novelraw Chapter 310: The Emperor in the Play
Chapter 310: The Emperor in the Play
From Oak Street to the municipal square, the public baths, and the arena, the attendant's patience was nearing its absolute limit. He glared fiercely at the young man, then headed toward the Tuna Theater without another word.
A drama about an Eastern Roman coup was currently showing. The attendant paid for the tickets and led the young man inside.
The theater featured a horseshoe design, with the stage surrounded by the audience on three sides, capable of accommodating up to twelve hundred people.
Rows of benches were arranged in the first-floor viewing area, with ticket prices decreasing the further back one sat. The seats closest to the stage were highly expensive, offering close interaction with the performers, and were always in short supply.
The second-floor viewing area was divided into dozens of boxes of various sizes, reserved for respectable nobles and wealthy merchants.
To prevent fires, the theater was constructed from stone. A well had been dug in the courtyard, and a water tank sat on the roof. Should an attendant trigger the mechanism, water would cascade through pipes to douse the theater's interior. Just last month, a bored young man had purposefully pulled the lever to prank the audience; as punishment, he was exiled to the Canaries to farm sugarcane.
The two arrived right at the intermission. The attendant glanced around, searching for Salomon.
Suddenly, the curtain lifted. An old man dressed in a toga staggered across the stage, clutching his abdomen. Crimson liquid dripped through his fingers onto the floor, eliciting a chorus of gasps.
At that moment, a young man in a red robe stepped out from the edge of the stage, mocking the injured old man. "Any last words, Bardas?"
Bardas glared at the youth in sheer rage, reaching out as if to grab him, only to collapse heavily onto the floor. "Michael, why?"The young man sighed with exaggerated theatricality. "Back then, I used you to bring down the Queen Mother, the Patriarch, and Theodoric. Now, I am using Basil to get rid of you. Powerful ministers are like wild grass on the plains—winter passes and spring arrives, and a new batch simply replaces the old. Only imperial power is eternal."
Five other individuals stood at the edge of the stage. The attendant mentally deduced their identities: the elderly figure was likely the favored Eastern Roman courtier, Basil. The remaining four wore armor; one of them wielded an exaggerated two-handed battle axe and carried a bow and arrow on his back—likely Niels, the commander of the Varangian Guard.
Over ten minutes passed. Amidst the emperor's shrill, flamboyant laughter, the curtain slowly fell. Shortly after, it rose again to reveal a group of fair-skinned, scantily clad "palace maids," prompting loud cheers and excited whistles from the audience.
Finally, the attendant spotted Salomon and dragged him back to the Royal Palace.
"Your Majesty, please forgive my lateness."
Studying the anxious, slightly plump old man, Wigg smiled genially from behind his desk. "Lord Salomon, are you homesick?"
The old man replied, "Thank you for your generous hospitality. We are doing quite well here, rarely recalling our days as refugees back home."
Salomon was telling the truth. Ever since fleeing to Londinium last October, they had been settled on Oak Street. Londinium boasted a permanent population of over twenty thousand, and the markets were brimming with novelties. Furthermore, the city maintained excellent sanitation and security. Salomon and his companions had quickly grown fond of the place.
Initially, agents from the intelligence network would visit regularly to gather information. After a while, the agents stopped coming, and the group slipped into a state of completely unrestrained freedom.
Because Salomon's registration noted him as a "guest of the royal family," he and his retinue enjoyed three free meals a day at the dining hall at Number Two, Oak Street, and collected a living stipend at Number One at the end of each month. Although someone eventually noticed the discrepancy, they adhered to the principle that "less trouble is better than more trouble." Thus, Salomon and the others were completely forgotten by the King and the civil service system, becoming a group of idle wanderers roaming Londinium.
Regrettably, these carefree days had finally come to an end.
Wigg intended to intervene in the situation in Breizh, which was why he had captured the Hebrides. As an exiled noble from the region, Salomon was being reassigned to Jersey to assist the intelligence network in infiltrating Breizh.
"Work hard. When the time is right, I might dispatch an army to conquer Breizh and expel the Frankish influence."
About to leave the prosperity of Londinium behind, Salomon was overwhelmed by an uncontrollable wave of reluctance. His shoulders slumped, and he hobbled out of the room.
Back in the office, Wigg rubbed his tired eyes, opened the account books, and resumed tallying the various expenses of the war.
The total expenditure was fifteen thousand pounds. After deducting four thousand pounds in ransom and various spoils of war, the net cost came to ten thousand pounds. It was well within acceptable limits. The Cabinet did not need to seek loans from merchants, much less impose additional agricultural taxes.
Furthermore, during the war, the fleet had sailed back and forth between Britain and Denmark. On their return voyages from Denmark, they had ferried refugees, totaling twenty thousand people. Per standard procedure, the Cabinet had resettled them in several directly administered counties in the south.
Overall, the economy remained prosperous this year, and finances were abundant. Wigg retained two temporary infantry regiments, granting them official designations as the Fifth and Sixth Regiments. He also established an additional Ranger battalion to train more light cavalry specialized in reconnaissance.
Additionally, he planned to deploy two infantry battalions to garrison the Hebrides. Jersey was barely a dozen miles from the Normandy coastline. If the wind was favorable, Gunnar's oared longships could arrive in no time.
Three days later, Salomon and his fellow exiles set sail alongside a large contingent of soldiers. Upon taking over the defenses of Jersey and Guernsey, the army immediately initiated comprehensive expansions, reinforcing the palisades and positioning additional trebuchets.
Surprisingly, the Duke of Normandy did not dispatch troops in retaliation. He was currently in Paris, bogged down by a myriad of troublesome matters.
The sky was gloomy as a baptismal ceremony took place at the Basilica of Saint-Denis. The area beneath the towering vaults was brightly illuminated. On either side, candlesticks held hundreds of burning whale oil candles, emitting a faint, lingering fragrance.
The church was packed with people. The nobles maintained a solemn silence while Gunnar stood expressionless in the front row, listening to the bishop's sonorous and unhurried Latin prayers, occasionally punctuated by the soft crackling of burning candlewicks.
At the front of the crowd, a wet nurse carefully cradled the newborn prince. Swaddled in heavy layers, only his wrinkled, sleeping face was visible.
After a long while, the moment the icy clean water touched the infant's forehead, the little prince's body gave a sharp jolt. His cries echoed throughout the church, sounding exceptionally loud and piercing. A resounding cry signified robust health, yet a faint, almost imperceptible sigh seemed to ripple through the crowd.
Sometime later, ointment was anointed upon the little prince's forehead, and the baptism concluded smoothly.
Following custom, Charles the Bald donated real estate, gold and silver vessels, precious fabrics, and a vast quantity of whale oil candles to the Basilica of Saint-Denis.
Having completed the requisite procedures, the royal family departed the church. A large crowd of shabbily dressed commoners had gathered outside. The palace guards distributed bread and silver pennies among them, showcasing the benevolence of the royal family.