What to do With a Corpse?
or, The Eleventh Move of the Civil War
The Tenth Move | The First Move| The Civil War Index | The Twelfth Move
‘He’s dead?’ Opiter shouted aghast. He half rose from his seat, his ornately carved desk a jumble of scrolls, ledger books, and coin pouches. Were most governor’s offices were stacked with shelves of scrolls of politics, philosophy, and poetry, alongside the ledgers, letters, and instructions of office Opiter’s was lined with his collection of desks. One of ebony stood in the corner with four carvings of nude women holding the desktop above their head. Another featured an etching in a pale wood framed in a darker kind of a series of wild haired men killing other bearded men, Maedicius wasn’t certain which play it was from. A third was constructed of fifteen different woods with the desktop arrayed in wedges of the different coloured species that culminated in the centre with a wheel of oak. Four more lined the walls, similarly distinct and ornate.
Maedicius’s wounded shoulder itched, his elbow ached, but the medicus had been clear. If he moved his sword arm again it would not heal. What had the medicus more worried was the ink in his calf, Maedicius had assured him he’d seen plenty of barbarians with tattoos and the quill couldn’t have penetrated that deep. Judging by the gangrenous skin festering beneath the bandage, however, it was worse than he would admit. ‘Yes, Partinax is dead. I slew him after he stabbed me.’
Thusnelda’s eyes widened from her spot on the floor. She sat with her back to the wall listening as part of her civilised education, though in part it was to keep her out of trouble. She refused a chair, said the floor was comfier but Maedicius was certain it was a barbarian habit that needed breaking. Another battle for another day.
‘With a stylus, Most Venerable?’ Opiter lowered himself back into his seat, perplexed.
‘Yes,’ Maedicius confirmed. He wasn’t here to discuss the matter simply to inform the governor of events in his own city. It may have been a moment of anger but there was no point dwelling on it. Partinax was dead, the plan of misdirection gone with him.
Odoacer laughed as he paced. Ariovistus’s fourteen year old son had a patchy beard growing from his chin and neck, not a whisker from his cheeks or top lip. He refused the clothes of Elysia and remained in his leathers and furs stinking of wet dog. The boy was a man to his own people, having fought with them, but, by Elysian law, was a child and that meant he needed educating. Though Maedicius was loathe to have two wards it was necessary.
‘Why did he have a stylus?’
‘I gave it to him to write a letter. He refused. I slew him. Now you need to host a funeral worthy of an Elysian Legate.’
‘That is the purview of his family.’
‘His family is in Elysia and you are the Governor of Ovilava. In the interests of civility it is your duty to host the funeral for one of Partinax’s rank.’
‘Meaning you’re going to do it anyway regardless of what I say,’ Opiter grimaced.
‘That desk is not a shield, governor,’ Maedicius growled.
‘Apologies, Most Venerable. I am still of the opinion his body should be returned to his family.’
The itch on Maedicius’s shoulder grew worse, ‘And how do you intend to transport Partinax over that distance? The maggots will have reduced him to bone before he passes through the Gate of Lilies.’ Opiter’s expression became pinched while he thought of an answer. Maedicius didn’t let him, ‘How about a barrel of honey or salt?’ The Emperor already knew the response.
‘That’s gross,’ Odoacer said, unexpectedly. He tapped on one of the desks near the front of the room. His command of Elysian had progressed swiftly.
‘I have neither,’ Opiter said, expectedly.
‘Then he will be cremated here, a fine cask made for his ashes, and games held in his honour,’ Maedicius said. The itch began to fade.
‘There’s no colosseum in Ovilava, Most Venerable.’
‘The games will be hosted in the odeon.’
Opiter Regillensis balked and cradled his head in his hands, ‘The odeon is a place of song and dance, not bloodshed, Most Venerable, it isn’t right.’
‘It is the only place large enough for people to attend, unless you have a plan on building, or digging, stands for thousands of spectators? Think of the revenue it will bring in to be used in your grand plans,’ Maedicius smiled wryly.
The governor sighed, ‘Perhaps.’
Maedicius shrugged with only his left arm, ‘You are the governor, I will not force your hand here.’
‘Why not?’ Odoacer said, his northern accent thick voweled.
The Emperor turned with one hooked eyebrow.
‘You’re the… chief. Make him.’
‘My authority lies with the military not administration, as per the law.’
‘He has soldiers too, why?’ Odoacer crossed his arms.
‘Expedience.’
‘I don’t know that word.’
‘Then learn it,’ Maedicius growled.
Thusnelda watched the entire exchange with an amused smugness, she knew the word and understood the meaning.
‘What are you looking at?’ Odoacer spat in her direction and finished his sentence with a few barked words clearly meant to be insulting.
She rose at the slight and threw her own barbs. Opiter burst to his feet but a glance from Maedicius kept him silence.
‘You sit there. Quiet. Accepting the gifts of our conquerors. Why? Do you want to bed one of their powdered city men for sport?’ Half the words from Odoacer’s mouth were in the barbarian tongue.
Thusnelda darted across the room and slapped Odoacer. His hairless cheek bloomed red and he looked ready to strike back.
‘Enough!’ Maedicius roared. ‘Those barbarous ways are in your past. Clean that up and apologise. Then you will clean the governor's latrines for one week, alone.’ Thusnelda giggled. ‘You also.’
‘Why?’
‘For striking him. Justice is not yours to dispense. You are a child, a ward at that.’
Thusnelda ground her teeth but managed to swallow the rage flaring behind her eyes, avoiding further punishment. She dropped back to her spot on the floor and sulked. While Odoacer rubbed his cheek, nursing his own rage directed at everything.
‘Most Venerable, if I may, what was the letter for?’ Opiter asked, he side-eyed the two barbarian children.
‘An attempt at misdirection. He was to inform Livicus of my defeat and that I had fled to the forests,’ Maedicius said.
‘The truth would be quickly ascertained. Merchants, the stories of soldiers, travellers.’
‘I’m aware but in the time it would have taken for Livicus to unravel the knot I could have prepared a great deal. Now a new tactic is required.’
‘Why not go ahead with the plan?’
‘I do not know Partinax’s hand and it is not the sort of message he would have delegated.’
Opiter rubbed his dimpled chin, ‘Can’t say I ever swapped missives with the man. I could write something similar.’
‘No, such an act would incriminate you in our enemies eyes and when you return to Elysia at the end of your term you must have an air of neutrality. It will be difficult, I don’t know how your father manages.’
‘That isn’t until the end of the year, I thought you would march on before then.’
Maedicius barked a laugh, ‘Ovilava is my winter camp, Opiter. I will be here longer than you will.’
‘But… my replacement.’
‘It doesn’t matter, the garrison legion remains behind. You return to Elysia a few days ahead of schedule. I remain. Your replacement will be late and his duties will have fallen to me. I gain a second legion and depending on who the Diet elects to governorship an ally or a prisoner.’
Opiter tongued his front teeth, ‘I see. I prolonged the war by siding with you.’
‘You saved our Imperial Republic from a would-be tyrant. Just you wait, before the end of the year Livicus will declare an emergency and have himself elected dictator. But enough politics, you have a funeral to plan for and I must see the medicus, again,’ the Emperor grumbled.
The Tenth Move | The First Move| The Civil War Index | The Twelfth Move
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There were a few little mistakes in spelling that maybe you should look at, but it's still quite the interesting story.