Asiático's Tent, Marca Polarucia
End of the first month of 576
He paced around the table on which several maps of the area were laid out.
He had suffered, at the beginning of his campaigns against the tribes of the Regio Inexplorata, great defeats at their hands. These would have been enough to remove him from his post, exile him, and even execute him.
All his family, with the exception of his daughter Azura and his brother Mazhira, had given him the sword; along with the loss of the confidence of those he had under his charge, and, above all, that of the senators. But, to the surprise of the aforementioned, he proved, at the end of his career as praefectus of Lugrum, to have a good head for keeping the tribes at bay.
The Senate did not understand why, only after so many defeats and losses, Urso became serious about his job. And thanks to this astuteness shown at the end of five hundred and seventy-five and the beginning of five hundred and seventy-six, Crásico, when he took the power of all Asians, instead of dismissing or executing him, took pity on him by giving him a new post.
Faced with this new opportunity to mend his equitations, Urso reviewed the maps and his plans again and again, he did not want any mistake, he wanted everything to be perfect.
He wanted to regain the respect and, above all, the trust of his men. Not only because he no longer wanted to be seen as stupid and wretched, but also out of fear.
Fear?
True, with three generals under his command: Ulpio Marcelo, Calpurnio Helvio and Publio Succeso, he had control of, plus two of his own, eight legions, thus being, together with Joaquinos, who was magister peditum, among the most powerful men in Asians.
Yes, Ursus had control of forty-four thousand soldiers. But they were forty-four thousand soldiers who hated him with all their being.
He could feel the undisguised contempt with which they looked at him as he walked with Azura to the generals' tent, as he went to his own to rest, as he was served with food that he did not deign to eat: he suspected poisoning.
However, he relaxed as he remembered the good attitude with which he had been received by the generals, who, after his presentation, swore loyalty to him. If the generals were loyal to him, so would be the soldiers... right?
His gaze danced incessantly across the map. Undoubtedly, the tribe he was most concerned about was the crarios given their extreme proximity to the main settlement of Polarucia: the Marca consisted of several camps spread throughout its territory.
Polarucia, was a colony established not long before being converted into a Marca by Crásico. It was divided into five main camps: the three most westerly, were controlled by the generals already mentioned; a fourth, under the command of Urso, on the easternmost side of the Marca; and the fifth, the one that separated the highlanders from Urso, was controlled by someone he did not know.
"I will have to inquire at dawn as to the identity of the one in control of that camp."
In order to be able to distribute his orders efficiently and quickly, he had to get that information as soon as possible.
"Si.... Si.... Sir...."
He jumped at the sudden entrance of one of the guards. He had asked for no interruptions, he didn't want any distractions so he could focus completely on the defense plan.
"Is somet-something wro-wrong, soldier?" He swallowed saliva, took a deep breath, tried to calm the tension that was generated inside him.
"Thirst…." The guard gasped, eyes wild, body and head wobbling, shoulders hunched as if he were carrying weight on them.
"Thi-Thirst? Wou-would you like some water?"
Urso, after grabbing a glass with the liquid, which he had left on the table a short while ago, approached the soldier.
"Thirst... se... se... se... severus..."
"Severus?" He twisted his head, frowning. A thought came into his head. "Have you been drinking on duty? Did you know that this is punishable by sixty-five lashes?! How could it be possible that...?!"
He stopped dead in his tracks, the glass falling from his hands, shattering on impact with the floor. His eyes widened, watching as the soldier slowly lifted a dagger, blood dripping from it as he gave him a goofy grin.
'Looking at him closely, he doesn't look like the guard I had left in charge.' He thought in terror, he felt a shiver run down his spine, what had happened to him? Well, the bloody gun gave him a clue.
The soldier was drunk, that's all it was.
Or so he wanted to believe, the best option was to talk to him.
"Easy..." Without making any sudden movements, he extended his hand with an open palm. "Easy, come on…. give me that weapon, in your state you can hurt yourself...."
With one slash he made a clean cut on his palm....
Urso paled, as if he had not been hurt. He was frozen, his gaze fixed on the face of the soldier who was still watching him smiling, and who, after a few seconds, rushed at him with the intention of giving him another thrust, stronger, more deadly. He did not let him, raising his hands, holding him by the arms.
"Stop, what the fuck is wrong with you!"
The soldier, who a few moments ago looked out of his mind, dumb and dazed, now wore a serious expression on his face, shrewd and prudent.
After struggling for a while, with anxiety invading him and as a last attempt to escape the predicament, he raised his knee in a rough way, hitting him in the balls; a low and dishonorable movement, but useful and effective.
His attacker dropped the dagger, taking a few steps backwards and bringing his hands to his aching crotch: he fell to his knees and gritted his teeth.
Quickly and without wasting time, Urso ran out of the tent.
"Shit!"
In front of him, an incalculable number of soldiers had him completely surrounded, pointing their swords at him. Out of the corner of his eye, feeling a lump in his throat, he could see that his guard was lying on the ground with his throat slit. 'There he is….'
The action of the man a few moments ago, and now the crowd of soldiers, made him realize that it had all been a trap, a conspiracy, a plot against him.
Death was caressing him and he was aware of it, however, after years of constant losses and threats, he learned not to weaken in the face of adverse situations.
"Please, why are you doing this?! Don't you realize that Asians are not in a favorable situation?! We must be united until the waters calm down!"
"You killed our relatives!," shouted one of the soldiers, referring to all the defeats against the tribes suffered by the cornered.
"Yes, we don't want to serve someone who has failed!"
Little by little, as he was being invaded with more and more arguments against him, his cornering became greater; no one wanted him there.
"Enough!"
Slight calm came to Urso's heart, when he heard the gracious voice of Publio Succeso, who had received him in a sympathetic manner, and who was making his way through the mutiny of soldiers to reach Urso.
"As if he had been holding his breath, he began to sigh heavily. The Nintu has blessed me with your arrival." It was not long before she knelt before him, hugging his feet.
Succeso, without reciprocating her words, gave a soft smile.
"Fuck!" Urso fell to his knees on the ground, holding his hands to his head, sore from the blow he had received from behind. "What was that?!"
Apparently, the soldier, whom he had thought was out of action, recovered faster than he expected.
"Publio, please help me!," he shouted as he saw how the soldiers were only a few steps away from him.
He could not conceive the idea of dying in such a way, betrayed, as if he had been a corrupt and tyrannical man. He had failures in the field, but he did not think it sufficient justification for his murder.
Azura! That his daughter should be left helpless before so many men was what terrified him most. He hoped that Caixario, seeing the formation of the mob and anticipating serious trouble, had taken her to a safe place; away from danger.
Publio, still not answering his and ignoring his cries, still wearing that soft smile, turned to the crowd of soldiers.
"Crucify him!"