Chapter 1402: The scepter and the sword(3)

And indeed, the old man chewed long and hard upon the bait, like a starved child eying the feast on his lord’s table, desperate to grab a piece yet terrified of the whip.

Just a little nudge, Alpheo thought, his face a mask of calm, royal disinterest.

"Tell me, Your Excellency," the King asked, his tone so disarmingly innocent it gave no hint of the web he was spinning. "Is there anyone sitting on the Council of Archons from Kakunia?"

The Archon shot him a sharp, venomous glare, but the politician in him answered all the same. "Aye. One. Lorino Laccenili. He is older than even I am, constantly afflicted with a sour stomach and a failing heart. It is likely why he never declared his own bid for the White Barb. He certainly possessed the seniority, and he carries few enemies in the Curia."

"Laccenili?" Alpheo mused, tilting his head. "He must be kin to Arrion, Lord of Grass Plains."

"A cousin, yes."

"Well, the Laccenili line has firmly cast its lot against the Fat Prince," the King replied smoothly. "I am certain Cousin Lorino would be more than delighted to cast his vote for your sacred brow, should his future prince and his family whisper in his ear, and become more close to the Valorous Bull’s simpathy. Tell me... does the good Archon happen to have a son or daughter?"

If glares possessed the edge of steel, Alpheo would have been lying four feet under the chapel flags.

"Men of the cloth are sworn to absolute celibacy, your Grace," Vesparian gritted out, dragging the words across his teeth like iron on stone.

"And yet how curious it is that so many archons’ halls overflow with eager ’nephews’ and ’nieces,’" Alpheo retorted, a faint, mocking smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Hell, three centuries ago there was a Pontifex who favored nine of them, and strangely enough, the holy man was an only child. Why you cling to this theatrical naivety in my chapel is quite beyond me. But for your liking, I shall rephrase: does he have any particularly... beloved nephews or nieces?"

"No," the Archon snapped testily. "He does not."

"Pity," Alpheo sighed, shaking his head. "It would have been a fine gesture to secure a comfortable estate for them. Regardless, he will be vastly more receptive to your candidacy if those closest to him press the matter. Are you on poor terms with the man?"

Vesparian shook his head slowly. "Not particularly. Though he currently aligns with Alonius’s camp."

"Will he turn?"

"He is not overly devoted to Alonius. Lorino is old, like most of us and practical enough to know he will likely not survive two more winters. His sole ambition for his remaining days is to pass them in quiet comfort. I suspect he merely echoes Alonius to avoid drawing heat."

"Then I shall see to it that Merelao is brought firmly to your side," the King declared, his voice cutting through the stillness. "You gain the weight of Kakunia’s treasury and a guaranteed vote in the Curia, all for the grand, exhausting price of a single public blessing. Are your hands so terribly stiff, and your lips so dry, that you would begrudge a few pious words?"

"I repeat, your Majesty: the Pontifex has demanded strict neutrality in the Kakunian dispute," Vesparian insisted, though his voice lacked its earlier iron. "He will not take kindly to my meddling."

"Then it is a risk you must swallow!" Alpheo snapped, stepping directly into the Archon’s space, his shadow completely devouring the old man. "You cannot possibly expect to claim the White Barb on my back alone. With Yarzat’s backing, you might survive the second or third round of balloting, but in the end, you will inevitably cede the throne to Alonius. You need every scrap of influence you can sink your claws into! The absolute worst you will suffer from the Pontifex is a stern tongue-lashing in Romelia. He cannot strip your title for a gesture of faith. You will simply travel to the Holy See, wear a mournful face, profess grand innocence, and beg his forgiveness!"

Alpheo leaned down, his dark eyes flashing in the torchlight as his patience finally ran out. "Are your knees so stiff that you cannot even manage that? To trade a brief apology for a vote and a prince’s fortune? Despite what the bards sing of my reign, Archon, I assure you I do not shit silver in the privy, and most I have I cannot spend to lavish you and your followers. You have to meet me in the road too."

Vesparian stood utterly frozen, the breath rattling in his chest as he stared up at the young King. For a long, suffocating moment, the only sound in the sanctuary was the crackle of burning pitch.

Slowly, the old man’s mouth twitched into a bitter, defeated line. He adjusted his heavy velvet mantle, though his hands trembled ever so slightly against the silk.

"What, precisely," Vesparian rasped, his eyes narrowing into calculated slots, "would you have me say to the boy when he arrives?"

Alpheo smiled with all the warmth of a winter wind.

"Nothing grand," the King murmured, placing a heavy, approving hand on the Archon’s shoulder. "Only that the gods look favorably upon those who reclaim what is rightfully theirs...that bastards-borns , have greed and lust in their blood, and that the Warrior must have blessed both him and the king of yarzat to come victorious on the field, as their cause was just."

’’Hardly a few humble words....’’

’’Humble considering what you will earn.You will have all your life on that golden throne to be humble and pious. But now is not the time of faith, your Excellency, it is the time of politics. And politics is but a silent war, and there is rarely a war where only one side bled.Can I count you in, and graciously inform our friend in Kakunia of your presence?’’

"I... I will think on that," Vesparian stammered, his fingers twitching against his velvet sleeves.

And think on it he would, Alpheo knew down to his bones. If the old crow refused to take the bait, the King had already decided to wash his hands of him entirely. Sponsoring a candidate for the White Barb was a ruinously expensive affair, and Alpheo had no intention of throwing Yarzat’s silver into a bottomless pit for a lost cause. And Vesparian, without Kakunia in his fold, was precisely that: a lost costly cause.

Still, it would not hurt to sharpen his understanding of the snake pit in Romelia while he had the archon cornered.

"Speak to me of the factions, then," Alpheo said, leaning back against the wooden pew and crossing his arms. "There are fourteen Archons sitting on the Curia; I find it hard to believe there are only two men vying for the seat."

"You would be wise to disbelieve it, for there are far more than two," Vesparian replied, settling his weight back onto the bench with a heavy sigh. "At the outset, the board is crowded. Even those who know they haven’t a prayer of wearing the ring put their names forward, if only to force concessions or sell their endorsement to a stronger candidate when they finally withdraw."

The Archon gestured loosely with a frail hand. "The voting proceeds in infinite rounds for as long as names remain. Every three days, the Curia casts its ballots. The Archon who receives the fewest votes is struck from the register, and on the following third morning, the process begins anew with the remaining names, always minus the last. In the end, only two remain, and a winner must claim a full two-thirds majority of the entire council to be elevated. Though mind you, a name can be withdrawn at any hour, or thrown back into the ring if a deadlock drags on. There have been conclaves where two frontrunners tore each other apart for weeks, only to surrender and agree on a compromise candidate from outside the Curia altogether."

"Outsiders?" Alpheo raised a dark eyebrow.

"Aye. Simple bishops, hermits, or holy scholars. Curiously enough," the Archon added with a dry, bitter smirk, "those compromises usually turn out to be the holiest Pontifexes of all, mostly because they haven’t spent forty years learning how to poison their rivals."

"Was our current Pontifex a compromise as well?"

The Archon shook his head. "Hardly. He was brought to the chair on the shoulders of Gratios’ father. Elevated at the tender age of forty, a mere child by our standards, and yet the old bastard has managed to outlive two emperors.He is now pushing eighty and perhaps he will see a third pass by" He let out a low, derisive snicker.

"Our current voting system is a relatively recent reform," Vesparian continued, his eyes reflecting the warm torchlight. "In the old days, a man needed a two-thirds majority from the very first ballot, or the council remained deadlocked indefinitely. That all changed during the reign of Gratios’ grandfather by marriage, Vilorio the Cruel. Or ’Paleface,’ as the commons whispered behind his back.Though some named ill-waisted on account of having no sons except stillborn"

The Archon paused, leaning in slightly as the historical gossip took hold. "Before his brother’s body,Aeron the Misfooted, had even gone cold at the base of the cliffs in Herculia where he ’accidentally’ fell while campaigning, Vilorio was already riding at a breakneck gallop toward the capital to crown himself. But as if to mock his bloodstained hurry, the gods struck down the sitting Pontifex that very same week. A new pope had to be chosen before the crown could touch Vilorio’s head."

"And the Curia balked?" Alpheo asked, a genuine, amused spark lighting up his dark eyes. History was the King’s quiet vice, and he relished the bloody, absurd details of those who had played the grand game before him.

"For months," Vesparian chuckled. "Say what you will of Vilorio, he was a kinslayer for some, and a butcher, certainly, but he was no simpleton. He desperately needed the religious legitimacy of an imperial coronation, but he couldn’t simply march his legions into the holy conclave without sparking a holy war with his lords.

So, he promised the populace of the Eternal City a grand, week-long feast to celebrate his crowning. Naturally, after two months of interregnum, the hungry mob grew thoroughly sick of waiting for the smoke to rise."

The Archon’s frail voice took on a sharper edge. "The city folk stormed the Palatine Hill, surrounding the holy palace and demanding a Pontifex be made by nightfall. Vilorio, playing the pious protector, marched his imperial guard in to ’save’ the holy fathers from the riot."

"Save them?" Alpheo grinned softly, seeing the trap a mile off.

"Oh, he saved them, all right," Vesparian rasped. "His guards barred the heavy oak doors from the outside to keep the Archons ’safe.’ Then Vilorio cut off their wine, limited their rations to hard bread and stagnant water, and eventually forbade the guards from letting anyone leave to use the privy."

Alpheo let out a sudden, rich laugh that echoed off the damp slate walls of the chapel.The archon chuckled with him.

"Some of the holiest men in the realm pissed themselves on the marble floor before the third day was out," the Archon said, a rare, wicked smile breaking across his sagging face. "In the end, surprising absolutely no one, a new Pontifex was elected in record time. And when that newly crowned Pope, who, it was whispered, was among those who had thoroughly soiled his robes, took the throne a year later, his very first decree was to reform the voting system into the swift elimination process we use today."

"Well," Alpheo remarked, his grin widening as he leaned back against the bench, "One must admit the change was entirely for the better. A dry robe works wonders for clear thinking once you had the soiled on."

Vesparian’s smile faded into a thoughtful, solemn nod. "The reform itself was necessary, I grant you. Though the manner in which it was forced upon the Holy See remains a dark stain on the crown."

"Nonsense, Archon," Alpheo teased, his voice dripping with dry irony as he stood up from the pew. "If a little ruined silk and a few soiled breeches are all it takes to bring about changes. Perhaps I should consider cutting off the privy’s rights, the next time my lords refuse to pass my reforms."

The Archon let out a raspy, reluctant laugh, shaking his head as he looked up at the King. "Do not tempt the gods. Or you might find yourself sitting in that very room one day."