The Adventures of Charls, the Veretian Cloth Merchant (Captive Prince #3.75)(7)

‘I don’t think it should follow that—’ Charls began.

‘My cousin told me,’ said Alexon, proudly, ‘he met a man who had once been a famous gladiator from Isthima. He lasted only minutes in the arena with Damianos. But afterwards Damianos had him in his chambers for six hours.’

‘You see? How could a man like that resist a beauty like the Prince?’ Guilliame sat back triumphantly.

‘Seven hours,’ said Lamen, frowning slightly.

‘Here in Aegina, they say Damianos takes the Prince every night, but that it’s not seemly for a king to renounce his slaves and limit his appetites, denying himself all but one person.’

‘I think it’s romantic,’ said Guilliame.

‘Oh?’ said Alexon.

‘I heard Damianos disguised himself as a slave to uncover the secret of his brother’s treachery, and the Prince of Vere fell in love with him not knowing who he was.’

‘I heard that they allied themselves in secret months before,’ said Alexon. ‘And that the Prince hid Damianos from Kastor, pretending he was a slave, while they courted privately.’

‘What do you think, Charls?’ said Guilliame to the Prince.

‘I think they had help,’ said the Prince, ‘along the way, from those who were loyal.’

Charls felt himself flushing at the Prince’s kind words, despite the improper subject of the conversation. He raised his tin cup.

‘I hope we have many nights like this with our new Akielon friends,’ said Charls.

‘To the alliance,’ agreed Alexon, the words echoing back from those seated around the fire. To the alliance.

Charls saw Lamen lift his cup and incline it towards the Prince, who echoed his gesture, the two of them smiling a little.



Lamen, for some reason, grew more and more agitated as they drew closer to the fort. It had begun when Charls had briefly mentioned that there was a chance that they might meet the Kyros. He wished to make certain they each knew to behave towards him with the full respect due his rank.

‘You mean Heiron,’ said Lamen.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Charls.

‘I can’t meet Heiron,’ said Lamen.

‘It’s understandable to be nervous around great men like the Kyros, Lamen. But the Prince wouldn’t have you as an assistant if he didn’t believe in your abilities.’

Lamen passed his hand over his face and had a look of distraught amusement. ‘Charls—’

‘Don’t worry, Lamen. Here it is not as it is with smaller houses. The Kyros is a great but remote figure. Most likely our dealings will be with the Keeper.’

Lamen did not look in any way relieved by that assurance, but it was just as Charls had said: once refreshed in rooms in the town, they were called to the inner fort to meet with the Keeper of the Household.

This was the meeting Charls had prepared for since first setting out, and he proudly laid out the best of his stock, the rich velvet from Barbin, the canteled damask, the silks and satins from Varenne, the fine white linens and ultrafine cottons that made for the best Akielon chitons. He looked out at his wares with a glad heart. It was an enormous honour to trade with a kyros.

He also sent ahead a smaller case containing a rich gift—bands of embroidery from Isthima—to thank the Kyros for this audience. Opening negotiations with a gift was a Veretian custom that Charls had found also very much pleased Akielons.

They set out in a small group, Charls and the Prince at the head, Guilliame following, Lamen hanging back among the four guards carrying their sample chests. Alexon, who had travelled north with them, looked quite respectable in his new cloak.

Two servants in short chitons escorted them through the elegant simplicity of a series of Akielon courtyards to an airy chamber, where they were to wait for the Keeper.

The chamber was classically Akielon in its proportions, and furnished with low couches with carved bases and rolled headrests. The arches were beautiful, but the silk draped over each of the low couches was the room’s only real decoration, along with each couch’s scattering of cushions.

Reclining on the cushions was Makon, loosely robed, his posture relaxed, a wine cup in his hand.

‘Hello Charls,’ Makon said.

Charls felt his stomach drop—of course while they had stopped to rid themselves of the dust of the road, Makon had come straight here, from a hot breakfast at a large and comfortable waystation.

Before he could speak, the Keeper entered—a majestic presence accompanied by two servants—but all Charls could see was that one of the servants was carrying his hand-picked case of embroidery. His gift to the Kyros was being returned to him unopened.

‘We sent a runner to tell you not to come.’

‘Keeper, my apologies. We did not receive a runner.’

‘Or you ignored one. I am meeting with you so that there will be no misunderstanding. You are not welcome here.’

Charls felt the same disorientation that he had felt at the home of Kaenas. The case of embroidery was dropped to the marble floor in front of him with a sound that made him jump.

‘Keeper, if there has been some charge against me, I hope I would at least have the chance to—’

‘Treason,’ said Makon. ‘The charge is treason. Isn’t it?’

‘Treason is for the King to decide. But you stand against the alliance. You had false dealings with our King. Kyros Heiron will not do business with you.’