Outside Pethens, Spring, Year 334
Over a trestle table in the back of a tent, Commander Marcus Cornelius Uranus smashed his fists on a pile of maps.
Two years since he plotted to sow discord between the two Consuls with the letter Remus Scipio had drafted for him. And between the two short years long enough for many events to unfold, Glaber had indeed made him the Tribune Admiral, and indeed the Senecans had openly rebelled. While Prince Ugrait the craven was moved by Scipio's sentimental verse at the banquet, he agreed that a marriage would be held between a Consul's son and Princess Seleen without any specifics being stipulated. This only added insult to his father, King Melqart's insult, and as anticipated, it took under a year for the Senecans to sail their galleys into the Renanian waters.
Thus began the Second Huronic War.
Marcus shut his glaring eyes, his teeth clenched, as did his fists. As the Tribune Admiral leading the charge of the main fleet, he longed for the victory Augustus Cassius Gaius had gloried from the first Huronic War. Employing the same strategy Augustus did, he had all their galleys equipped with even larger claws only to drive them into utter defeat.
They lost the War, and Marcus, his title.
The Senecans came with an unequal treaty that had now turned the table on them. While Consul Bladus Fabianus Glaber intended to make peace, Gnaeus Januarius Claudius held a firm stance.
Which drove them into the Great Civil War.
Which brought Marcus here now, stooping over the trestle table in the back of the tent, as he laid siege to the city of Pethens, Claudius' stronghold.
He couldn't understand how the men of Claudius could hold his siege for this long. They should have succumbed to chaos before he would have needed to fling an arrow.
His sense of time seemed to have abandoned him. By his calculation, the ballistae should have arrived two days ago, catapulting stones that would have gouged and collapsed the Claudian Walls of Pethens. People would have fled, as would the soldiers who had sworn to protect them. Desperate and starved, they should have gushed out from every wound in the walls like swarms of ants smoked out their nests. And he would have crushed them!
But the city stood still in perfect order. Just a moment ago, his adjutant reported that the dams had been dismantled in days of storms, resulting in mudslides that blocked his reinforcements and turned him short of supply!
Fury surged, warping his vision. How he had coveted the victory! Its glory! Which he was certain he would and almost did this time.
Banging his fists, he willed himself to think.
His serving guard dipped in his head through the wall flaps again. "Sir, Laelia Euphrates is here to see you."
"What does the whore want now?" He shot daggers. "Tell her to fuck off!"
"She said she knew you'd say that. It's just …"
"Speak!"
"Sh-she," the guard stuttered and gulped. "She said it wouldn't hurt trying a new medicine on a dying man—"
"She compared my legion to a dying man?" Marcus strode to the front. "Where's the whore?"
"She's waiting for you by the palisade to the south. Sir." Eyes forward, the guard thumped his feet.
Shoving him aside, Marcus stormed out.
Clouds scudded towards the darkening edge of the sky where the sun was sinking fast. Under the snapping banners of Consul Glaber's sigil – a saber-toothed tiger springing through a ring of fire – a fair-skinned woman awaited him in the gold and cerise hue of the setting sun. Her slim nose tipped skyward with pride, and her crimped bronze hair billowed in the sultry air like a pennon in the wind.
Marcus spun her around, his rough hand grabbing her smooth neck. He glared at the chill smile flitting across her sapphire blue eyes. Pressing his cheek on hers, he spluttered into her ear, "What is it you want, whore?"
"You."
"Do not dare me to kill you."
"Then what?" she teased, musing on him as she reared her head. "You've fought enough wars to know it's never clever to delay attacks in the enemy's territory. How long have you been encamped here? Your supply is drained, and the ardor of your men dampened. Claudius' southern legions will arrive in a day, and if you don't retreat now, he will crush you. You know it."
Marcus let go of her and banged a fist on the banner pole.
"Like it or not," she went forth. "Between the two Consuls, it is Claudius who has the popular support. While Glaber pleads for a trade agreement with Seneca that'd give away Exonia, Claudius pledges to defend every inch of the realm. While Glaber champions the reliance on Senecan grain to put off wars with them, Claudius vows against any reliance on foreign supply.
"Naturally, people see Glaber as the traitor, even it is their own sons, brothers, fathers, and husbands who will bear the brunt of the wars they are so eager to fight. They see Glaber as the one who has colluded with the Senecans to snuff out Claudius and turn the dual consulship into a dictatorship. The Renanians despise Glaber and all his commanders, yourself included, but venerate Claudius. The whole city of Pethens is staunch in solidarity under Claudius' rule." Laelia paused, waiting for her words to register; her cold gaze narrowed.
"Fight him all you want," she resumed. "But the Gods won't be on your side. Not this time."
Too furious and perhaps humiliated to acknowledge the sense in her words, Marcus couldn't deny them either. He snapped around in his armor, his sword hand reaching for the hilt.
She stood her ground, however. Her long fingers caressed and stayed his hand before gliding up his neck. "The masses are like the sea," she crooned, her voice tickling his ear. "They can raise a man to power, carrying him like a raft, so too can they throw him off, and the sea is senseless. Even the best general cannot defeat the tempestuous sea."
"Only cowards concede defeats!" he barked with a harrumph.
"Fight smarter, not harder. If you still have any wit left in you, hearken to me." Her gaze hardened, riveted on him.
Marcus clenched his fists, his eyes squinting.
She took the chance. "You want to recover from the disgrace of being demoted? By having Glaber to name you the Commander General? Well, even if you defeated Claudius this time, to be commander-in-chief of the the highest rank, you'd still have all the many other commanders in your way. They're your real rivals. Help Claudius destroy them. Let your enemy crush your rivals for you." Her head tilted, her nose fondling his stubble.
"Glaber's legions are well-fed," she continued, her voice soft as the feel of her skin. "Too well-fed, in fact. And that's too bad for them. Comfort makes many a man idle and his senses obtuse. He who's used to comfort soon forgets what survival means."
He flicked his eyes at her. "So what?" he snorted, despite being in the same mind. "Don't we all fight and die for comfort? All the power and gold to build larger houses and bed more beautiful women, just so to be comfortable?"
Laelia took a pause longer than usual, then glanced up, her eyes reflecting his.
"That's why everything always comes to an end," she mused at length with an airy smile. "But for you, my lord, to be more comfortable than any man in the realm, you must act to concede defeat now. Others will despise you. Let them. You'll bide your time and hide your strength, feigning reverence to other commanders who laugh at you. Once they let down their guards, you'll supply them with the finest wines doped with potions of opian. In months, they shall be rid of disciplines, a sheep to be slaughtered."
Marcus felt his stomach clench. Dissimulating an ineffable fear he would never admit, not even to himself, he scoffed. "So, you're asking me to become the Commander General by default? A general without an army to command, should I wait for Claudius to come for my head?"
She cocked a quizzical brow. "Why become a general when you can rule the whole realm?"
Marcus gulped, squinting for a moment when everything seemed to hold still.
"Once Claudius takes out all Glaber's other legions," she resumed, "he'll be exhausted, and that'll be your chance. You'll turn his own Commander General against him and frame Claudius as a dictator, the real traitor to the people, whose true purpose with this civil war is to seize the country for himself." She almost smiled, her gaze burning like ice.
"Impossible!" Marcus spat. "Augustus Gaius won't betray Claudius."
"Delegate me."
"Why would the greatest warrior of our time listen to you?" Raising his chin, he glanced down, his voice ridden with disdain.
She turned her back to the setting sun, her face a diaphanous shadow. "If I can't convince him, I shall confuse him. And if he can't be confused, I shall corrupt him. So long as he is a man, he is corruptible."
"What about Glaber?" he asked.
"By the time you take down Claudius, Glaber wouldn't even have a soldier at his disposal. He'd be your least concern."
Marcus wheeled himself around, his gaze panning to his men, whose spirit had fled, and whose feet scuffed the dirt as they dragged on. He knew in their downcast eyes that every word she had told spoke the truth, and the victory he had so longed for would not be his no matter how hard he fought this time.
"Even if it all works out that I rise to rule," he observed at length. "What do I say to the people about my dictatorship shall I become what I have defeated?"
Drawing a hand to her mouth, Laelia giggled. "What do you think Claudius would do when he defeated Glaber, whom he called a dictator?" The same hand stretched out to Marcus, turning his face to her. "So long as the people are fed, their livelihoods well kept, do you think they really give a shit about who shall rule or how they do it?" she asked – another question he had no answer for. "Once you take out Claudius and Glaber, you will see to the treaty with Seneca, and the Senecans will supply us with their grain. In return, we'll concede the independence of our fertile land in the north. Nothing glorious about it in sound, but we'll have peace. All the wounded sense of justice, the thirst for glory, the pride in duty, you encourage them when you need the men to fight and die for your cause, as what Claudius was doing now. But when you come to rule them, you only need to keep roofs over their heads, their stomachs full, and their minds distracted."
The wind rose, taking up dust to a spin. Banners and pennons snapped in the same direction, as did her glossy tresses. He looked over his shoulder at the double ramparts of the impregnable Claudian walls peering from afar.
"One more question."
She waited, boring into his eyes.
"What do you get out of it?"
"Haven't I already told you, my lord? I want you." Hands about his cheeks, she nibbled at his chin. "To name me your consort, and my son a lord—"
"Glaber's bastard?"
"You'll treat him as if he were your own." She ignored his question while a sly grin hoisted the corners of her lips. "You need me as I you. We shall make a great couple."