Dearest Ariadne,

That is an irritating way to begin a letter, as you are neither dear to me or actually named Ariadne. Still I acknowledge that I am in debt to you and that these letters form part of the payment that is owed. I shall attempt therefore to address you in the tone of a dutiful pupil, which, in my own way, I suppose I am.

I arrived at Remas a month ago, coming from Trantio with Lucio Telli, one of the younger cousins of the Triumvir. He is more vapid and empty headed than most men, interested only in hawking, hunting, and women. We are, I am afraid, a distant third in the equation, Lucio being much more interested in chasing stags than chasing does. The journey south was an unpleasant one, though we managed to avoid becoming entangled in the border disputes by hugging the coast, a region in which smuggling is so prevalent and control so uncertain that no one much bothers with it. 

According to Lucio most of Remas' troops are in the south fighting against Verezzo, but I think it just as likely that he was embarrassed by his city's demonstrable lack of control and was making that up. By the time we reached the city we were all throughrouly sick of each other. 

Lucio set out for his hunting lodge within less than a day in the city, having no doubt had the pleasure of telling his cousin that the mission to Trantio had been a failure and that peace had not broken out. Doubtless Marco, who is much less of an idiot than Lucio, never really intended it to and was simply looking to save face and get his dim witted cousin out of the city long enough that the economy might shudder with relief at his decreased dissipation of the public funds. 

In Lucio's absence I was required to find my own quarters. Fortunately this was easily achieved as I was approached by one of the court artists on my first day in town who immediately declared that if I ever had need of him I need but call. Fabrio is his name, and he extolled at some length  the virtues of my fine skin, my wavy chestnut hair, my flashing brown eyes. Probably he also appreciated my generous bosom and shapely bottom, but he was too refined to come right out and say it. Fabrio was more than willing to offer me lodging with him as one of his models, much to the irritation of his current model, a cattish thing who claimed to be from Sartosa but whose accent screams of a local village in a nasal and unpleasant way. And so I ensured a room for the cost of a few hours of posing for oils each week. 

The court here is very corrupt in absolute terms but funnily enough this is somewhat less of the case in relative terms. There are, in effect, three courts, one for each Triumvir and as a matter of policy they agree on nothing, save the machinations of the other two must be stopped at any cost. Such mutual antipathy prevents the level of graft from growing too high, as at least two people are always willing to blow the whistle on anyone too obvious about sating his or her needs.


I had been busily making friends at court for several weeks, waiting for the Lucinni emissaries to arrive when the strangest thing happened. An Embassy from the unwashed potato eaters arrived ahead of the expected peace delegation. Quite the grim faced, bewhiskered bunch they looked too, all scowls and marching boots. I was on the walls to see them arrive and remarked on it. One of the hired swords beside me grunted. He mentioned having been to a place called Bonhoften where he had seen Imperials fight, and should not like to see that happen again. Given the normal swagger of a condotiarii around a pretty woman, I was inclined to believe him.

Speaking of pretty. There was on particularly striking man with them. Some kind of official I think, though of what sort or function I do not yet know. I will be sure to write further once I know more.

Your Dutiful [s]Friend[/s] [s]Daughter[/s] [s]Ward[/s] Minion,
Camilla