Volume 2 - CH 4.2

It was a beautiful garden. Trees and flower beds had been skillfully arranged alongside fountains and sculptures; amongst these flowed sleek paths laid with expensive tiles. Pictures had been painted on the tiles; one full circuit illustrated the tale of Hero King Kai Khosrow from his birth to his death.

Before, it had been even more beautiful. After its consumption by blood and fire, Innocentius had ordered its restoration. These efforts remained very much incomplete, however.

Within a glass greenhouse, laleh of various colors bloomed in profusion. That this greenhouse alone had escaped the flames of battle was certainly a miracle. The fact itself seemed to flaunt the different level of landscape architecture in Pars compared to Lusitania.

King Innocentius heaved a sigh.

“Before such beauty as Tahmineh’s, even those flowers are as withered branches.”

He received no response.

“Do you not agree, Guiscard?”

“The very picture of beauty indeed,” replied Guiscard, deliberately keeping the subject of his praise vague, and in doing so unable to help coming across as a bit curt in tone.

There had been a time when Guiscard too was beguiled by Tahmineh’s beauty, but he had given up on her by now, making a clean break of it by thinking of her as a political or diplomatic tool. Well no, although such were his intentions, still there were times when he felt a slight, lingering attachment. For that alone, it made him all the more cranky to see his older brother besotted with Tahmineh’s beauty, without a care for either appearance or reputation.

That being said, what could Tahmineh be thinking about as she sat there in the greenhouse upon her wicker chair, gazing at the laleh? Guiscard had none of his brother’s sweet delusions. Instead, even with his heart full of suspicion and wariness, he nonetheless found his gaze drawn to Tahmineh, captivated despite himself by her figure.

“Dear brother!”

He purposely raised his voice, not so much for his brother’s sake, but in reproach of himself.

“W-what is it, my little brother?”

“My apologies for bringing up such a tasteless matter, but it’s about Bodin and the Templars of Sion. Was it not to discuss them that you requested my presence?”

“Oh, right, right! Guiscard, oh Guiscard, whatever shall We do?”

Guiscard was silent.

“Oh beloved brother of mine, with the way those Templars talk, do you not believe they are far too hasty in casting such one-sided judgment? We’ve a case to make Ourselves as well, and there is the matter of the national state of affairs besides. It’s as if they don’t understand at all. Do they not know just how much We have supported the church until now? Could it be those fools haven’t the ability to feel such a thing as gratitude?”

About time you figured it out. Though Guiscard wanted to laugh coldly at the thought, he displayed no such emotion with either his mouth or his expression.

“Honestly, when it comes to the likes of Bodin and his lackeys, they really are just a bunch of incorrigible fools…”

Suddenly, Guiscard was startled by a certain realization and broke off. Having become absorbed in his shadowy contest with Archbishop Bodin, Guiscard had forgotten something of utmost importance.

“No way. My brother, you can’t possibly have informed the queen of Andragoras’s survival and imprisonment, or have you?”

The drastic change in his younger brother’s harshened tone shocked Innocentius. After blinking, he shook his head in a panic, as if to reply, I swear, I would never speak of such a thing.

“Excellent. That was fine judgment on your part, brother mine.”

For a younger brother to speak to his elder sibling thus was no doubt a breach of etiquette.

In keeping King Andragoras’s status ambiguous, Guiscard did have his purpose. Supposing the death of King Andragoras were confirmed, the as yet uncaptured Prince Arslan could then declare himself the new Shah, thus uniting the various anti-Lusitanian forces within the kingdom. However dissatisfied they might have been with Parsian governance until now, if it came down to a choice between Pars and Lusitania, the people of the kingdom would naturally support Prince Arslan.

Moreover, Guiscard did not wish to dispose of King Andragoras while he had not yet completely grasped Queen Tahmineh’s true intentions. If one were to kill him off too quickly, by the time the thought “Damn, should’ve kept him alive” even occurred, it would be too late for regret.

No matter what, discretion was necessary.

.

At this time, over at Archbishop Bodin’s private quarters, the commander of the Templars of Sion, Hildiger, was eagerly galvanizing the owner of the room.

“Don’t you think it’s time we depose His Majesty King Innocentius, Your Eminence?”

Bodin, to whom the commander of the Templars was murmuring, picked at his chin with a finger as if lost in thought.

“Taking such action would be overhasty. A tiresome king he may be, but one who has hitherto been of service.”

“And yet the king of Lusitania is not just a mere royal responsible for governing the nation; as a saint he is an incarnation who reigns over all true believers of Ialdabaoth. To be besotted by some heathen woman is enough alone to disqualify him from rulership.”

“‘Tis as you say, but who is there to replace King Innocentius on the throne? As he has sown no seed, that leaves none other but his closest blood relation, Guiscard. You think that a favorable turn?”

“There is naught to criticize of Duke Guiscard’s ability. I suppose his attitude toward the heathens, however, is even more compromising than that of his royal brother.”

“Precisely. That wretched prince values power and wealth more than God’s will.”

Bodin spat in disgust. He was one who understood the faults in others all too well. Even if Guiscard were to hear this, he would certainly only smile wryly.

“Can we not summon another of royal blood from Lusitania?

“Hm…?” Bodin tilted his head. “Is there any such individual to be summoned?”

“Whatever the case, as long as he carries the blood, even one lacking in years should do.”

“Hmph, I see, there was that indeed.”

Bodin’s considerations had been entirely focused on adults alone, but as Hildiger said, were the king to be a puppet, then it mattered not even if it were a child or an infant. Rather, such a scenario would be in fact easier to manipulate. Now that he thought about it, even Innocentius VII as a youth had trusted in the words of the clergy with simple and unaffected faith. It had been thus even when he reached adulthood. Or so it should have been, yet now, beguiled by some heathen slattern, he dared make light of God.

“And so, Your Eminence, one finds it rather undesirable for all political and religious authority to reside in a single individual like the king, no?”

On hearing the Templar commander’s words, Bodin’s eyes glared with light, but not a word fell from his lips.

Hildiger deliberately lowered his voice.

“Just like this current matter, where in forgetting his place as the supreme religious authority, the king has lost his mind over a heathen woman and doomed both country and faith to great crisis.”

Bodin remained silent.

“In the event that the king is deposed, his royal authority ought to be completely severed from his religious authority. And you, Your Eminence, should claim that very same religious authority, rise to supremacy in his stead, and name yourself Pope.”

“Brother Hildiger, speak not so rashly.”

Bodin spoke softly, so as not to be overheard, but neither did he seem to reject Hildiger’s proposal.

Had he gone on to speak of becoming the king himself, Bodin surely would not have even considered his companion’s words. However, talk of becoming Pope was different. To grow attached to earthly authority was to stray from the path of a holy man. However, were it in defense of the glory of Heaven, that would be a different story.

Before long, Hildiger took his leave. The moment he stepped out the door, he clucked his tongue. He’d been expecting some form of material reward, but Bodin hadn’t even noticed at all.

“Tch. That tactless half-wit of a priest. Go to all that effort to demonstrate my goodwill and the bastard doesn’t even have the decency to express the slightest bit of gratitude.”

For Hildiger, this was a matter of carefully timed plotting.

Having invaded Pars, pillaged and slaughtered to his content, and come out of it with his arms wrapped around both treasure and beautiful women, should he return to Lusitania? Or should he stay in Pars from now on, ruling over the years, slowly sucking dry those bountiful lands?

In any case, to the Lusitanian Hildiger, the heathens of Pars were nothing but targets for domination and plunder, but though they were both forms of misgovernment,there was a certain so-called system to it all. No matter what, it was better to choose the more fruitful, efficient methods.

In Maryam, far more blood had been shed, but there’d not been much to gain in return. It had been a country that took pride in its culture and ancient roots, but its lands were barren, nor was there much coin to be had.

Nonetheless, Hildiger had managed to make a decent profit. Notably, he’d been able to sell off more than 500,000 enslaved men and women to various countries, which had netted him quite a bit in fees. As for the lovely odalisques of the Maryamian court, he’d claimed countless for his own.

The people of Maryam were fellow believers in Ialdabaoth, but as there were many heretics who did not acknowledge the authority of the Lusitanian king, they weren’t much different from the heathen nations of Pars and Misr. It was perfectly fine to treat such countries with whatever brutality was necessary.

Compared to Maryam, Pars was a far more prosperous kingdom. Was it not an act of foolishness to starve oneself to skin and bones before feasting…?