“The third Dawn past the Ides the unclad priests
does see, as well the rites of two-horned Faun.
Now tell, O Muse, these rites, their provenance,
and whence they came forth to our Latian halls.”
Ovid, Fasti
...today should have excellent weather for the annual Lupercal race, as it's looking like it will be around 16° with light clouds.
Giosua turned the dial on the radio and a station from Eugepae came on, playing something upbeat and poppy. As the van turned onto the empty Strata d’Adriano, he glanced through the rearview mirror at the young man who was his passenger, and who had more often than not been his passenger on every trip for the last seven years, when Giosua Fontane had been appointed as Special Bodyguard to the Crown Prince. No one ever notices the bodyguards, but the bodyguards noticed everything, and nobody knew the King of Astrolinium better than Giosua Fontane. This morning, as the pair passed through the island’s streets, his young charge was quiet, lounging across the back seat, a bagel in one hand and a copy of the NS World News in the other. It was how he spent his mornings, and he would let neither festival nor official visit alter that.
The small Astrolinian flags on the roof of the van whipped about in the wind as it made its way through the farms which dominated the flat, fertile land between the Town and Western Airfield.
The tarmac at Western Airfield was nearly empty, save for the vehicles waiting to receive the plane which Emperor Nathaniel had chartered. Planes were, of course, noisy and cumbersome, and so the Office of Tourism had made sure most of Astrolinium’s visitors knew that the ferry was the way to go. Heads of state, however, rarely took the ferry, and today’s visitor would be no exception. Only a few puffy, white clouds dotted the sky here and there, making it an excellent morning to fly, anyway. As the King and Giosua pulled onto the tarmac, His Majesty finally looked up from his paper.
“Who’s here so far?” he asked.
Giosua scanned the tarmac. A few other cars had already arrived.
He responded, “Well, there’s Dr. Romero’s Porsche. I think Emi’s with him, he must have given her a ride. Not seeing the Chrinthani ambassador’s license plate, but – well, look, here’s the car with the soldiers. Looks like most of us are here, then.”
The King nodded, folding up his paper and tossing it onto the tray table in front of him.
“Well, then,” he said, “let’s say hello.”
The wind was high as the King stepped out onto the tarmac. Such occasions normally found him in his green jacket, but today was a holiday, and he would be dressed for it. A white suit jacket with tasteful, golden epaulets sat over a gold vest, a white shirt and gold tie beneath it. His pants matched the jacket, but his belt and boots were both black faux leather. A broad crimson-purple sash, colored like the stripe on a Roman senator’s toga, lay diagonally across his torso, and the only sign of Astrolinian green was a small pin affixed to his lapel: the nation’s flag with a crown sitting atop it. He hadn’t bothered to spend the time he normally did styling his hair this morning – whether he styled it or not, the winds on this part of the island would see to it that he left with a windswept look to him.
As he stepped out onto the tarmac, he was met by a simultaneous wave from Dr. Giovanni Romero, the island’s Secretary of Foreign Affairs, and Emilia Caralico, the Secretary of Defense. He glanced at Giosua and said, “They’ve been spending an awful lot of time together lately, haven’t they?”
Giosua shrugged. “It’s been, what, three years of sneaking around for them now? I imagine it must get tiring.”
The King grinned. “Yes, well, if the Herald-Internationale ever found out, it’d have a field day whining about corruption or something like that. Nonsense, but they knew what they were getting into.”
Dr. Giovanni Romero was a tall, tanned man with strong brows and a high forehead. No matter the occasion, he would be found with a tan trenchcoat on over whatever suit he might wear, and a pair of dark sunglasses. Emilia Caralico, on the other hand, was a shorter woman, physically wide but more because of muscle than fat, her mousey brown hair usually pulled into a tight bun. Neither the King nor Giosua really understood what the two saw in each other, and the King often wondered whether their secret relationship would really last if it lost the element of secrecy.
Giovanni leaned against the door of his Porsche, a bright blue model. In his right hand he held a cigarette, its end alight with a faint, red glow. Emilia, in contrast, stood directly upright, decked out in the beige of her dress uniform. As the King approached the pair, he called out to them.
“How much longer until our guest arrives?”
Giovanni dropped his cigarette to the ground and put it out under the heel of his boot. He pointed towards the sky behind the King. “Well, that’s his plane now, I think, so I’d say quite soon.”
The King whipped around and scanned the sky, frowning at the approaching plane. “He’s early! Everyone, places!”
As the Emperor’s plane landed, it would find itself greeted by a small party – the King and Dr. Romero in the front, Giosua and Emilia Caralico behind them, all flanked by a small contingent of Astrolinian soldiers decked out in dress beige. Hardly what the King imagined Nathaniel was used to, but as much as the Sublime Island Kingdom ever mustered, particularly on the day of a festival.
Giosua turned the dial on the radio and a station from Eugepae came on, playing something upbeat and poppy. As the van turned onto the empty Strata d’Adriano, he glanced through the rearview mirror at the young man who was his passenger, and who had more often than not been his passenger on every trip for the last seven years, when Giosua Fontane had been appointed as Special Bodyguard to the Crown Prince. No one ever notices the bodyguards, but the bodyguards noticed everything, and nobody knew the King of Astrolinium better than Giosua Fontane. This morning, as the pair passed through the island’s streets, his young charge was quiet, lounging across the back seat, a bagel in one hand and a copy of the NS World News in the other. It was how he spent his mornings, and he would let neither festival nor official visit alter that.
The small Astrolinian flags on the roof of the van whipped about in the wind as it made its way through the farms which dominated the flat, fertile land between the Town and Western Airfield.
The tarmac at Western Airfield was nearly empty, save for the vehicles waiting to receive the plane which Emperor Nathaniel had chartered. Planes were, of course, noisy and cumbersome, and so the Office of Tourism had made sure most of Astrolinium’s visitors knew that the ferry was the way to go. Heads of state, however, rarely took the ferry, and today’s visitor would be no exception. Only a few puffy, white clouds dotted the sky here and there, making it an excellent morning to fly, anyway. As the King and Giosua pulled onto the tarmac, His Majesty finally looked up from his paper.
“Who’s here so far?” he asked.
Giosua scanned the tarmac. A few other cars had already arrived.
He responded, “Well, there’s Dr. Romero’s Porsche. I think Emi’s with him, he must have given her a ride. Not seeing the Chrinthani ambassador’s license plate, but – well, look, here’s the car with the soldiers. Looks like most of us are here, then.”
The King nodded, folding up his paper and tossing it onto the tray table in front of him.
“Well, then,” he said, “let’s say hello.”
The wind was high as the King stepped out onto the tarmac. Such occasions normally found him in his green jacket, but today was a holiday, and he would be dressed for it. A white suit jacket with tasteful, golden epaulets sat over a gold vest, a white shirt and gold tie beneath it. His pants matched the jacket, but his belt and boots were both black faux leather. A broad crimson-purple sash, colored like the stripe on a Roman senator’s toga, lay diagonally across his torso, and the only sign of Astrolinian green was a small pin affixed to his lapel: the nation’s flag with a crown sitting atop it. He hadn’t bothered to spend the time he normally did styling his hair this morning – whether he styled it or not, the winds on this part of the island would see to it that he left with a windswept look to him.
As he stepped out onto the tarmac, he was met by a simultaneous wave from Dr. Giovanni Romero, the island’s Secretary of Foreign Affairs, and Emilia Caralico, the Secretary of Defense. He glanced at Giosua and said, “They’ve been spending an awful lot of time together lately, haven’t they?”
Giosua shrugged. “It’s been, what, three years of sneaking around for them now? I imagine it must get tiring.”
The King grinned. “Yes, well, if the Herald-Internationale ever found out, it’d have a field day whining about corruption or something like that. Nonsense, but they knew what they were getting into.”
Dr. Giovanni Romero was a tall, tanned man with strong brows and a high forehead. No matter the occasion, he would be found with a tan trenchcoat on over whatever suit he might wear, and a pair of dark sunglasses. Emilia Caralico, on the other hand, was a shorter woman, physically wide but more because of muscle than fat, her mousey brown hair usually pulled into a tight bun. Neither the King nor Giosua really understood what the two saw in each other, and the King often wondered whether their secret relationship would really last if it lost the element of secrecy.
Giovanni leaned against the door of his Porsche, a bright blue model. In his right hand he held a cigarette, its end alight with a faint, red glow. Emilia, in contrast, stood directly upright, decked out in the beige of her dress uniform. As the King approached the pair, he called out to them.
“How much longer until our guest arrives?”
Giovanni dropped his cigarette to the ground and put it out under the heel of his boot. He pointed towards the sky behind the King. “Well, that’s his plane now, I think, so I’d say quite soon.”
The King whipped around and scanned the sky, frowning at the approaching plane. “He’s early! Everyone, places!”
As the Emperor’s plane landed, it would find itself greeted by a small party – the King and Dr. Romero in the front, Giosua and Emilia Caralico behind them, all flanked by a small contingent of Astrolinian soldiers decked out in dress beige. Hardly what the King imagined Nathaniel was used to, but as much as the Sublime Island Kingdom ever mustered, particularly on the day of a festival.
