I need a purple, not just any purple, something imperial, something noble. I need a purple that reflects our past, a purple that projects power, that sends a signal to the wayward hordes up here on the very fringes of the Empire. I need Tyrian purple.
I am beyond the wall, in untamed territory. I am without the support of the mother nation. She is too far away to be of any help now. She is weeks away. I need to think for myself, act in her best interest, represent her yet I cannot ask for her help. I am on my own.
My purple cloak is picked up by the wind, the cold wind that blows down from the mountains. It is always cold here, always windy yet the sun is out. I see its glint on their swords as they approach, a small band following the well-worn drovers’ road.
No doubt they have seen me. Their demeanour has stiffened. They are walking with purpose. They can see my cloak and they understand everything that the colour represents. They can feel the majesty of the Tyrian purple.