Curia Nat, Raecum, capital of the Oriens region, Arkonian Empire
End of 574
"Dear senators," he began to speak from the center of the room, "I ask you, please, to reconsider what you demand of me. The expedition will be very complicated, we will only get human and material losses, something we cannot afford since we are still recovering from the recent conflicts with the fucking viceroyalty and the damned tribes."
Those present, located on steps surrounding the center, murmured among themselves, looking sideways at the speaker. They hesitated. They did not know if his words were genuine prudence or an attempt to escape responsibility. They would have to see to what extent he was able to sustain his defense against them, against their power.
"We know that to the southwest of the Araquia peninsula are fertile and mineral-rich lands. The Empire could recover even faster with those riches that, for now, are under the control of the tribes of the area that may pose a challenge for us, for you, to enter the region. It seems to me that there is a balance between what will be lost and gained. If leading our nation to glory means making sacrifices, then so be it. Or…. Is your love for the Empire gone?"
Philipart disavowed at Senator Crásico's words. He was sure that the senators' intentions were not to try to lift the Empire as the man had said, but rather, they wanted to keep lining their pockets with more money: just when the economy stagnated a bit, they set their eyes on a region from which they could get what they needed to heal their wounded pockets. They never cared about the Empire, they cared more about the welfare of the upper classes than the lower population. What offended him most, was the brazenness with which Crásico insinuated the diminution of his love for the nation. He could not tolerate it, he hated it, but he should not let himself be carried away by his impulsiveness, he should make an effort to relax.
"We know al-almost no-nothing of the ro-road we would have to travel. The only thing we kno-know is thanks to the acco-accounts of the few tri-tribals with who-whom we were able to converse by trade, whi-which we can-cannot trust too much since they co-could have altered their words to give us a simple visio-vision of this area to gene-generate confidence, whe-when, in reality, it is an almost impregnable place. Add to that, the desert we would be cro-crossing to get to the southwest is la-lashed by stro-strong heat waves and sandsandstorms."
He ducked his head, hastily thinking of other arguments with which to persuade the ambitious senators. Or at least to be allowed to carry out the expedition in a simpler way. The essential thing was to reduce the number of casualties as much as possible.
"And if we go by boat?"
It seemed to him an exceptional idea since they would not have to suffer the punishments of the merciless desert. However, he remembered that the seas near the peninsula were turbulent and rocky, making the idea become, instead of a life-saving one, suicidal.
"No, forget it, that would be worse…
"It's perfect! The soldiers can move along the coast of Araquia while being followed by ships loaded with supplies. I think that could motivate them, boost their morale. Seeing that there is a possible way out if something goes wrong will help their confidence."
The senators applauded Amarico Corvo's so-called incredible idea with fervor, accepting it without hesitation: anything that would contribute to the expedition's success was welcome. Philipart couldn't reason with what he was seeing and hearing, he couldn't believe how inept they were and how consumed they were by their ambition; completely blinded. He had to think of something, fast.
"Have they consulted Arcadio yet?!"
As a last attempt, he turned to the name of the one who carried on his shoulders the image of the Empire, and, above all, of the one who was his best friend. He hoped that Arcadio had intervened and given his point of view, obvious, bad, to reduce the senators' anxieties. He had already let him know that it was paramount that he begin to act for himself rather than act on the words of others.
The senators fell silent and resumed their serenity.
"Of course, Arcadio could not refuse our proposal, he accepted it with pleasure in fact."
"What?"
The cry of indignation and despair on the part of Philipart at what was said by Alexirico Longo who was looking at him with an overbearing mocking smile, echoed on the marble walls of the hall. No, it was impossible that Arcadio had accepted it, and to make matters worse, with pleasure. He imagined that the senators applied one of dirty ways to make people do their will. The expedition had all the makings of failure and these seemed not to care.
He did not doubt that they forced it. After all, it was the senators who had chosen him and Arcadio to lead the image and strength of the Empire. His jaw trembled along with his hands; his eyes flooded with tears that did their best not to slip: showing himself vulnerable would be a grave mistake.
"You don't want to take the opposite, magister Philipart.
The heavy stares of the senators, accompanied by the direct, threatening words of Crásico, which sent a painful shiver down his spine, made him understand that he could no longer object. He had long since lost what little respect the senators had for him.
Philipart, after nodding his head slowly and repeatedly, turned on his heels in the direction of the exit. And before retreating from the room, he let out a few tears of frustration as he whispered:
"Bastards…."
House of the Cynther, Raecum, Oriens
Penultimate month of 575
The city and the inhabitants were dressed in black. The punishing lightning rumbled the skies, made the ground tremble. Darkness pervaded the atmosphere, a soul drowned in disgrace walked back home.
A whole year lasted the operation towards the southwest of the Araquia peninsula, baptized as: expeditio Araquia. A year where disease, lack of supplies, the betrayal of the locals who swore allegiance to the Empire, something that Philipart already foresaw but that the senators ignored, the total devastation of the fleet because of the turbulent seas, a fatal climate and the loss of more than ten thousand men abounded.
When they reached the southwest, where the lands were green and fertile, where developed cities were the order of the day and trade routes abounded, they began the siege of the city in which all the power of the area was centralized: Nivarib, if it fell, the whole region would fall along with it. However, only a few days later and with regret, Philipart ordered the lifting of the siege, hence the retreat. They had no supplies to maintain a siege of long duration knowing that the city was very well supplied and with a defense that posed a great challenge to the exhausted troops.
The arrival at the capital was among the most wretched he witnessed in all his years of life. He, who walked in front of his entire army to show humility, submission, and to make evident the failure of the mission, heard how some of the villagers who invaded the streets hurled foul-mouthed words towards his person.
All the time he was away, fighting for his life in the vast wilderness with his men, his wife, Nazly Luw, waited each day and night for his return, anxious and fearful. As soon as the night star rose in the heavens, overflowing, she sat on the couch that was at a safe distance in front of the door, wishing in her heart that Philipart would pass through it.
She was a faithful and patient woman.
She did not know what to think. Throughout the capital the news spread, as fast as the plague, of the failure suffered in the operation: of the twenty-two thousand soldiers who ventured, that is, the legions I Gemi, II Hika, III Cartha and IV Varan, only twelve thousand returned. The I and III were annihilated by the hardships of the desert, the scourges of the seas and the edge of the locals, something that was dishonorable not only for the consuls who led those legions, if they survived of course, but also for the leader of the mission: Philipart Cynther.
Anguish gnawed at her for the tardiness her husband was presenting. She feared that his name would be included in the long list of the deceased. She tried to calm herself, settling herself on the couch in a way that sleep would not be uncomfortable. He teared up, his chest ached, perhaps he lay dead on a cart waiting for the body to be claimed by his relatives. The thought of having to go to the plaza to ask for him terrified her.
And she sat up with a jolt as she heard the lock on the door being tampered with. She didn't know whether to rejoice because it might be Philipart trying to get in, or to be frightened by the possibility that, behind the wood, there might be a thief ready to do unspeakable things to her on seeing her alone and defenseless.
The entrance was opened completely, revealing a man with long hair, yellow eyes that no longer retained their beautiful glow of yesteryear, a dull, hopeless expression and torn clothes.
At the sight of him, despite the dirty appearance he wore, her heart skipped a beat. She wanted to throw herself at him, embrace him and kiss him like an animal that, without being allowed to eat, was placed in front of a plate full of exquisite meats, holding him against his will. However, something told him that, for the moment, it was not the right thing to do.
"It's good to see you, Nazly..." After speaking with a noticeably exhausted tone, he raised his right arm in greeting. Thus he let it be seen that his ring finger had been cut off: a way in which those who failed in their tasks were punished, from the officers to the soldiers themselves.
The faint smile that was made on her was instantly erased as she looked at his mutilated finger and the scars that enveloped that part of his body. The news was not a rumor to generate morbidity in people: the expedition did fail. However, to the surprise of many, many of the officers who participated were not relieved of their posts, including her husband. I was anxious to know why the senators had mercy on them in that respect.
Philipart, unwilling to answer any questions about all that had happened and, after closing the door, staggered over to the sofa where, with a heavy movement, he took a seat. Nazly wrinkled her brow a little at the man's disinterested action. However, considering the wretched state in which he returned, she chose not to importune him with thoughtless questions. He did not want to upset him or exalt him any more than he already was.
"I am fed up with the Senate. They have Arcadio and me as their children."
That was what he said as he leaned back against the back of the furniture, sighing. He was carrying a heavy mental load, his head was heavy. The last thing he needed was to worry about the Senate, even so, he was doing it. Nazly, at a slow pace came to him, sitting down beside him and, as a consolation, rested her head on his shoulder, rubbing against Philipart's beefy arm her warm cheek. This seemed to have had no effect on the man, who continued with his burdened words:
"I saw my soldiers being consumed by sickness, hunger and thirst. I saw them fall dead before the heat that lashed us like a whip during a good part of the mission. I watched as they were slaughtered by small bands of locals who seemed to come out of the ground to attack us and then disappear into the vast sands. I watched the boats being battered by the rocks and devoured by the waters...."
Philipart's eyes were lost, he did not turn to look at his wife, but I could feel the caress of her small hands on his chest.
"I don't understand what the senators wanted to achieve with this. They knew, better than anyone else that's for sure, that this area, even up to now, is very difficult to cross. Why did they insist so much?"
"It's likely that... they just wanted to smear you."
Nazly's sudden words aroused Philipart's curiosity. Although it was generally frowned upon for women to participate in political and military affairs given their lack of knowledge and experience, he could not deny how astute and how well she handled herself in these matters. A phrase that could help him understand the reason for the Senate's unmeasured actions was of much use to him, no matter who uttered it.
"Explain yourself." And finally, he turned his head towards her in order to give her as much attention as possible.
Nazly separated a little so she could look him in the eyes and answer. After so long this would be her first moderately important talk. She had to make an extra effort to contain the excitement rising inside her. She enjoyed talking to him about subjects that men thought incomprehensible to women.
"They did not relegate you because they are aware that, apart from the fact that you are the one who controls the army of the entire Empire, something that may change with the appointment of a new magister militum, the soldiers themselves, thanks to your humble deeds, hold you in great esteem and respect. And if we take into account that, if they were to learn of the terrible conditions under which the expedition was planned and carried out, they would not hesitate to support you if the Senate withdrew your title."
"If they washed their hands blaming Arcadio, the officers and you, it means that they already foresaw a failure, so they only wanted, and want, to discredit their images, your image, so that when no one supports you anymore, they can relegate you from your post and not have a civil war as a consequence."
Philipart was dumbfounded. His wife's intuition and quick thinking, despite the fact that they had not talked for a long time, never ceased to amaze him. He even came to fear that cunning which, if handled with a good head, could be a powerful weapon against less prudent enemies.
"Perhaps you are right." He found no encouragement to show his surprise. He closed his eyes, needing to calm his thoughts, which became more turbulent at Nazly's words.
She looked at him with a pious smile, and in a swift movement, planted a kiss on his cheek: a playful action intended to relax him a little, which did have an effect. Philipart was slightly relieved to receive what he already missed: his wife's small, delicate lips. More, however, he could not focus on that, not now.
"Tomorrow I will visit Arcadio. We must solve, as soon as possible, the problems with the Senate, no matter the method... We'll see who will have whom as son."
The firmness with which Philipart pronounced this made Nazly frown. He considered that it was not good, barely arrived from a failed mission to top it all, to start doing a job of such magnitude as facing an elite superior in all aspects to them. He had to rest physically and mentally.
"Love...." She touched his face with her small hands, caressing his cheek with delicacy and softness, as if she wanted to hypnotize him with her caresses. "Don't you think you should rest? You've been through some difficult days."
"No," he answered with a coldness that made Nazly's heart ache, "if I don't act now, the Senate will continue to destroy my image, our image. They will stop only when no region, no governor, will support me."
He sighed. Imagining all the leaders turning their backs on him generated a deep terror in him. He didn't want to know what it would feel like to be a man abandoned and betrayed by those who had once been his allies.... Nazly lowered her head, and he, somewhat confused by that action, brought one of his hands closer, holding her by the chin, trying not to hurt her, and lifted her up.
"Eh?," he said with a furrowed brow when she saw his moist eyes. "What's wrong?"
"What's wrong?!" With his arms he pulled Philipart back roughly. It was the first time she reacted that way. "Is it serious?! I've been waiting a whole year for your return, putting up with my carnal desires, being faithful to you, missing your kisses and caresses! And now that you're coming back, you won't even give me a hug?! You're going to retire to fulfill a selfish goal, ignoring my anxiety for you?! What's wrong with you?!"
She shouted between sobs, shedding tears that cascaded down her cheeks like a waterfall. In spite of the offense committed by Philipart, and, in spite of her pain at his disinterest, she clung to him, and cried into his sturdy chest, unburdening herself. On the other hand, to Philipart's mind, the words necessary to console her did not come.
"Forgive me." That was all she could think of.
He wanted to say more, he was aware that he should apologize for his cold attitude, but he couldn't, he didn't feel anything, he didn't feel sorry for her, he didn't feel that his way of acting had been wrong.
He felt empty.
He lowered his arms, and holding her by the waist, he laid her on his lap, and slowly, he wiped away her tears. All with a serious, subdued expression. Why? Why?! What had happened to him that he should not feel even a little remorse for the weeping of his beloved and adored wife?!
"Crásico," he pronounced the name of the senator whom he blamed for the accomplishment of the mission and the one who left him speechless in front of those present at that unfortunate meeting in which the death sentence of many soldiers was signed. "That man threatened me with impudence. They no longer even make an effort to hide the fact that the power, in reality, falls on them."
"Yes...." Feeling better for her husband's consolation, she went along with him with the intention of making him forget the idea of going to Arcadio: she knew how stubborn and clinging he was to his plans. "You mean Andrio Canrrio Crásico?"
"That's the one."
"Isn't he the one who is spreading the rumor that the expedition was planned and carried out entirely by you and Arcadio?"
He let out a gasp, his body tensed, his jaw trembled. He lowered his head until he locked eyes with Nazly. The nerve that man had reached was inconceivable and unforgivable. How could anyone be so unhappy as to harm the lives of others by blaspheming against them behind their backs?
"What a-are you tal-talking abo-about?" His worried tone, sounding as if a rope was tightening around his neck, was very noticeable to Nazly, who realized the mistake he made by mentioning that detail, at that instant, when Philipart was not in the best state of mind and any strong news could upset him.
That was the blow that ended his little moment of happiness.
"No-Nothing, my lo-love, co-come, let's rest." She quickly and gently held him by the arms so that he would stay with her. He did not answer, his expression froze completely.
"He took advantage of my absence. He tarnished my image and Arcadio's with dirty words, that bastard! It wasn't enough for him to just give us vague condolences for the failure, but now he's blaming us!" He pushed Nazly off his lap her lap, sat up and turned her back to him. "If I leave now, I'll arrive at Arcadio's residence at dawn! I'm going to put an end to this situation!"
"Please wait!" Nazly resumed her position, hurrying to stop Philipart who had already opened the door.
"No! Crásico will deal with me!"
"Philipaaaart!"
Author's note: this updated descriptive and metaphorical narrative style will be applied to the other chapters as the days go by. Please be patient.