Hal - The Duellist #1

Chapter Four - Cara

Marc was already waiting in his carriage by the time Hal reached the main square. Dressed in the dark, sober gown of a senator, he seemed more formal and serious than usual. Hal climbed in and took the seat opposite him, biting her nails and staring out of the window to avoid his gaze.

He contemplated her for a moment. "I fail to see what you find so daunting about a little trip to the palace, Hal," he said at last.

Failing to get a response, he tried again. "I mean the place is all you knew as a child. And you could make life a bit easier for yourself if you attempted to make it your home once again."

She turned to him, jaw clenched, her lips tight. "And why would I want to do that?"

"Oh, you know, the luxury of court apartments, servants ─ it's your entitlement after all. I'm just saying..." he raised his hands defensively as she cut into his speech.

"Save yourself the trouble, Marc. We've had this conversation so many times I'm sick to death of it. You know why I left the place, you know what I think of it, and I have absolutely no intention of returning there."

He shook his head and hissed through his teeth in irritation before settling back against the plush upholstery of the carriage. They trundled slowly amongst crowds hurrying home from work, or in many cases leaving their homes for the night ahead.

"Oh, I forgot to mention. Franc's coming tonight." His words broke the painful silence. "He arrived this morning."

"Franc? Why didn't you say? You wouldn't have had to persuade me if I'd known he'd be coming."

"It's just a fleeting visit. He's down here from those barbaric northern provinces on business."

"He's hardly a barbarian, now, is he?" Sometimes Marc's snobbishness got under Hal's skin.

"Each to their own," he commented drily. "Well, here we are. Steel yourself, girl."

Spiralling turrets carved of marble and granite span into the air, soaring above the roof-tops, busy streets and market places. Grandiose in scale and design, the palace was not only the official residence of the Emperor and his family, but of all the courtiers and hangers-on who could afford to take advantage of its chambers, halls and banqueting suites. It was here that Hal had spent her early years sleeping in the wards' dormitory with the twenty or so other children who were, through accidents of birth, entitled to grow up in the charge of the court. Yet the palace had always been too overwhelming in size, too absurd in structure to call a home.

Marc's carriage pulled in through a massive pair of iron-wrought gates. An impressive array of vehicles already lined the courtyard, the simpler belonging to senators, the more extravagant in the possession of provincial aristocrats. They halted directly in front of curved marble stairs which swept up towards the main entrance. Hal jumped out, her stomach churning with nerves as her friend stepped down in a more demure manner, nodding immediately in the direction of new arrivals as he spotted acquaintances amongst them.

Ascending the staircase they passed beneath the gaudy portico with its fanciful statues and ornaments and into a high vaulted chamber lit with candles. The heat of the summer's evening gave way to the cooler air of the banqueting hall. Long trestles lined every wall, weighted with food: sculptures comprised of fruit lay interspersed amongst curiously devised dishes of meat and fish. Pages and servants rushed about the place bearing jugs of wine and water, dressed in costume as heroes and heroines of the empire's glorious past: as famous rulers, warriors or artists. A small orchestra had already struck up some refined melodies, while everywhere courtiers and senators mixed, the hum of voices and the clink of glasses occasionally drowning out the music.