid and hundreds of pedals, some white and some black.

  “What is this?” I ask my captain.

  “Thrones,” he answers.

  I roll my eyes and look at him. I really do like the man, but he knows I hate it when he does that. “And what is Thrones, I ask?” The disapproval in my tone is evident.

  “A game,” Corneliu adds. I shoot him a look. He shrugs and grins back at me. “I don’t know much about it. It’s been popular down south for a while and recently taken the capital by storm. They say skill at the game evidences a shrewd mind, but I don’t know how much stock I put in that.” I find myself agreeing with my captain. I am unsure how a child’s game would prove much of anything. Yet, Albinus is clearly a clever boy, and he was in awe of the thing.

  “How does it work?” I ask.

  “I’ve never played.” Corneliu answers. “Perhaps your nephew can teach you.”

  I sigh. “I am too old for a new hobby,” I answer. I turn from the board and look at Corneliu head-on. “Tell me, what did you think of the boy?”

  “Young,” was, frustratingly, all Corneliu said.

  My response is defensive, and I feel my back getting up. “So was I when I became emperor,” I state, “far younger, actually.”

  “Yes,” Corneliu does not argue with me. “but how long did they call you emperor before you became one?”

  I huff and pull a face. “I see your point,” I say, pouting a little, “but we both know that time has not given me the luxury of options.”

  “Thandel,” Corneliu retorted, using the name of his preferred candidate.

  “Too old, too unpopular, too military,” I recite without missing a beat, “we have been over that.” Corneliu does not engage with me further, and I find myself bristling a little. My palms are sweating, and I can’t stop curling my toes to contain my annoyance. “You know I have to pick him.”

  “Is that really what’s best for the boy?” Corneliu asks. I could have screamed at him. I would have if it weren’t for the knock at the door. “Come in!” I bark. It was Yerdal. “What?” I demand.

  “My apologies,” Yerdal says with a bow, “I did not mean to intrude.”

  “You didn’t,” I snap, too harshly, “what is it?”

  Yerdal swallows and then answers, “Your Lady wife is waiting on you,” he explains, “She wishes a moment of your time before Curia.”

  “Which wife?” I ask.

  “Lady Hemma,” Yerdal stated.

  I let out a breath and felt a smile creep across my face. “Good,” I said, “tell her we can stroll through the gardens on my way. That will cheer me up.”