Imperialist: The Voyage

Chapter Eight; Tributes

Moutassim paced the Imperial throne room, his robe sweeping the floor with each stride he took. He wore a high collar, sweeping robe made of silk, paired with a jewel-encrusted tunic and a heavy gold chain spread from shoulder to shoulder. His locks, normally free-flowing or simply tied back, were now in a sophisticated braided updo. On his forehead rested his gold rope crown.

He hated it all. Not just the fineries, the frivolities of court, but the politics that would start when Votrek arrived. Moutassim preferred the battlefield. At least there, he knew who his enemies were.

"Will you stop pacing?" His wife said, looking calmly regal in the throne beside his own, wearing a matching outfit to the emperor but with gleaming pearls threaded through her locks.

Moutassim forced himself to stop and sit down on his throne. No sooner had he done so, than the trumpets outside sounded the arrival of the Sieberon King. He drummed his fingers and looked around. At Agdel, who was a fan of Votrek the military commander, though not the man. At his brother, sulking. And Morabi, who was bracing both hands on his cane and looked as tense as Moutassim felt. At Tigrita, who looked like she wished she was anywhere else but here, among the rich and powerful Mesigan nobles.

The doors opened and Votrek strode in as if he owned the place. He was dressed in a black silk tunic, with a long black cape that billowed as he walked. On his head was a plain iron crown. And yet he radiated a force that proclaimed who he was with or without a crown. Behind him came his retainers, with case after case of what Moutassim presumed were the tributes.

He stopped before the two thrones and bowed at his waist. Straightening, he motioned to one of his retainers to step forward. The servant opens the case, revealing a mound of glittering gold coins.

"Your majesties, I humbly ask that you accept my pilgrimage and this token of my esteem," Votrek said in Arabic.

Moutassim looked pointedly at Morabi for guidance. There was an important part of the ceremony that Votrek had either forgotten or was bent on not doing. Morabi looked equally worried. The Chief Minister coughed and Votrek looked at him.

"Oh yes!" Votrek said, as though he had suddenly remembered. He got down on one knee, took off his iron crown and held it out to Moutassim.

Relief flooded the emperor. Relief that there would not be a scene in front of his court. He stepped down from his dais and pushed the Sieberon king's crown back towards him. Votrek got up. Moutassim was over six feet tall, but he found that he had to look up at the behemoth.

"My brother," Moutassim embracing Votrek and whispering as he did so. "Walk with me."

So they waved at their respective retainers and walked out into the courtroom, under the watchful eyes of the entire court. Moutassim heard whisperings behind him as he closed the door.

"What a fine palace you have here," Votrek said, going up to examine the fountain.

"Thank you," Moutassim said, looking around warily. While this was the only place they could hope to have some privacy, Sheba tended to make the courtyard her favourite haunt. And she tended to not like strangers.

"Condolences on your father, Votrek. I hope you and everyone are holding up."

"Thank you," Votrek said quietly, shrugging. "Everyone is doing fine. It's life. Once there is life, there is death. A candle cannot burn forever."

"True, true," Moutassim sat on the fountain. "Your reputation as a military commander precedes you. While some have problems with your... methods, I must say it is effective. My top general, Agdel, is a fan."