Sputtering torches illumed the faces of the dozen-odd principes standing guard at the road reaching into Segesta, the gentle snow threatening to douse the exposed flames. The guards drew their swords and barred the road upon hearing the sound of horse footfalls; out of the shadows emerged several horsemen carrying cavalry shields and spears; at the front of the cavalry column rode a tall and harrowing man, whose eyes burned like disconsolate coals in the torchlight. He wore a V- shaped tusk of feathers in his helmet and bore the royal House of Julii signet on his shield. The picket soldiers were not impressed; they demanded to know the cavalry's business, as they were not expected.
The leader announced, "I am Gaias Servius. I have been dispatched by Lucius Silvanus, who sits in the chair of the House of Julii. I must be allowed conversation with the legion's general, Antonius the Second."
The picket soldiers glanced amongst themselves. "Who did you say dispatched you?"
"Lucius Silvanus."
"He does not sit in the chair of the House of Julii. Antonius' father, Antonius the First-"
"Has been deceased for weeks now," Gaias growled. "Lucius Silvanus, brother of the First and uncle to the Second, has taken his place." He paused, let the words sink in, then added, "I am here to bring the awful news to the young general. He is being called on by the Senate to take his father's place. Silvanus is only temporary. A fill-in. Will I be allowed conversation with your young leader?"
"How come no news of this has reached us before? Power changing hands is big news."
"It is a long distance to travel. News takes time to reach the frontier. The Senate is eager – no time can be wasted? Must I have your name, soldier?"
The soldier licked his lips, contemplated, shook his head. "No. You may pass. Aurelius will show you to the town."
"Thank you," Gaias said, and they rode past, vanishing in the darkness. The torches continued to burn and the snow continued to fall.
Antonius sat in the back of the room, watching the soldiers put on a play they had invented to please the general this night. Antonius had given the soldiers much freedom, a congratulations to the great victory many weeks past. The soldiers themselves celebrated with games of cards, throwing dice, and inventing comical plays. Some even dared to re-enact Antonius falling from his horse, shedding a comical light on the subject; any other general would've been incensed, his own heroism being muddled with laughter; but Antonius simply laughed and applauded, and offered them the best wine from one of the many town cellars they had uncovered. A soldier with a horn trumpeted and announced the next play would be one re-enacting the fall of Alexander the Great in the fetid jungles of eastern Asia. Antonius had learned much of Alexander the Great, his demise to the warrior Indian elephants, the great name he had written for Macedonia. He tapped Helonius, said, "This is going to be a good one," and drank from his red wine, let the burning liquid spread through him, warming his front; his back cooked against a sputtering fire.
Antonius let his thoughts sink into the play when suddenly the doors right behind the 'actors' burst open. Antonius reached for his sword; the actors jumped at the sound and stared at the wide doors. Snow draped inside and several soldiers carrying swords and wearing armor laced with the emblem of Julii entered the dining hall. Everyone froze, staring, the faces unfamiliar; Antonius looked over them, didn't recognize them at all; but he felt a sensation, a foreboding dread, and his instincts told him to take up the sword. His fingers brushed the hilt and he demanded to know why the entertainment had been disrupted.
The tallest and most fierce of the soldiers walked across the hall, all eyes trailing, and stood before the great table behind which Antonius, Helonius, and several others sat. Helonius looked between the newcomer and Antonius, wondering what Antonius would have him do. Antonius just stared at the man, who finally announced, "I am Gaias Servius, loyal servant to Lucius Silvanus, the leader of the House of Julii."
Hushes and gasps and ponderings rippled through the audience. Antonius froze, except for his mouth: "What blasphemy do you speak?"
A crooked smile twisted over his face. "Young and fair General, you are so ignorant. I pity you and everyone who shares your name; weeks ago your father murdered his wife and threatened to take the life of his own brother, Lucius
Silvanus. Lucius was forced to take the life of your father, and now he sits upon the chair of Julii."
Antonius leapt to his feet, eyes afire, lips steaming: "Lies!" Gaias shouted over his shoulder: "Guards! Seize him!"
Half a dozen soldiers armed with swords made way towards Antonius; Antonius' loyal soldiers just stared, not knowing what to do; the guards began their trek around the table to apprehend the general, shoving Roman officers against the wall to get to him.
Helonius' eyes spoke volumes; he looked to Antonius; Antonius mouthed, No! Helonius whipped around, drew his spatha sword, and curved it through the air, cutting the throat of one of the guards; blood splayed across the wall and he fell onto the table, rolling over and onto the floor; Antonius shouted, "Helonius! Drop your sword!" Helonius struck at the second guard, but the second guard parried, thrusting Helonius back; Helonius stumbled; the guard struck; Helonius ducked, the blade cutting over his head and striking the hearth; Helonius drove his sword into the man's gut, twisted it, and ripped it out; blood sprinkled all over the cobblestone floor and the man pitched forward.
Gaias hollered, "Kill him!"
Antonius felt the hands of the guards take his arms and wrench them behind his back. His long hair fell before his eyes. He did not protest the arraignment; Helonius drew his blade and stared at the third and last soldier approaching him; Antonius hollered, "Helonius! Drop your sword! That is a command!" Helonius did not hear him; his eyes funneled into tunnel vision and he saw only the wicked face of the cutthroat Roman before him, the traitor of a thousand shades of color. Helonius struck; Antonius shouted, "No!" Helonius' sword clashed with the sword of his opponent, who threw him back and struck him in the leg; Helonius shouted and twisted his body, shoulder slamming into the hearth. The guard struck again, this time piercing the flesh of Helonius' wrist; Helonius cursed and the sword fell. The guard put the tip of his sword to Helonius' throat and Helonius froze.
Antonius snapped his eyes over to Gaias. "Let him live! I come peaceably!" Gaias gave him a wicked stare, then to the guard: "Run the infidel through." Helonius looked to the ceiling, a desperate plea to the gods, but received no answer. His eyes shuddered as the sword pierced his throat, slashing the esophagus and tracheas. Strength left him immediately; the worst pain imaginable sent excruciating shockwaves into his skull and the sword was removed, dripping
with his fresh blood; the guard sneered. Helonius turned, unconsciousness stealing upon him; Antonius felt tears in his eyes as Antonius swaggered for him, reaching with shaking fingers; Helonius fell against him, clawing at his uniform; he slid to the ground, and Antonius knelt beside him, the guards barely protesting. He gripped Helonius' hands as the proud bodyguard gave his best friend one last look, and Antonius told him, in unspeakable volumes, Do not worry. I will honor you in everything I do. Helonius' eyes rolled into the back of his head and he collapsed against the hearth, blood staining the chest of his uniform a vibrant red. Antonius stood, calm and stoic, and he sent a stare of electricity at Gaias; Gaias stumbled for words for a moment, that glare cutting through him like charred ice; finally he collected himself and said, looking to all those watching, "By order of Lucius Silvanus, the ruler of the House of Julii, I am now the commander of this Army." He walked over to the edge of the table, leaned over the assorted fishes and vegetables, the drinks of wine, and said in a low voice, right to Antonius' face, "Take this man into the woods. Execute him there."
Antonius grunted as the soldiers taxied him around the table. His wild hair fell before his eyes and he snarled to Gaias, "The time for honoring yourself is soon to come to an end, Commander."
Gaias sneered, said to the guards, "Give him a clean death. A soldier's death." Antonius gave Gaias one last glower as the soldiers wrenched him from the dining hall, out into the blinding snow. Gaias watched him go and said aside, "That is the last I shall ever see of that man."
II
The snow fell between the twisted limbs and charred boles of the Gallic frontier; the cavalry rode into the darkness. Three horses and one prisoner; Antonius had been bound with rope at the hands and thrown on the back of the middle rider, and the three galloped far from the town. Antonius grimaced against the blinding cold, the snowflakes stinging his eyes. He was positioned in front of the rider upon whose horse he rode, and he gritted his teeth and breathed hoarsely, seeing Helonius' death over and over in his mind and hearing Gaias' words about his brutal father. He would not believe it; could not believe it. He did not move against the cold, but in the shadows between the rider and himself, he twisted the tight rope back and forth against his palms; the skin turned red and chaffed, and started to bleed, but the rope came loose. It dropped down the side of the horse
and was lost on the winding trail. The cavalrymen continued to ride for nearly ten minutes before the lead pulled his horse back, emerging into a small clearing.
The lead rider dismounted, tying his horse to the bole of a tree. "We'll do it here," he said.
Antonius was given a shove and he fell off the horse; he did not let his arms block the fall, but rolled onto his back to conceal the missing rope. The snow burnt his arms, seared his broken and bloodied hands. He stared upwards into a mesh of thick snowflakes spiraling all around him. The other rider dismounted as well, tying his horse to a bole and striding over, pulling the sword from its sheath. "How are we going to do this?"
The leader growled, "Just like Gaias said – clean and swift."
"Who's doing it?" the middle rider asked. They looked to each other. No one volunteered
Antonius watched the snowflakes. His heart shrieked and his instinct told him to grab the nearest traitor and smash his brains upon the trees; yet at the same time, the voice of his old instructor, hired by his loving father, echoed in the back of his mind: true strength is not forged in anger, but temperance; if you enter the thick of battle ancy and worried for your own life, you will certainly lose it; but if you are calm, composed, and clear-headed, nothing – not even the gods! – can break you! So Antonius closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, calming himself; he would pay attention to what was happening, think coolly, and act sensibly. Such was the way of the kingdom warrior.
"Someone has to do it," the third one said.
The leader cursed the gods. "Brutus! Hand me your sword." "My sword? Why don't you use your sword?"
"Then you slay him!"
Antonius leaned up on his elbows. "Can we get this over with?" he growled. The soldiers stared at him, completely amazed. He lay back into the snow; "Cowards."
His word cut through them; the prisoner mocking them for cowardice! Brutus scoffed and tossed his spatha to the leader, whom ordered, "Pull the prisoner up. We do it like he told us. A clean death. A soldier's death." He stared at Antonius as the other two prisoners hoisted him forward so he was kneeling, eyes closed and breathing deep. The soldier felt an inaudible cry go out from him, a well of admiration leaking envy for the man before him. He pitied the fact that such a worthy and noble warrior would come to an ungodly end in the middle of the
Gallic woods. The soldier looked up to the sky, praying the gods were not watching, as he prepared to demonstrate the most gruesome act. The blade was cold and the handle cold as well; he raised it up, the blade pointed to the small of Antonius' back. The other two soldiers backed off, backing up against their horses, watching in quiet admiration.
Antonius' eyes opened; he stared forward. Helonius. The soldier stabbed the sword downwards.
Antonius twisted his body to the side, the sword piercing the cold earth; at the same moment his legs fished out into the legs of the soldier, sending him tumbling to the side, leaving the sword stuck in the earth; Antonius released his hands, grabbing the sword wobbling in the ground. The soldier cried for help; Antonius spun on his knees and sent the blade into the base of the man's chin, up into the mouth and nasal cavities. The other soldiers raced towards him; he quickly drew the sword out and stood, the lead soldier spewing blood as he tried to breathe; the second soldier, bearing upon him, yelled to his surviving comrade, "Mount the horse! Return to the town! Alert Gaias!" He struck at Antonius; Antonius blocked it and kicked him in the side, throwing him back against the tree; Antonius struck and the soldier blocked, kicking snow up into Antonius' face.
The other soldier was untying his horse, hands tumbling over each other. Antonius was blinded by the snow; the soldier struck with his sword, piercing the general's side; Antonius grunted and fishtailed around the tree, twisting his blade beside him and into the flesh of the soldier. The soldier shrieked and fell forward, groping at his wound.
Antonius drew the bloodied sword from the man's side and turned to the cavalryman mounting his horse. Antonius gasped with each breath, the pain from the injury radiating through his entire body.
The horsemen kicked his steed in the side and galloped away.
Antonius ran to one of the horses, hacked the rope with his sword, and jumped on, kicking it hard in pursuit. The first horsemen was nearly lost in the snow, but Antonius followed hard, chasing a fleeting shadow. The trees spun by on either side; he gasped for breath, his side tingling in agony, the cold whispering lies down his throat, the world spinning in a cataclysm of distortion. He kicked his horse hard and could see he was gaining on the third soldier; the third kicked at his horse hard, too, but couldn't evade. Antonius was right behind him. The soldier looked back, saw the fire in Antonius' eyes and the blood soaking the side
of his dirtied uniform; and the soldier's eyes became global and he pressed the horse even harder, rocking back and forth upon its back.
The horse kicked snow into the face of Antonius' horse and the horse began to slow. Antonius wrenched it to the side and the snow no longer affected its speed; the two of them quickly gained on the other rider and his horse. Trees flashed between them. Antonius twisted the sword hilt in his hand, the blade spinning in the air, making quick cutting noises.
The other soldier reached for his sword and drew it; the trees between them vanished and Antonius closed the gap between them, striking with his sword. The horseman blocked it; Antonius struck; the horseman blocked. He struck again. The horseman's arm flinched. Antonius struck, but this time he struck in the opposite direction; the sword blade cut across the soldier's abdomen, drawing a deep and bloody line. The soldier shouted and released his sword in surprise. Antonius yanked his horse back over as a thick of trees came between them.
The traitor soldier leaned forward against the mane of his horse, breathing hard. He could see Antonius' horse in the gaps between the trees. He closed his eyes, felt the stinging snow, and opened them. Antonius' horse was gone. The trees vanished and he realized he was alone. He brought his horse to a halt, sent it spinning around between the trees. He sucked in his breath, for each expansion of his lungs tore agony through him and squirted blood onto the horse's neck. He swallowed hard in the cold, trying to find the general. It was clear he was alone. He turned the horse back towards the camp and nudged it in the sides. "Easy, girl. It's okay now…" The horse panted hard through its nose, breath crystallizing in milky clouds. They trotted through the woods, listening to the howling wind. "It's okay. He's running back home… To the Senate… It doesn't matter… We'll tell Gaias-"
He heard the cutting of the air, felt the splitting pain unlike anything he'd ever felt, and then all was weightless and freezing. He realized he was lying in the snow; suddenly it was warm; warm liquid poured all over his side. He raised his head, saw the hilt of the sword protruding from his side; a bitter taste welled within his mouth and he lay his head down, seeing now eight hooves instead of four. His vision faded in and out; in the last few seconds of his life he saw the snow all around him and the second horse slowly trotting away. He was left to bleed in the snow, forever forgotten, to become a pile of bones to be scattered by the wind.
The dining hall had been left deserted; all the soldiers were ordered back to their barracks and Gaias and those soldiers loyal to him had filled the room, the body of Helonius left beside the fire while the bodies of the fallen cutthroats were carried outside to be prepared for an honorable burial. The centurions were told lies about what had happened; Antonius had gone crazy at the news of his father's death and ran off into the woods, only to be discovered with several arrows in his body from Gallic guerilla soldiers. All who had witnessed the deeds committed in the dining hall were forced to take a vow of secrecy; the punishment for breaking such a vow of silence was straightforward: death. Gaias had booted them all out and let the rumors of Antonius' dementia ride through the camp. He sat upon the wooden table, back to the fire, two of his most trusted soldiers beside him.
"This land," Gaias breathed, "is a sweet land. It flows with milk and honey, as the Hebrews would say it. Can't you taste the harvest just by looking around? The Senate is run by a smorgasbord of fools – you do not seize a land so rich and expect the inhabitants to work their fullest to fill your stomachs. No. What you do is send a diplomat to the Gallic King, offer a gift of ten thousand denarii, and propose an alliance. Rome protects Gauls borders, and Gaul provides us with food to feed our children's mouths." He smirked. "War with Gaul? Not a chance. Not in Silvanus' lifetime anyhow."
The soldiers gaped at him; one croaked, "Rome united with Gaul? Is that possible?"
"For ten thousand denarii," Gaias said, "anything is possible. Don't forget that our party has quite a history for these people. We betrayed the Roman army into their hands in the second Gallic Wars. Silvanus himself organized it just before he slipped into hiding. He thirsted for his father's chair; his grandfather – Silvanus' great-grandfather – sat in the chair, and Silvanus knew that if he wiped out his own father, when his great-grandfather fell to mental illnesses, he would become heir, being the oldest between he and his brother Antonius the First. Except just before his 'unfortunate' end, their father made a pact that named his second-oldest son as heir to him! Not long after the ambush in the woods, Antonius the First's grandfather died, and the torch passed between two generations to him. Silvanus ducked into hiding, we know, but now he has re-emerged, rightful heir to the chair. And we shall completely change Rome."
He looked them in the eyes. "We will not simply be gathering wheat in our barns through Gaul's front doors, friends. No, we shall be amassing a Gallic Army and bring it against the Senate! The Senate will falter, and when the House
of Julii defeats the Gallic Army in a move the Gallic King will not expect, Rome's power will rest on Silvanus' shoulders. And Silvanus, with the armies of Brutii and Scipii underneath him, will brutally massacre the Gallic armies and force the Gauls to work their land twice as hard as if they were free men!"
He took a wild drink of bitter wine. "Do you not see – no, feel – the glory that will, in due time, overtake all of Rome? No – overtake the world?"
The soldiers licked their lips, not knowing what to say. They exchanged wiry glances.
Gaias shook his head. "You cretin fools will never underestimate the minds of higher thinkers. You are only pawns in a game. Depart from here! Leave me at peace to think! I will discover the soldiers loyal to Antonius and have them executed as a demonstration – per order of our noble Lucius Silvanus."
The soldiers did not move. "Leave!" Gaias demanded.
The soldiers saluted with a thump on their chests and departed out the front door, stepping into the twirling snow, shutting the door behind them. Silence engulfed the dining hall. Gaias closed his eyes, felt the fire warming his backside, heard the cackling flames, told himself he had much work to do; no time for idleness.
His eyes popped open. Had he heard something? He looked to the door, saw nothing. Heard nothing. He could've sworn – there! He was sure of it this time. The soldiers outside were throwing something against the walls of the hall, some awkward game for nitwits and half-brains. Gaias stormed to the front doors, grabbed the handles, ripped them open, aflame with rage. One of the soldiers stood before him, head bowed, sword in his hand. Dark liquid smeared the sword's blade. Gaias opened his mouth: "What is this nonsense?"
The head turned up, and between the snow passing before them, the eyes burned like sulfur.
Gaias drew a quick breath to shout but went fumbling backwards, punched in the chest. The wind flew out of him like a popped water-bag and he tumbled onto the floor, rolling over the cold cobblestone. Antonius stepped through the door, out of the snow, the candles all around the hall illuminating his dark armor, the newfound helmet upon his unkempt and soaked hair, the bloodied line cut across his side. The sword dangled from his right hand, the blade covered in blood. He marched towards Gaias on the floor; Gaias' sword was upon the table by the fireplace, several feet away; he scooted on his rear, moving like a crab with his
hands and feet, shaking his head. "Please, please-" The general shone like fire as if the god of Mars were cloaking him in His wings. "You don't understand-" Antonius twisted the hilt of the sword in his hand. "I understand perfectly."
Gaias lay under the general's shadow; the general plunged the spatha downwards; Gaias opened his mouth to shout for help but only a gurgle came out. The blade spliced through his throat, just as Helonius; blood squirted into the air and Antonius drew out the blade. Gaias rolled over onto his stomach, blood splattering on the stones. His eyes swam in a sea of hopelessness;
Antonius walked around him, knelt down, grabbed his hair in his left hand, and raised him onto his knees. He walked around, still holding him up with one hand and letting the shattered throat send its effuse all over the conspirator's uniform. Antonius raised the blade so it pointed right down towards the base of Gaias' neck. "A clean death," Antonius said. "A soldier's death."
He thrust the spatha into the base of the man's skull, down into the neck so the blade ran along the spinal column and even pierced the ribs. Gaias' body shuddered and Antonius yanked the blade out, the entire length dripping in red muck. He kicked the body down to the ground, where it lay sprawled; Gaias' eyes shrunk, he coughed blood onto the rocks, and was silent.
Not fifteen seconds had passed since Gaias had opened the front doors; now he lay in a pool of his own blood.
Antonius walked over to the table, where his father's sword still lay. He picked it up, looked at his dull reflection in the blade, turned, and headed for the open doors, the crying snow.
The wails of the loyal bodyguard could be heard from outside the barracks; they moaned, "How could we do such a thing? We have forsaken our tribute, and now we will certainly be executed by the new commander. We are pitiful Romans without any honor."
Antonius entered the barracks through the front door, looking at them all; they thought they were seeing a ghost! Antonius said, "No, it is I! By my command you held back your swords; you have lost no honor, but kept it intact. And now if you wish to do me greater service and claim your names as legends to be written in history, take up your sword and fight with me!"
The bodyguard eagerly agreed, and they grabbed their swords, following Antonius through the camp. They overpowered Lucius' regimen, and captured several others. In less than ten minutes the Segesta camp was under Antonius'
control. He spoke to one of his bodyguards: "Bring the prisoners to me. Awake the soldiers! We march tomorrow night!"
"March for where, sir? We cannot leave Segesta! The Gauls will retake it!"
"My father's name is stained in Rome and you think I care about the barbarians? By the time the morning sun sheds its light over the sea, we will be marching double-time to Rome, where I will take my rightful place as heir."
The loyal bodyguard, speaking not out of cowardice but wisdom, said, "Sir, there may be demons you must conquer before you plan to march to Rome. Demons such as brashness and obstinacy."
Antonius drew the soldier closed to him. "The only demon I have to conquer is sitting in my father's place."
The bodies of the slain traitors were burned, and Gaias' head put on a pole. Antonius was sure they suffered even worst fates than the Gallic savages against whom Julii had gone to war. As the flames rose high from mangled corpses, and Gaias' bloody eyes stared over the procession, Antonius stood before the entire Army stretched behind him, spread through the fields; he stood at the mouth of the town, where three wooden poles had been erected. Light barely peeked through the trees, the sun rising, as Antonius ordered the prisoners be brought out. They had been stripped naked, their white flesh shining like phantasms as they stumbled to the poles, driven by Roman soldiers. They looked at the poles as if they were the gates to Hades; Antonius lashed, "Rope them!" The soldiers were whirled around so their fronts faced the entire Army, and the Roman bodyguards pushed them against the poles, pulling their hands and feet behind them and tying them up; the prisoners slightly leaned forward, hair falling before their faces. The bodyguards scattered off to the sides and Antonius marched up to the prisoners, walking in front of them, staring them down with insatiable hate. His eyes spoke unprocurable volumes, and he turned his back to them, stared at the Roman army spread like a banquet before him, and let loose the sentence: "These men are condemned to die for pirating against Rome, spreading lies about Rome's finest leaders, attempting to sabotage the Gallic Wars, and plotting against the Senate of Rome!"
The prisoners raised their eyes to the turquoise sky, perhaps praying for deliverance. None came.
Antonius drew his father's spatha sword and walked up to the first prisoner. He locked gazes; the prisoner looked away, tears swelling in his eyes. Antonius did
not know mercy at that moment. He stepped to the side of the naked prisoner, placed the cool blade against the shivering, goose-bump covered flesh of the abdomen, pressed the blade deep against the skin; the prisoner whimpered, Adam's apple quavering; the blade ripped to the side, sinking into the flesh; the prisoner wheezed, eyeballs gaping like Greek saucers; Antonius removed the sword, opening the wound wide; the flesh curled up and intestines unraveled at the captive's feet, spilling bile and blood all over the muddied grass. The flesh grew even paler and the blood continued to gush as Antonius walked past to the middle prisoner and did the same; this soldier shrieked, and his shrieks died down as Antonius mercilessly slaughtered the final prisoner, bowels draping the earth in a bloody crown. The third closed his eyes and died in silence. Antonius could almost admire him.
The general sheathed his sword and grabbed one of his bodyguards. "We ride." III
Silvanus awaited news from Gaias that the Army had turned loyalty to the new leader, but the word never came. He smiled at the Senate meetings and patted Brutii and Scipii on the back; in the confines of the villa, however, he nervously paced in the bedroom, the kitchen, walked the balcony and looked to the north, expecting a rider to come, only seeing farmers working the land and traveling market caravans roaming the streets. He ate his dinners alone, tended to by new servants; his demeanor grew darker and colder until he hated everyone he met. He feared Gaias would take the army and try to disjoint from the House of Julii; his own imagination ran his mind in circles.
The evening came as he sat down at the table; the servant entered, announced, "Sir, a rider from the-" He was shoved out of the way by a guard, who fumbled against the table. He breathed hard, sweat pouring down his face. Silvanus rose, demanding to know what the disruption was all about.
The cavalryman saluted with a chest-thump and said in staggered sentences, "Sir, there is an army marching towards us!"
Silvanus cursed. "Gauls?"
"No, sir. They are Romans! They are marching against the city!"
He spun out of the dining hall, running down the steps, into the foyer, and out to the balcony. He looked into the distance, but the farmers were lazily getting ready
for spring. He heard the guard on his tails, lagging behind, and demanded, "How far?"
"A day's march. My horse has all but collapsed from the ride!"
"Send these orders to the Second Legion commander: prepare the Army to defend the city! And get the Senate assembled! There will be torment to pay this time tomorrow!"
"His name is Gaias Servius," Silvanus said before the Senate. It had only been an hour and a half since the news broke, and the Senate had been called from their mistresses and baths to bring themselves present upon the Floor. The Speaker of the Senate called Silvanus up to speak about the impending situation; the leaders of Brutii and Scipii watched in the corner, shaking their heads, bewildered. Silvanus looked over all the familiar faces, sensed a lack of appreciation for everything he'd done, tried to mask his own nervousness under stoic eyes and hawkish words. "He rose through the ranks of the Army and was disbanded a few months back. I elected him to take control of Antonius' Army after Antonius took his rightful place. I dispatched him two months ago, and he never returned – nor did the heir. Is it unreasonable to assume that Gaias, in his greedy desire for power, killed Antonius and is now marching the legion here to take my place? I don't see any other reasonable explanation! You may question my wisdom in choosing Gaias to be the new legion commander, and I assure you, my reasons were logically valid; but for my wisdom? This I cannot defend, for now he marches against us. A night shall pass and then he will be upon us!"
The Speaker of the Senate asked, "Shall we send negotiators?"
The leader of Brutii jumped up, taking Silvanus' spotlight. "We cannot negotiate with traitors to Rome! All Romans who rise against Rome are not foreign soldiers, but native turncoats. They are to be executed for treason!" Silvanus swallowed hard, hoped it didn't show. He kept the veil of deceit wired across his face. The leader of Brutii looked across the Senate and alleged, "We must move our forces against this opposing Army! We cannot wage war with Dacia and Carthage and Gaul and ourselves at the same time! We must show all of Rome what happens when its own proud warriors forsake their honor for grabs at power! Every of these Roman soldiers must be executed!"
Silvanus turned his head to see Scipii's leader running to the podium: "Do not address these insurrectionists are Romans! They are not true Romans! Anyone who raises their fist against Rome is not in any sense of the word Roman! Friends,
we know Rome is the Light. Rome is beauty, Rome is law, Rome is justice. Rome is everything good and sacred. Her enemies are not. Her enemies must be assimilated into Rome's ways – or destroyed. These rebels coming from Gaul had their chance to assimilate – I see no other choice."
The Senate speaker jumped into the fray. "And who, then, will rise against them? Scipii's armies are spread out into Dacia, and Brutii has its hands full with Carthage, a war that isn't going at all too well. Your training facilities in your respective provinces are filled with fresh recruits, unequipped with the skills to rise against their brethren – be they rebels or not – who have had experience in battle against the Gauls! And Scipii, Dacia is all but in your hands – to draw out any of your forces now would be to admit at the worst defeat and at the least trepidation; in any case, Dacian morale will boost and you'll be thrown back a dozen steps. Who will rise up?"
Brutii and Scipii both looked to Silvanus; Brutii said, "Send the armies of Julii. It is Julii's soldiers who have turned their backs on Rome. Shame them by sending them against their comrades-in-arms! Let Silvanus protect the city's gates!"
Silvanus felt the weight of their eyes boring into him; not just the House leaders, not just the Speaker, either; not even all of the Senate! For a moment he felt all the eyes of a million Romans looking at him; looking to him for salvation. He would be the Messiah, protecting Rome from all, hardened against even the most 'lovable' enemies. He would be hailed a Savior and given a royal parade. The history books would inscribe his name for centuries to come.
A smile crossed beneath his flesh, but on the outside he serenely knelt before the Senate and said, "This is my problem. It is a result of my own due error. I shall march the Second Legion against them. I take full responsibility for my actions." He continued to kneel, but raised his head, peering into everyone's eyes. "But don't be troubled; justice will be served."
The news of the approaching rebels rippled from the Senate, passing through every building, small and great, and wreaking havoc beyond the towering stone walls of the eternal city. Fathers returned to their homes, to their wives and children; kids asked what was happening as cellars were opened and food was taken down into stony basements. The streets filled with people trying to get home, trying to find friends and relatives, shouting and calling out; the market emptied as citizens raced for their homes; the sellers gathered their goods, loaded
their carts, and pedaled hard for their residences. Riders rode to the colonies, villages and farmsteads surrounding the city, warning of the impending disaster, galloping past the farmers and hollering for them to get inside the city. Farmers gathered their family and abandoned their homes, pulling themselves into the city, left to sleep in the wintry cold out on the streets. The fields were abandoned, harvesting equipment left to rust; farmhouses were boarded up and families prayed to their ancestors, the words of Silvanus echoing throughout all of the province: "The rebels are coming, and they will kill or enslave all Roman citizens they come across!" Silvanus stood on his balcony, the streets packed with villagers from outside, and he looked to the distant woodlands, masked in darkness, as the sun set far to the west, glowering over the Great Sea.
A servant entered, bowed humbly. "Sir, the town watch is assembled beyond the gates; your Army is prepared to march out to meet the enemy, sir, at your count. Do you wish to attack them on the field?"
Silvanus imagined Gaias grinning upon his own horse, feeling the pride of being a general. Anger burst inside Silvanus and he nearly screamed. "No," he said calmly, masking his hedonist rage. "No, we will let them come to us. Perhaps they will see the mighty walls of the city and back down. If not, we will open the gates and meet them before the city itself, out in the fields. All of Rome will be spectator to this rebellion. The one who would dare take the heir's life and then rise against all of Rome shall be ashamed tomorrow afternoon. Assemble the archers upon the battlements; we will rain hell on them and show them what they've gotten themselves into. I cannot wait to see their faces as they fall broken and bloodied."
The servant nodded. "It will be done, sir."
After the servant left, Silvanus shut the balcony doors and retired. Crawling into the bed, he stared at the stone ceiling and smiled, said to himself, "Tomorrow will be an unimaginably glorious day – my stock in Rome will forever be secured. After the enemy's defeat tomorrow, my road to power will be paved with gold." He turned over and easily went to sleep.
IV
It was the parting of the Red Sea. The two great armies faced one another; thousands of soldiers on either side, standing under the winter sun, looking across the fields to the enemy a few hundred yards away. The soldiers stared forward,
unmoving, hiding all emotion; Silvanus' Army spread out before the gates of Rome, stretching the width of the city, three thousand strong. The rebels held only half that many, but there very eyes seemed to glow as if beneath their flesh festered an uncanny Light. Archers upon Rome's walls prepared to fire at the sound of Silvanus' order. The citizens of Rome cowered inside the city, clutching their families close, kissing the heads of their children, wiping away tears, whispering, "It will be okay, it will be okay-" Vultures swam in the opal sky.
Silvanus stood below with infantry, the walls looming behind him, the foreground lashed with thousands of red shields stamped with the beautiful emblem of Julii. Silvanus sat upon his horse, the cavalry pressed against the stone walls; beside him stood one of the best centurions in the Army, hopeless eyes looking at the enemy waiting across the fields. The centurion had never expected it to come to this – fighting some of the very boys he had trained. Bile climbed in his throat.
Silvanus, dressed in his uniform, wearing the cavalry shield, sword at his side and helmet with red horsehair, spoke to the centurion: "This battle will be over before it began. Gaias will be shamed before all of Rome and I swear by the gods I will put his head and all the heads of his turncoats on spikes around the city!" His voice cracked at the condemnation; "Centurion!" The centurion went rigid, awaiting his commands. Silvanus eyed the enemy standing silent and said, "Prepare your men to march."
The centurion didn't notice his jaw drop. "Sir, shouldn't we negotiate? These are our brothers and fathers." He argued, "Surely they have cause to come here. No true Roman would rise against the eternal city unless pressed to the gates of damnation."
Silvanus barked, "You are correct, but you are a fool, forgetting that these are not true Romans. They are garbage to be ravaged by the dogs. We shall slaughter every one of them." The blood quickened in his veins. "Centurion: you will order the march. If you do not, it is undeniably clear where your heart lies, and that is with the enemy! And I swear that your heart will decide your fate: honor in Rome or death alongside the traitors."
The centurion saw the raw and bitter honesty in Silvanus' eyes, turned to the units of the hastati, and drawing a breath, yelled, "Hastati! For the glory of Rome and the protection of its citizens, prepare to-"
A young soldier pointed; "Look! Someone rides forward!"
The centurion and Silvanus turned to look at the enemy Army; a single horseman was coming towards them, galloping hard.
Silvanus leaned forward on his horse. "Gaias. My friend, we shall see who takes the glory from this field-"
The centurion did not order the march. "Sir, perhaps he is coming with terms. Won't you meet him?"
Silvanus glared. "No parley is to be made! The enemy has committed treason and they will be shown no quarter."
The centurion swallowed, looked to the lone rider, then at the Army spread beside him. "Then am I to… charge, sir?"
Silvanus drew a deep breath, adrenaline surging. "No. I will look this traitor in the eyes before I place his head on a spike!" He kicked the horse in the side and sprinted across the open plain between the two armies, drawing near to the rider. The centurion glanced over at the standard bearer, mouthed, I can't believe we're actually standing here. The standard bearer shrugged and said, What can we do? Silvanus plotted how beautiful it would be to have Gaias' head on a stick, the blood streaming down the wooden pole, perhaps looming over his balcony, a signal to all who would dare oppose him. All the problems of the plan were to be disintegrated here and now; satisfaction broiled inside him as he grew closer to the rebel rider. He could feel all the eyes of Rome upon him; today, he told himself, you become a legend. The rebel rider was close enough to almost touch; the horse slowed, but the rider's head was bowed, shrouding his face in darkness. Silvanus gripped his shield in one hand and brushed the hilt of his sword with the other, fingers clawing the iron cross; "Gaias, you power-grabbing, incompetent backstabber, I shall have your head on a pike before the sun goes down!"
The rebel rider's head raised, the shadow dissolving, sunlight pouring over the rough contours of his face. The eyes glowered and terror rippled through Silvanus like an earthquake's shock-wave; Antonius snarled, "I assure you, Gaias' head has already been taken care of, Uncle."
Even Silvanus' horse felt the shudder, bowing its head for just a moment. Silvanus forgot the opposing armies, forgot all of Rome, forgot the day and month and year, forgot all his richest and most profane desires, forsaking them all for those horrible, hawkish eyes that tore through him, left him ragged and bleeding, soul in tatters. The world flashed in and out and he almost wanted to vomit. "You're supposed to be…" He croaked, "Dead."
Antonius' horse walked around Silvanus', the sleek black hide steaming in the winter sun. "His head rests on a pike, just as you've requested. All those with him have been slain and burned, forever denied entrance into Elysium because of their treason." He leaned forward, eyes tossing thunderbolts. "You shall join them." Silvanus followed with his eyes Antonius' circular path. "If you've any honor-" "Don't speak to me about honor!"
All energy abandoned him. His merciless manhunt had fallen into a trap, parched of thirst, quickly evaporated. "-March these rebels away, and they shall be pardoned-"
"Under whose authority?" Antonius smothered. "Your authority? You sit in a chair that is not your own – you have no authority."
"If you've any common sense, you will march off." He straightened upon his horse. "Or you will be slaughtered."
Antonius pulled his horse to a stop right in front of the cutthroat leader. "Common sense? Of that I have none." His voice became grave so as to poison wells of murderous hope. "Now listen to my terms, Silvanus. I am not a tyrant like you, and offer you and your followers mercy. Dismount, tear those royal cloaks you wear as if they were rightfully yours, kiss my horse's feet, and you and your followers will be sold as slaves to Egypt. Do not," he added as a forewarning, "and I swear you will die this day."
His lips curled. "You are a fool if you think I would ever agree to such terms! You leave this place now, or you and your entire Army will be crushed in front of all of Rome – and you will be the cause of the massacre."
"I will be the cause?" Antonius mused. "Don't forget – you are the traitor. Let's see how much a man you really are; let all of Rome see if you are strength to the core – or full of hot air." He waved out to the thousands of proud Roman soldiers aligned facing north and south in front of the city. "There is no need for thousands to die because of your treason; let the two of us alone deal with this; just the two of us. I challenge you, Lucius Silvanus, to a fight to the death. The winner takes the seat of Julii – and he takes the loser's Army."
Silvanus tried to see if Antonius was bluffing, but traced no dishonesty. He looked over his shoulders, to his Army, ready to go to battle. You don't have to fight him, he told himself. You can ride back to the walls of Rome and order the charge. But another voice, a louder voice: Think of it – you defeat the rebel general in one-on-one, saving countless lives. Everyone will adore you! Your legend will never be paralleled! He demanded, "Under what conditions?"
"We send our horses back to our armies. We fight shield, sword, helmet." "To the death."
"To the bloody death," Antonius said.
Silvanus dismounted; the soldiers in the opposing armies wondered at this, thinking, "Is he surrendering the city?" Antonius did not break the challenge; he dismounted as well, kicking his black stallion in the hindquarters; it galloped away. Silvanus did the same to his horse, and the two horses carved lines of dust to their native armies, and at the epicenter of the dust trails Antonius and Silvanus circled one another, bracing their shields against their bodies.
Silvanus drew his sword; Antonius knelt down to the ground, kissed the soft dirt of a broken wheat field, and stood. "This is my homeland," he said. "I defend it now."
Silvanus raised his spatha sword between his eyes. "This is the blade that will slay you."
Antonius drew his own sword. "And this is my father's sword – the one whom you slew."
Silvanus cracked a smile, looked to the sky – and jumped. Antonius blocked the blow with his shield and thrust his shield into Silvanus' body, knocking him back; Silvanus spun, swinging the blade; Antonius ducked, thrusting his own blade out; Silvanus bore it away with his shield, the tip of the sword thunking in the calfskin-covered plywood. Silvanus smirked and struck high, bringing the sword down upon Antonius' helmet; the helmet twisted, the blade skipping off to the side; Antonius swung his head, the helmet sliding back into place, and he used his shield as a block to go around Silvanus' side, looking for a way in. Silvanus copied the move and struck; Antonius parried with his shield, Silvanus' brute force sending painful shockwaves chattering across the general's bones. Antonius struck; Silvanus jumped out of the way, attacking upon Antonius' side; Antonius whipped his shield around, catching the blade, and twisted the shield, trying to force Silvanus to lose his grip; Silvanus anticipated and ripped his sword from the shield just as Antonius made the move. A waterfall of sweat cascaded down Antonius' face, stinging his eyes, blurring them; he could hardly see. The word reiterated itself in his mind: blurred. He thrust his foot out, kicking dust into the air in a curving arch; it fell against Silvanus' eyes, blinding him for a few moments. Antonius thwacked with his spatha; Silvanus regained and countered, stepping away and striking; Antonius parried and they circled one another, pouring sweat. Silvanus' eyes were bloodshot.
The armies could not believe what they were seeing. Nothing like this had ever happened before!
Antonius swore in a brutal whisper, "You killed my father's father and you killed my father. Their blood is on your hands – and yours will be on mine!" His sword flashed like blue lightning and descended hard upon Silvanus' shield; Silvanus stumbled back, dazed at the vicious assault, and tried to hold out with his sword; Antonius bashed his sword upon the shield over and over, hearing his father's cries as his own brother slew him in his home. He saw his stepmother stripped and thrown onto the bed, grown men moving up and down over her, her mouth stuffed with a pillow so she couldn't scream. The energy burned like cold steel and he hurled a blow so hard into Silvanus' shield that Silvanus fell to the ground, his shield covering him like a turtle shell. He gaped up as Antonius drove his sword down into the shield; it pierced the plywood, splinters falling over Silvanus' uniform, the point sticking through the shield. Silvanus thrust his sword up into Antonius' arm; blood squirted and Antonius shouted, writhing back, wrenching his sword from the shield. He glanced at his womb, felt the hot pulse of blood, the warmth spreading across his arm, soaking his red tunic even darker. The pain diminished under the furious wrath – he could not fall to this traitor, this heathen, this pleasure-seeker, power-sucking hedonist. The man who had betrayed his grandfather, the man who had raped his stepmother and murdered his father in his very own home, now rose with a bloodied sword to complete what he had started. Antonius spun the sword hilt in his hand, the blade reflecting the sunlight in sharp flashes.
Dust covered Silvanus' arms and face as he growled, "I thought I might let you know: when your Army falls to me, I am going to have every one of them executed. They will adorn the city walls like festival ornaments. And your head will be on a pike and I'm going to shove it right through your father's grave." Antonius drew a deep breath, knowing he could not react in anger. He must be composed, collected, cool. He looked Silvanus deep into the eyes and threw himself upon him. Dust encircled them, shrouding their movements, except for brief flashes of red and glimmers from the swords. The opposing armies stared at the womb of dust sprouting from the earth, tried to see what was happening within, vying for any knowledge of the events, but found none; instead they gave all their attention to their ears, listening to the metal-on-metal and metal-on-wood, the grunts and coughs and footfalls of the two men locked in eternal battle.
Silvanus cursed as a deep red line cut across his leg; he stumbled back, emerging from the dust cloud; he careened backwards, landing hard on his back, the shield skittering to the side. Blood dripped from his leg; he rolled onto his stomach, pulled himself up, and holding the sword in one hand, took the shield in his other, turned just in time to see Antonius' sword descending; he raised his shield, took the blow; his wounded leg shrieked in agony and he stumbled backwards; Antonius hit again; Silvanus nearly fell; Antonius raised his sword; Silvanus surged forward, throwing the boss of the shield in Antonius' chest; Antonius fell backwards; Silvanus leaned back, panting hard, using the precious moments to look at his leg: blood covered his pants, smeared on his boots, splattered onto the cold field.
He went around Antonius as the general picked up his father's sword; it was improper for Silvanus to kill an immobile opponent. Instead he mused, "They tell me your grandfather cried as he died, and as my men and I raped your stepmother, she squealed like a pig; we ravaged her again and again until she was too broken to protest. And we did it again. And again." His words dripped with an unquenchable evil; the man's own marrow was riddled with the potions of a thousand nations' sin.
Antonius turned, eyes filled with storm clouds. "You had your chance." He raised his sword to attack; Silvanus prepared to block; Antonius did not strike with the sword, but as Silvanus' eyes were raised skyward in preparation for the blade, he blew into him with his shield; Silvanus fumbled backwards; Antonius spun on his heels, spatha extended; Silvanus fell and his side ripped into the blade, flesh cutting in a dark red line running from his back to his chest; Antonius raised the bloodied blade to his face, watching the blood drip down the sword; Silvanus hit the ground with a grunt; blood covered his shirt. His wounded leg moved up and down, blood staining the dirt. Antonius turned, looking upon the fallen man; Silvanus spit up blood, eyes swimming in a sea of long-forgotten tears; the shield lay at an odd angle, Silvanus' arm twisted and snapped from the fall. Silvanus raised his sword in a feeble hand; Antonius kicked it away with his foot, the sword scattering across the dirt. He stood over Silvanus, his shadow falling over him.
He looked up at the general with wide eyes, pleaded through a tongue swelling with blood, "Mercy-"
Antonius brought the point of the sword down so it pointed at the traitor's face. "You had your chance."
"Please," the coward moaned. "I beg of you: forgiveness! Forgiveness. I'm begging you."
Antonius looked over at the opposing Army, the great stone walls of the city. He slowly turned his head around to behold the face of a dying man, saying, "It is not I whom you need to ask forgiveness."
He looked at that sword, his mouth filling with blood. His gasps started to gurgle, lungs filling with body fluid. "I know, but you are his son, you can intercede-"
Antonius glared into his eyes. "Appropriate, is it not, that I use his sword to arrange the meeting? You fall before his own feet and beg forgiveness – I leave that matter completely in his hands." He plunged the sword down into Silvanus' face, piercing the eye and impaling the brain. The body shook once, twice, and blood rose in a fountain from his eye socket as Antonius drew out the blade now slick with bright red blood and gray brain matter.
He sheathed his sword and abandoned the corpse, walking to the opposing Army. The centurions drew their swords, but when they saw who it was, they felt all strength leave them. Antonius looked at the lead centurions, and they sheathed their swords, saluted with a chest-thump. "We did not know it was you," they pleaded. "We had no idea." Antonius forgave them and said, "March across this space between us! There is to be no riff between Rome. We are all brothers. Sheath your weapons and embrace your brothers-in-arms waiting across the way." The centurions nodded and led the Army across; those on the battlements wondered if the attack was beginning, and the archers made ready to fire, but were ultimately perplexed upon seeing the two armies mesh in kisses and hand- shakes and hugs.
Antonius did not join them, but sagged towards the city gates; he collapsed against the stone wall, kissing the cold mortar between the heavy stones; cavalry raced towards him; the lead cavalryman saluted and said, "Are you all right, General?" Antonius turned and looked at him, his eyes slowly shrinking. Blood soaked his arm, an artery having been cut. He fell to the ground, lying down, more fatigued than he'd ever felt before. He heard the cavalrymen shouting and he felt the world grow quiet, peaceful, dark.
V
Sunlight warmed his face and his entire body tingled under the thin blanket the servants had stretched over him. He lay upon a long chair out on the balcony, surrounded by the potted plants sprouting luscious bulbs and dizzying flowers. Jade and ginger and cobalt and lavender; the rainbow grew around him, flooding the balcony with color. The great city crowded with children in the streets, festivals in the courtyards, picnics on the greens. The market roared with sellers competing for customers and the senators walked with mistresses under the great Roman architecture. The floor plans for the Coliseum were in the final stages, and many wondered if it would ever be built. The farmers tended their fields, now blooming with color; the thick forest had burst into an avalanche of green, and the sun had grown higher and higher, stayed out longer and longer, the air grown warmer and warmer. The air upon the balcony smelt of a million different pleasant aromas, wafting off the flowers; it calmed Antonius' nerves, his body still growing stronger from the large amounts of blood he had lost just two months before.
He had been carried by royal guards through the parade for his father and stepmother, whose once-shamed reputations had been restored after Silvanus' bloody fall from power. Everyone in Rome did not protest; hatred for Silvanus had sprouted in the underbelly of Rome, and many Senators had even noticed the darker side of his existence.
As for Silvanus' followers, Antonius prided himself in not being totally like his uncle: he did not have them all executed, as he had done at Segesta – due to necessity – but had instead had them stripped of all honor and Roman title-ship, and they were sent overseas, bound as slaves for the desert land of Egypt. He had not bothered to follow up on their whereabouts; it was known that the slaves sent to Egypt did not survive long – most would end up committing suicide.
Antonius would not be leading the campaign against Gaul, at least not in the field, anyway. He coordinated the campaign from his villa, working with his father's top military strategists. He had placed a great Roman soldier, a former triarii warrior, in charge of the First Legion; the man – Decimus – accepted the honorable position with great thanks and promised to do his best for Rome. The centurion who had conversed with Silvanus before Silvanus' defeat took charge of the Second Legion and marched north to monitor any Gallic movements; the news soon came that the Gauls were amassing a large Army from various tribes and warbands, and both legions were put on alert with specific orders to "destroy the enemy at all costs." He did not believe he would ever see war again, but was
content to remain in his villa, walking the grounds of the Forum. He had spent his time in battle, he had staked his name in the history books. He had been hailed the Savior of Rome – and to his honor, denied the title. "I am not a Savior," he told those gathered at his 'inauguration' to his father's chair, "I am simply a true Roman – not unlike all of you!" Every-one, you can imagine, adored him.
As for his loyal bodyguard Helonius, also his best friend, he honored him by taking Celesta into his household, allowing her to stay if she wished, promising her child the richest education, be it a boy or girl, and the safety of a royal House. He also promised her that if her child were a son, he would name him his heir. And so she walked out onto that balcony, her tummy round and plump, handed him a glass of water, and the two of them looked out over the eternal city of the seven hills, the capitol of the Light of the World: Rome. "Rome is so powerful," Antonius said, "and so noble, that I cannot imagine it ever disappearing. I do not see how Rome could ever disappear. We are witnessing the beginning of our world's true history."