More of Uvoren’s supporters stood and added their weight to Roper’s humiliation, though Roper noticed that the captain’s two sons, Unndor and Urthr, were not among them. Both sat scowling at the table but neither stood to speak, nor lent their voices to the Lothbrok cause. Had Uvoren’s casual choice of bride for the two proud men alienated them? It was common knowledge that neither was satisfied with the arrangement, particularly as the houses they had brought close, Nadoddur and Oris, were of almost unrivalled irrelevance.
Under cover of another hoot aimed at Roper, Gray leaned across the table. “He must be broken soon, lord,” he muttered. A disquieting episode lay heavily on both their minds. On their way to the council that day, Uvoren had fallen into line with them. The sight of the Black Lord had initiated no more than stares and resentful silences. Then the crowds had spotted Uvoren, which had prompted a great and raucous cheer. The captain had acknowledged it sternly, raising a leather-gloved fist in response to the crowds as he rode past. The glory of Roper’s last campaign had faded quickly and while the subjects of the Hindrunn had not sent their eastern cousins back onto the streets, Roper was once again staggeringly unpopular. He was such a recent lord that people only seemed to remember the last thing he had done and base their opinion of him on that.
“How?” Roper asked, watching Uvoren laugh uproariously at another blow aimed at his leadership. I thought I had you. He had the energy of an ocean current.
Across the polished bog-oak, Roper could see the Chief Historian looking at him wearily. The greatest warriors can fight in any theatre.
“Smother him,” said Gray. “You always need to be a step ahead. Make sure he has not a single opportunity to further advance his reputation. He has earned himself huge adulation simply through minor gestures about the fortress. Remove his opportunities for glory. Send him on a fool’s errand to keep him occupied, while you raid south. Dismantle his allies, one by one, until he has nothing left. And then, when he is small enough, force him to disgrace himself.”
One by one.
The room seemed to change before Roper. He was no longer sitting at the Stone Throne. His perspective, duller, less vivid but somehow starker, had shifted to one of the obscure chairs about the table. The other occupants had changed too, and the light had faded.
On his right sat Pryce, but not as Roper now knew him. He was a colder, more intimidating version.
Opposite Pryce was the Sacred Guardsman, Hartvig Uxison. He sat next to Baldwin, the Legion Tribune. Next to him were Unndor and Urthr Uvorenson; they were opposite their father. Vinjar, the Councillor for Agriculture, Legate Randolph, and Legate Tore. Also sitting at the table were two darker figures: Gosta and Asger. They did not matter any more.
Roper remembered every one of them. They had all sat at this table months before, in the aftermath of the battle that had claimed his father. Two were dead. One now served him. He would have the rest.
He leaned over to Gray, eyes always on Uvoren, who was regarding the two of them with something like triumph. “My understanding is that Vigtyr the Quick would be able to break Uvoren’s allies for us.”
Gray went very still. “Who told you that?”
“Tekoa. You know him?”
“I know him,” said Gray. Vigtyr was widely regarded as the finest swordsman in the country but had never been appointed to the Sacred Guard because of questions over his temperament. Instead he was a lictor in Ramnea’s Own Legion. He had a dark reputation. It was said that Vigtyr cultivated favours as other men bred sheep. This in turn gave this wildly ambitious man influence and access to a great array of secrets. It was he whom Roper had seen observing the Sacred Guard so intently at prayer whilst they were on campaign.
“I cannot make your decisions for you, lord. All I can say is no matter how desperate I was, nor how terrible Uvoren seemed, I would never turn to Vigtyr. Do you hear me? Using a man like that would cost you more than you can possibly afford.”
“If you say so, but how else am I to break Uvoren’s allies?”
“We wait for them to make a mistake.”
Roper was not sure that he had that long. Gray seemed sincere, so he put Vigtyr from his mind for the moment. He weathered the storm of the council, standing at the end to address the concerns raised in more measured tones, though he could tell he had not been convincing and left the chamber with the feeling that this situation was escalating beyond his control. He bade goodbye to Gray and disappeared into the obscurity of one of the spiral staircases that surrounded the Central Keep, rising several storeys to his quarters.
Roper wished that he lived in a different building from that which housed the Chamber of State, so that he could feel that the day’s business was left in the keep and his time in his quarters was his own. Or that, just for a few moments, he could feel cool air
