Assassination of an Emperor
or, The First Move of the Civil War
The Civil War Index | The Second Move of the Civil War
The sentries were practically asleep. Bael slinked along the crenelations, dressed all in black against the pitch of night. His footsteps, softened by leather soles, hurried round the crescent of Fort Ascalon. The stones beneath his feet older than the Diet he served, older than the Empire they claimed to serve. Bael hid in the corner where the crenelations joined a three story tower, the imposing glassy black stone gently shimmered in the moonlight. Scanning the fort he found a dozen sentries patrolling the walls, none near him and the cliff edge below. A costly oversight that would see them lose not just their posts but their heads as well. The square was asleep. Braziers burned for the gatekeepers who warmed their hands over the fires. Tents lined the centre of the fort in strict rows and blocks creating ways and roads between. Bael knelt and listened to the wind bringing him muffled conversations from across the fort. He didn’t much care for the substance only the distance. Satisfied he peered over the merlon behind him, the cliff edge slanted downward into the Lake of Thirteen that stretched mirror-like into the night. Climb up. Climb round, Bael searched the outer wall for cracks in the mortar, dislodged stones, slits, and anything else he could get a finger or toe on. He dusted his hands from the pouch of chalk dust hanging beside his knives and began to climb.
First he scaled sideways to the outer wall, out of sight of the sentries, and then up. The black stone had weathered over the centuries with pits and grooves. Bael picked at loose mortar, tossing it into the lake hundreds of feet below. Thoughts of promised payment bubbled in his mind, twelve times his weight in gold aureus, eased the strain on his arms and banished the fear of falling into the Lake of Thirteen. The slender cut of Maeve in lavish silks filled his mind, how she danced and swung her hips, how she would push him to her bed when ready, how he would be able to afford her every night for the rest of his life. He hung with one hand clutched to an arrow slit and dusted his other hand in chalk. Candle light danced from the window above. In four swift lunges he had a hold of the sill. His arms burned as he peered over the lip of the stone and caught sight of Emperor Maedicius III of Kathykos reading. What is it with these patricians and reading? Bael leapt up through the window and dropped silently into the room.
‘I expected you yesterday,’ the Emperor said. He remained seated at his desk, back to Bael, reading a pigeon scroll.
Bael hesitated in reaching for his knife. Expected. I’m never expected, he stood up.
Maedicius turned, his pale eyes regarding Bael with derision. Thin lips sloped downward, concave cheeks accentuated his solid jaw and high cheekbones. He took a gladius from his lap and set it on the desk and rose. ‘You come to kill me in the night with not even a word?’
‘That’s the idea,’ Bael drew his knife. The tower would be full of praetorians. A single shout, a single syllable too loud would draw their ire. He took one step forward.
Maedicius adjusted the bear skin cloak around his shoulders and snickered, ‘I see.’ The Emperor set his chair between them and strode backward as if it were the most natural thing to do. ‘Are you planning on leaving here alive?’
‘Yes,’ Bael took a second step but the Emperor was still out of reach. He thought of throwing the knife but caught the glint of steel beneath the bear skin cloak, paws clasped around Maedicius’s neck.
‘Bold. Bolder still of Livicus to make his move now. I expected more tact from the Diet. To instigate revolt while at war, folly. Our enemies will not wait for order to be restored,’ the Emperor circled his desk, tracking a finger along the bronze edge. His bed, a simple soldiers bed, sat against the wall behind him. An array of swords from hard fought campaigns hung from the walls. The nearest to his bed was a gladius, snapped in the middle, next was a curved sword said to have graced the Emperor’s neck, then was the heavy two-handed swords made from black iron taken from the northern forests. Bael refocussed on the Emperor, now a chair and a desk in his way. Beside him was an armour stand, empty save for the helmet.
‘Do you have no thoughts?’
‘My employers prefer it that way,’ Bael said. He could rush the man and be out the window in seconds but the risk of death was high. No, it had to be quiet. Maeve’s oval face and dark mesmerising eyes flashed in his mind.
‘Did you meet with Livicus?’
‘No, I met with Herio.’
Maedicius snorted, ‘The man refuses to dirty his hands even in this. He is unable to rule the Empire, it is the way with merchants who rise above their station.’
‘I heard Livicus was from the ancient family of Agrippa,’ Bael remembered overhearing some patrician in a brothel.
‘No, Agrippa’s line went extinct long ago. Livicus bought the Agrippa Villa and with it the name, just as he bought you. Gold gives a shine but lacks the substance of iron. There is nothing of the old patriarchs in him,’ Maedicius rolled the scroll between his fingers. ‘Do you want to know what this says?’
‘Plebs don’t learn their letters,’ Bael said. He lifted the chair and slid it under the desk. The Emperor was beside his bed, still out of reach.
‘Such a narrow world you must live. Do you know what happens after you kill me?’
‘I have an idea.’
‘Chaos. The legions will split, those legates Livicus has paid off going to him, and those loyal to the Empire to he who succeeds me. Titus perhaps, Otho is too far west, and Pius,’ the Emperor grimaced, ‘he is more suited to following orders than giving them. A trait much needed nowadays it seems. Pius will make a good second-in-command.’ He rolled the scroll between thumb and forefinger. ‘And while Livicus wages civil war our enemies will first nibble at the edges and, seeing no response, devour us. Is that a chaos you think you can survive?’
Bael had not given it much thought. He worked for power, he did not partake in it. ‘I’ll manage,’ he said. The Emperor’s gladius lay on the desk, surrounded by blank slips of pigeon messages on one side and written one’s on the other. Bael picked the weapon up in his off-hand, the weight unfamiliar to him. The glint of candlelight caught on the blade.
The Emperor smiled tight lipped and unfurled the message in his hand. ‘To the Emperor, Legate Pertinax has been neutralised. Geta, Sellus, and Balbinus have been secured,’ Maedicius leaned across to the candle and lit the scroll. It burned, the flame popping and hissing as it reached the ink. ‘He goes on. If Livicus thinks he is the only one plotting he is about to have a rude awakening. Tell me, does he have a guard with him?’ he dropped the flaming scroll on the stone floor.
‘I haven’t met him,’ Bael edged round the desk, conscious of the door and the guards beyond it.
‘Herio?’ Maedicius stepped back, closer to the weapons on the wall, tracing the desk with his hand.
‘Three.’
‘Praetorians?’
‘Mercenaries.’
‘Fool,’ Maedicius reached behind the right side of the desk and in a heartbeat a gladius appeared in his hand. ‘Do you know how I became Emperor?’ He felt the tip of the sword with his fingertip, a bead of blood swelled and trickled down his finger.
‘I’ve heard stories,’ Bael felt his pulse quicken. This was taking too long. He made three quick steps round the desk, his shoes scuffing the stone. He turned an ear to the door. Nothing.
‘Stories? No, history. First there was the court intrigue with my brothers. Father, as firm as he was with the Diet and the Empire was less so with his sons and had not named a successor. It wouldn’t have made much of a difference anyway. Intrigue only gets a man so far,’ he pointed the bloodied tip of the gladius at Bael. ‘War comes easier to man than subterfuge and so we drenched our great city in blood. Fortunately it did not boil over into civil war and by the end of three days fighting I emerged triumphant thankful I only had to kill one brother,’ Maedicius took a step toward Bael, his gladius less than a hands breadth away. ‘Next were the defensive wars. When an Emperor dies the vultures come pecking. I smashed every one, north, east, south, and west. Then I took revenge, for the Empire cannot brook rivals.’
Bael stepped back, lifting his knife and the gladius before him, ‘Let me guess, you led every campaign from the vanguard.’
‘Just so, as an Emperor should. Did you think you could climb into my room and slit my throat as I slept like some common street criminal? Livicus is a fool. You more so for taking his aureus,’ the Emperor snarled, his voice growing quiet with anger.
Bael felt his heart in his throat and attacked, the image of Maeve surrounded with gold driving him forward. His knife glanced off the flat of the Emperor’s gladius while his own short-sword was batted aside. Bael felt cold steel pierce his neck. Blood welled in his throat as he fell to his knees, knife and sword clattering to the stone. He swayed, the Emperor’s gladius propping him up.
‘Too busy trying to stay alive. Poor trait for an assassin,’ Maedicius planted his foot on Bael’s chest and slid his gladius free.
Bael was dead before he hit the floor, the feeling of warm blood choking his lungs. Maeve… his last thoughts of the smile that scrunched up her eyes.
The Civil War Index | The Second Move of the Civil War
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Brave, good sir. It's never a good idea to go after an Emperor
unless you know how he gained his power
Never try to kill a man
by climbing up a tower.
But if you take your gold
and intend to spend it on a slave
Just be prepared for the emperor
to treat you like a knave.
This is so well done. The mix of fiction and reality; the Roman names taken out of context. I loved everything about it. I'm a big Roman history nut, and while this isn't Rome, it has the flavour of it, and the layers. I hope you do more.