Riot - a Story of Thalassa

                                                Riot: A Story of Thalassa

The riot started the day they announced formally the birth of a daughter to the queen, Thalassa.  Of course, the child had been born fully a week before.  The announcement could only been made when it was pronounced healthy, and the queen had recovered sufficiently to stand on the balcony, presenting the new baby girl to the crowd below.

There were the customary cheers, of course.  But not as many as expected.  And mainly from the women who were there with their men, whose sleeves were for the most part chained to their chests, as was traditional – and right.  Bodyguards only had their arms free.  Now there was a murmuring amongst the men, a suggestion of discontent.   Terchet, the queen’s chief advisor, spoke over the murmuring, bidding them welcome the queen’s daughter.  But the noise grew, and became a tumult.  Then someone threw a stone.

Instantly, chaos broke out.  Violence against any woman, let alone the queen and her advisor, was unheard of.  The chaining of men’s arms was only for show.  Now bodyguards, all eunuchs, all fanatically loyal, drew their heavy sticks and prepared to fight against those men who seemed to be willing to join in the lawlessness, and to brawl even in the Palace’s Outer Courtyard.

Despite Thalassa herself using voice-amplification to beg for calm, the disorder grew.  Now there was a scuffle on the ceremonial staircase leading to the balcony and Terchet hustledthem away from the turbulence.

Safe in the inner depths of the palace, Thalassa gave the babe to a nursemaid and faced Terchet.  “What is going on?”

“No need to worry, your majesty.  Palace Guards – with our top female officers, of course - will soon put an end to the upheaval.  The perpetrators will meet with summary justice.”

“That is not what I asked.”  Thalassa drew herself to her full height, ignoring the weakness in her legs, which was not totally due to the recent birth. “I asked what was going on.  What was that about?”

Terchet’s lips thinned.  “Your majesty.  Someone has been rumour -mongering. Amongst the men” – and the ice in her voice would have frozen water on the balmiest of days – “Amongst the men, the story has spread that should the queen have the misfortune to give birth to a boy, rather than the expected daughter…” She glanced at the baby, still sleeping in the arms of the nursemaid.  “They are saying that should this happen, we murder the boy and substitute a girl of the right age”

Thalassa, too, looked at her daughter, with love which almost overrode the horror of the rumour.  “How appalling,” she said.  “As if any in the Palace would countenance such a thing!”

“Indeed not, your majesty. We would never condone murder – that would be a male reaction to such an event.  Be assured that the male child you unfortunately gave birth to seven days ago…” She paused as she saw shock render Thalassa’s face bloodless.  “Be assured he is well-placed, and will be found a position as suits his limited male abilities.  You may concentrate on she who is now your daughter without any worries on that score.”

 (This was set as a writing exercise in our writing class.  We chose a word beginning with the third letter of our surname, and looked it up on a thesaurus, and used 10 of the synonyms plus the originalk word in a story.  I decided to move my Thalassa story on a bit)

Key Word: Riot.

Synonyms: Tumult, Chaos, Violence, Fight (v), Lawlessness, Brawl (v), Disorder, Scuffle, Turbulence, Upheaval.

Thalassa

Sorry for delay in putting more stuff on this blog.  Here is a stort which I may well use as the start of a novel - what do you think?  (Copyright as usual)

Thalassa

Thalassa smiled.  Today was the day of her Enthronement, the day when she received the Torque, symbol of the totality of her power in Anardill.  Since the Sisters had preferred her over the others who were eligible on the death of the last Matriarch, she had of course, ruled, but today she would be seated on the Chair of Judgement, presented with the Torque, and the whole world would know her power.

She walked down the lines of representatives from many countries, here for the Ceremony.  To her distress many lands had sent men, despite the widespread knowledge of the customs of Anardill, of her land.  Of course, Ambassadors, who could reside here for years, were all female, with men kept for subservient or menial roles, as was right.  But some still allowed their barbarism to show by sending male representatives to her Enthronement!

Nevertheless she smiled and nodded courteously, moving at a steady pace, the heavy brocade with its gold thread embroidery helping her do so.  She would have to get used to this – no more running like a fercat through the courtyards, cellars and attics of the palace complex.

Now she was on the wide balcony overlooking the city square. The square was crowded with her subjects, the women prominent with their hair piled up elaborately in honour of the occasion.  Some had men with them as bodyguards – a job their bulk made them suitable for. The other men kept demurely to the edge of the square, bare heads bowed modestly, left arms loosely attached to their tunics, a reminder of the old days when men, because of their innate bodily strength and vicious tendencies, had to be physically restrained.  Nowadays, naturally, no civilised man of Anardill would think of challenging a woman.  But they made good soldiers – under female officers, it went without saying – and male bodyguards added prestige, and even, occasionally, safety, with so many foreigners living in the city. 

                    …………………………………………………

Later, toward the end of the State Banquet, her Chief Advisor, Terchet, approached her.  Thalassa fought down a feeling of nervousness – now, Terchet was hers to command, not She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed.  But the years of training, of subservience to the older woman, were not easily put aside.  And the nervousness was compounded by the knowledge of why she had come.  Because of what came next, Thalassa had eaten sparingly, and drunk only wine enough to speed the blood, not slow the mind.

Terchet bowed.  “My Lady, the chosen males are assembled in the Holding Room.  Now is the hour appointed by the astrologers.  If you would come to make your choice?”

As they made their way down the long corridors and wide staircases toward the room at the back of the ground floor, Terchet spoke.  “My Lady, we have selected ten. They have been rigorously examined, and their bloodlines investigated. They have been put through the tests for their physical attributes, and have bested others in the arena. They are well trained socially, and their mental qualities are as high as one can expect in any of the male sex – sufficient, anyway, that they will not hold back the intelligence that any child will inherit from you.  As to looks – we have tried for a variety of outward appearances, representative of the varied provinces of this land, and all, I think I may say, are sufficiently handsome that spending the necessary time with them will be no hardship.”

Thalassa nodded graciously, hoping to hide her embarrassment.  It was one thing discussing all this with the other Candidates amongst giggles and nudges, but quite another to hear the calm, measured tones of her Chief Advisor talking of male attractions.

“If I may, my Lady, presume to offer some advice?”  When Thalassa nodded again, Terchet carried on.  “Look carefully at Grinzig – he’s the southerner, with his hair worn in their traditional queue.  His family is excellent, he has proved his fertility in his home city, he has served as a soldier so would bring the necessary vitality into the royal line…and he is not unattractive.”

“How old is he?  A father already you say?  So he is not a virgin?”

“He is thirty-five summers old.  A little older than you might wish, perhaps.”

“He is more than twice my age,” said Thalassa sharply.  “But he has other good points, I acknowledge. We will see.”

The female officers saluted smartly and opened the heavy wooden doors.  Ten males stood there, guarded by two more officers.  At a command from one of them, the men knelt, heads bowed.  Terchet indicated that the doors should be shut, then stood with her back against them. Thalassa slowly paced along the line then spoke. “Stand up men: I can hardly judge you when all I can see is the tops of your heads!”

When they were all standing again, she looked up and down the line with a feeling of vague disappointment.  They were all so…malleable, so obedient, so spiritless.  So unlike those in the Romances smuggled into the Training Palace from over the borders, or via the port.  She could see what Terchet meant about Grinzig, she supposed, but even with the wine in her, he did not set her blood coursing.

Then her eyes saw the figure at the end of the line.  He was darker than the others, and, although dressed in the customary robes, he looked different – his hair was a little wild, and his eyes were looking at her in a most immodest way.  “What is that one’s name?” she asked Terchet.  “Where is he from?”

Tercet’s lips narrowed.  “I apologise, my Lady.  He is from one of the mountain tribes, included for political reasons, to placate them as they are restless at the moment.  Unfortunately, they are infected with some of the heretical ideas from over the border.  He will be well whipped for his impertinence in looking at you.”

“I asked you his name.”

“Something totally unpronounceable.  But as he is almost as untameable as a fercat, we have given him the soubriquet of Kitling. But he need concern you no longer. If Grinzig does not take your fancy, the islander is attractive.”

“No,” said Thalassa, and smiled at the mountain man – not much more than a lad, really, about her age. To Terchet’s horror, he grinned back… and…was that a wink?  “No, having given it due consideration, I choose Kitling.”

She turned to find out what the noise was.  Terchet had slumped to the floor in a deep swoon.

Thalassa smiled.