Chapter 1304: False Garbs(3)
Alpheo was of the mind that lust for power is one of the greatest evils a man can swallow, for what true happiness can be found in sating one’s thirst with poisoned water? Long ago, a younger, hungrier boy would have gulped greedily at every single sip of that bloody drink, but now? Now he had an entirely different desire spurring him forward: a better one.
Still, that lust never quite disappears from the world. It resides within most men, big and small alike; each of them possesses their own internal lake of ambition. Some lakes are bone-dry, while others are filled to the absolute brim, ready to overflow at the slightest stir of the water.
In the end, it is always those with the fullest lakes who end up drowning in them. And as Alpheo looked across the table, he realized that even the men of the cloth were entirely immune to that watery grave.
"I suppose one must be able to at least praise them for a leal and faithful service, if nothing else," the Archon conceded, smoothing down the front of his grand vestments, garbs that were entirely as false as they were blindingly white. "It was never my intention to bring you any ill, Your Majesty."
As if you would even be capable of it, Alpheo thought.
"Peace, Your Excellency," Alpheo muttered, raising a heavy, calloused hand to halt the old man’s defensive maneuvering. "Peace be to you. I merely wished to provide you with the proper tools to make a thoroughly educated guess. I could very well march tomorrow with my heavy legions and force every single tribesman to convert at sword’s point. I possess the military power to do so, and I assure you, under the threat of the pyre, many of them would gladly wear your silver star.
But sometimes, Archon, the shortest road is the wrong one since it is hurried. And besides, I am certain that not many of them would find any actual, lasting fervor for a religion that was violently forced down their throats out of a basic fear of death. The moment my legions marched away, the illusion would shatter." The corner of his mouth ticked upward. "They are an intensely proud people, do you know?"
"Many do suffer from such a grievous sin,even those wearing the white cloth" Vesperian agreed softly, his raspy voice dropping an octave.
"Oh, yes. Perhaps some of them would spurn your true gods simply to avoid feeling a thorn prick at their towering ego, at their ancient pride. And for that vanity, they would gladly choose to be pricked by my steel instead. That... and their children."
Alpheo leaned a fraction closer, the candlelight catching the hard planes of his face. "You would be profoundly surprised by how brave a youngling can be when his blood is up, Archon. Many a boy will fiercely follow his father’s footsteps, whether that road leads to an hour of glory or straight into the jaws of death. Have you ever actually seen children bleed, Your Excellency?"
The Archon’s silver eyebrows furrowed in deep, sudden confusion, a flicker of genuine revulsion crossing his wrinkled face. "I have not, sire. And I pray to the heavens that it remains as such."
"That is an exceptionally good thing to pray for, I suppose,better than good health or good tidings" Alpheo said, his tone chillingly conversational. "They bleed exactly like every other man, but they scream. They scream a hell of a lot more.
Now, if I were to roll my disciplined legions upon the settlements of the Voghondai to enforce your faith, the survivors would simply scatter. Some of them would run deep into the forests and inevitably become bandits, preying upon the good, innocent villages along our highways and brutally butchering traders on the road. They would make nothing but ash and blood upon my lands.And why not?I had betrayed them first, so they are right in their rage against me.
In due time, I would defeat them, of course I would. But that victory would come at a staggering, catastrophic cost to the state. It is a remarkably easy thing for a prince or a king to call for swords, Archon. But the children always end up paying the ultimate price, whatever the war , whatever the end." He let out a slow, heavy sigh, the weight of a dozen campaigns settling onto his shoulders. "Is the softer road not infinitely better instead?"
For a long, suffocating time, the old man said absolutely nothing. It was only when Alpheo went to lazily refill his silver cup with water that the Archon finally offered a slow, deliberate nod of his head.
"I see the ultimate point of your argument, Your Majesty, and you have convinced me well enough," Vesperian murmured.
Alpheo kept his eyes on the pouring water. That is strange, the King thought, his internal alarms quietly shifting. I would have imagined a much more bitter, dogmatic reaction from a zealot.
"But..." Vesperian continued.
And there it is, the King realized .
Everything muttered before the word ’but’ was always horseshit.
"I think that my dear, humble brothers currently sitting beside the Pontifex in the Eternal City may not share such a patient opinion," the Archon explained. "I fear most of them will remain completely blind to the profound wisdom of your methods, sire. They are men who vastly prefer faster, more visible results."
"Impatience is the fall of many a great man," Alpheo countered dryly.
"Unfortunately, it is not always the right man who suffers that fall."
The words sounded distinctly ominous,but beneath the the king was catching the hook.
The true meat of the conversation it seemed.
"I fear those within the high conclave who are capable of sharing Your Majesty’s long-term vision are not many," Vesperian whispered, leaning in so close Alpheo could smell the stale incense clinging to his robes. "For every four voices raised firmly against your tolerance, there is only a solitary one in favor."
Alpheo paused.
There were exactly twelve Archons sitting on the sacred council beneath the white throne. For every four against, one in favor. That meant nine were entirely hostile to Yarzat’s interests, and only three cared little enough not to bother him.
"How is the Supreme Pontifex’s health these days?" Alpheo asked, his voice dropping into a low, smooth purr.
He was fully getting it now. The underlying current of this entire meeting was finally bared.
"We all pray unceasingly for his holy well-being," Vesperian replied, his face a perfectly constructed mask of pious grief. "But he is of a certain advanced age where I fear even the most fervent prayers might be of very little practical use to his fading flesh."
"A great sorrow for the realm," Alpheo chimed in with flawless, unvarnished diplomatic sympathy, though his heart didn’t beat a fraction faster for the dying man, though he would grant he was a useful piece.
He set his cup down, his eyes locking onto Vesperian’s.Having a second War-Priest with the golden garb would do him no good.He had already a bellyfull of the first.
"When the heavy curtain finally falls on his holy tenure, the world will stand in desperate need of a steady hand to guide the light. Tell me, Your Excellency... in the quiet, hushed corners of the Eternal City, who is whispered to be the one destined to step into those grand white shoes?"
"My most dearest brother, Alosius," Vesperian replied softly, the name sliding out like oil.
His tone was perfectly kind, but somehow Alpheo knew that Vesperian considered the next Pontifex to be neither dear nor a brother.
"And how would Your Excellency describe this paragon?" the King asked, swirling the water in his goblet.
"A thoroughly impeccable servant of the gods," Vesperian murmured, his old eyes drifting toward the ceiling. "He utterly disdains fine wine, secular luxury, and good food. Every ten days he passes eight fasting on nothing but stale bread and well water. He concedes himself a brief reprieve only on the grandest of holy celebrations."
Splendid, Alpheo thought dryly. So he is everything our current, delightfully fat Pontifex is not.
The King did not think that was good news. Not at all. A holy man who starved his own flesh was a man who wouldn’t hesitate to starve other’s plan to feed his ideology.
"And what are His Excellency Alosius’s thoughts regarding my specific policies toward the Voghondai?"
"I fear that he fears they are dangerously soft, sire. He was one of the absolute staunchest of voices demanding that we set the immediate, total conversion of your tribal servants as an unyielding term for your coronation.Not caring of method or the amount of blood shed , as long as it end with their conversion, he would deem it acceptable." Vesperian closed his eyes, a pious gesture, but Alpheo knew that if those lids were open, he would glimpse the naked, predatory hunger burning behind them.
The King made a silent mental note to have Lucius dig up every scrap of filth, debt, and blood attached to this Alosius the Faster. He would need to conduct some very thorough research into the business.
"A rigid man," Alpheo observed, leaning his chin on his hand. "And how firm are his actual chances of ascending to the white throne? Is his path to the crown secure?"
"They are exceptionally strong," Vesperian whispered, opening his eyes just a crack. "The college looks favorably upon an austere soul in these turbulent times. I fear that once he ascends, many things will change rapidly, Your Majesty. Both within the sacred walls of the Church... and far outside them."
The King raised his dark eyes, fixing a hard, calculating stare directly onto Vesperian. "And is there truly no one else in that golden conclave willing to raise his hand for an alternative candidate? Surely the college is not a monolith of fasting zealots."
"There may be one or two who see the wisdom of a different, more practical path," Vesperian allowed, a thin, razor-sharp smile cutting through his wrinkles. "Though such a man would most certainly need a powerful, sovereign favorite to champion his cause if he is to stand against Alosius’s tide.And of course promise support.Our dear emperor unfortuntely is not capable of such support anymore."
Alpheo gave a slow, knowing nod, the pieces of the Archon’s game finally clicking beautifully into place. "And do you happen to know this brave, practical man, Your Excellency?"
Vesperian bowed his head just a fraction, the once blonde of his hair now white and silver as snow. "I do, Your Majesty. Quite intimately, even."