Caecilius the ambassador was absorbed to the degree of amusement in discussing and contriving plans with the advisors and military leaders against both the gang and the governor, sparing no moment day or night to bring down the latter through the first. His schemes were known to the young blond, and this knowledge increased the ambassador's joy. He embarked on his job, drowned in the maps and reports laying on the table as if they were a delicious meal, with failure increasing his appetite because it sank the arrogant blonde's boat deeper and deeper. Each new incident and marred corpse returned to its bereft family tipped the scale against the governor, whetting the ambassador's desires even more for a grand finale for the blond.
That was until a messenger from Rome stole the show from both the governor and the ambassador the night he arrived at the city. Plinius the Roman general who was dispatched by the emperor to deliver a note from him to the ambassador secretly, urging the latter to put an end to this farce and asking Plinius to assess the real situation since both the governor and the ambassador seemed to hide more than tell in their reports and messages. However, the night he arrived, he was fortunate enough to experience the situation personally rather than observe and collect notes, fighting against the notorious gang and capturing six of them, putting the city's garrison with their leader, the governor, and the ambassador who took it openly upon himself to take matter into his own hands exiling the governor somehow, into a great shame.
Plinius, with no distinctive features or deeds to his name, accomplished in one night what both men could not and delayed, proving the emperor right with his high expectation of the soldier's unfulfilled abilities.
"You surely did a lot more than what 's expected of a messenger limited to deliver the letter he carries."
Caecilius welcomed the general, his round chubby face falling to irritation, but the soldier ignored the higher up's obvious discomfort noting:
"It seems to me things are going quite well for you, though not for the citizens of this town. How did you manage to accomplish this?"
"Don't play the fool, Plinius. That arrogant lad is being reduced to his rightful gutter. This is all in my benefit and his people's too, I believe."
"I fail to see things from your perspective, this feud between you and
and the governor is not in the people's interest… They are being massacred every night... Their children… their beloveds…"
The general stated, unsatisfied by the small yet miraculous feat he had accomplished in one night, and which rose the people's hopes. It was not enough, the gang could not be limited to these individuals he had succeeded in capturing if here to wisely analyze their wide – scale terror. He was eager to ride again and look for these criminals' hiding place, his resolve honed by the gruesome tales he had heard. Caecilius on the other hand, was not that eager to end their reign of terror yet, as it was to his advantage in vilifying Germanous's name.
"Every state and nation goes through a period of decline, and this place is no different. It will emerge out of this ordeal and rid of its criminals and ruler alike."
The ambassador declared untroubled by the pleas the soldier had been hearing on his way from various people who entrusted him to deliver their requests and fears. If the governor was said to be incompetent, then the imperial ambassador seemed even worse; he was in dalliance with Germanous lack of action, summing the citizens' suffering like money or promotions so he can rise to the top.
Plinius replied to that theory, the same serious expression contorting his features in sympathy with the people's plight.
"I am sure the emperor wouldn't be pleased to hear such misfortune befalling his people."
"He will be pleased as long as the person he desires take over this province."
"And that woman who pleaded with the emperor, what is her opinion on the current situation?"
"Who knows? While she states her mind directly, you still can't grasp the meaning of her words."
The ambassador shrugged, shuddering from the mere recollection of that woman's visage. Plinius was not satisfied with the answer; this matter was being prolonged and complicated for no sane reason so he continued with his prying:
"Then, why not kill the governor if she's eager to puppeteer his throne?"
"She refuses to, and the emperor isn't keen on harming the son of an old friend of his."
"Yet he is keen on harming a portion of the people he governs?!"
The soldier thought, but did not say. Even a brave warrior like himself knew when to bridle his honesty. Instead he digressed with an unusual sarcastic flow to his usually stern direct speech.
"It seems that I have spoiled your fun with my arrival."
"Yes" was the truthful answer that both men knew but did not elaborate on.
A meeting with the governor was scheduled later to discuss this matter and see to the captured fate with Plinius, of course, as the guest of honor.
"So when will you be leaving?"
The ambassador asked without shame, to which Plinius did not answer. He mission was kind of complete now, he had verified the situation with his own eyes, managing to do so without the alternations of the governor or the ambassador, and delivered the urging note to the latter. He was free to return to a safer place, his hometown, but by the time he travels back, how many other victims will be kidnapped and traumatized to death? Could he bear this on his conscious after being lucky enough to shed a small ray of hope onto the unfavorable situation?
The general excused himself, leaving the fat man irritated from his presence more than he had intended to.
***
Resting the two lances on the wall beside his bed, the Celtic dual wielder laid there on top of the white sheets reflecting about the last battle. Aside from Sextus and his ravings, there was actually another Roman, another enemy, a soldier like himself, who could still see his former self through the many layers the days had donned him in, and addressed it with respect and admiration.
No, these two were not the only Romans to reach to his true ore, there was another weak dreamy blond who had discerned and acknowledged it prior to anyone else, but since he refused to return back that dreamer's acknowledgement, he wasn't willing to accept it from the soldier. Then, a distant call resounded through his troubled
memories and pondering.
"Dia, help me!"
This shout for help, yelled by Oscar, tore through the lancer's mind. The only memory resonating strongly from the battle where he was captured. Simple in format, easy in utterance and thus fitting to mislead. Oscar did not need his help this time. During the last battle, the boy seemed completely capable of dealing with those thugs by himself alone. Diarmuid's heart beat with unexplained sorrow and anxiety, a feeling of abandonment came out of nowhere. A selfish thought indeed, he knew. Oscar had been away from him for almost a year now, and if he had been training as he was claiming and as was shown through the fighting, it was only natural that he learns different moves and techniques, or develops a mixture of both Roman and Celtic styles. Oscar's style stood out to him for sure, not because it was a hybrid of different styles, but because he had witnessed it before, leaving Diarmuid's heart devoured by doubts. It was the same style of that mysterious lancer that targeted him during the game despite being a part of the same team; that same lancer who was secretly looking for a perfect chance to take him down before he backed down at the last moment making everyone believe he had saved the beloved dual wielder.
The coldness of the two's first meeting at Sabina's house sent the same shivers down his spine and fused the same gloominess into his thoughts.
Was Oscar pretending?
Growing stronger, developing his skills and learning to defend and stand for himself, were things the lancer wished Oscar to obtain and do. But why pretending?
The truth wasn't something Diarmuid could tell easily now, his eyes cladded in
darkness couldn't discern the truth anymore.
***
Noticing the sadness that took after the lancer after the last battle, the giant Greek, as usual, couldn't prevent his tongue from interfering and commenting, seeking to sooth his companion by satisfying his curiosity.
"Your little cousin seems to be trained well, but unlike you, he still lacks a defining style, an impressive touch that would leave the audiences struck by awe and admiration."
"I am sure he would find his distinctive technique someday. Not that he would do it to earn those dogs loud barks."
The lancer answered a bit sharply, wishing deep down that the boy would not walk anymore in his footsteps. The footsteps that had led him into this abyss of ostentatious brutality.
"He wished to be like you, you were a knight, right? And served a king…"
The lancer didn't answer, Oscar did really desire to be like him, but now it seemed he was seeking something else warped in that old wish disguise
"He has talent indeed. It is a waste if he was not to develop it. But I guess he has a weakness as well…"
Diarmuid raised his eyebrows at the last comment. The giant Greek smiled at the zeal his friend showed when speaking ill of his kin although he didn't intend to speak badly of the young man. Clearing his point, Ilianus went on:
"I mean, he is too kind to be a warrior. His eyes tell everything."
Of course, Oscar was too gentle and affable to wield a sword, he was a mild breeze that could blow no one, but instead refresh their hearts of illness and mal intentions. Deceit didn't suit his straight face that immediately revealed what dwelt in his heart.
"But now, in this place, it is a good thing he learns how to defend himself. If he were to survive and I know you want that…"
"It is not like I hate seeing him fight, after all I was his mentor. I was glad to teach a boy like him, but it is just… learning and deploying are two different things... To strike at a trunk isn't like stabbing a body… he is a budding twig that can be easily burned by the heat of battle."
Diarmuid loudly thought, gaining a look of interest from the giant.
"It is strange to hear this out of you of all people, lancer."
Diarmuid flipped his lips in dissatisfaction at the Greek's comment, who instantly had to explain once again:
"I heard you were men of battles, you raised your boys to fight, even had some distinguished female warriors that outshone your male soldiers. That boy is sixteen or fifteen, I guess? Then why are you denouncing the boy's right to fight and kill? He seems to desire to be a warrior… it should be an honor!"
"He is still young and soft. As I am now, I can't be always at his side… and I am not ready to lose another precious person I couldn't defend or hold to!"
Diarmuid stated, sorrow clouding his heart and storming from the regret laying deep within his soul. So many friends he had lost at the fields of battles, and a woman who was stolen from him by the wallowing of wars and circumstances.
"Young you say?? How old were you when you had your first fight?"
"Six."
The lancer hissed to the giant's surprise. Ilianus' eyes widened with astonishment, clapping his hand on his huge knee and attuning his claps with his wows of admiration.
"Really?! Six?! Yet you still reprove the boy fighting at his age! Older than you were by few years!"
"It is different!"
Diarmuid loudly protested, as if he was speaking to someone who understood nothing and for the lancer, the Greek giant was someone he viewed as ignorant. After all, how could someone who found reconciliation in forgetting his wife and children in order to keep moving on and savoring life understand where he was coming from? But the latter proved him wrong, to his surprise.
"Listen, Diarmuid... maybe you were stronger than that kid, more willing and had total control over your emotions and judgment at an early age. It is because you have these merits that you care deeply for your young friend. Frail as he seems, he still craves to be a warrior, to fight and defend what's dear to him… to become like you! Isn't this desire what lured you to fight at such an early age? It is because you refused to ask for help and be viewed as helpless, like a ten year old kid, that you mastered these two spears at an early age. No matter how much you love and fear for that little lad, you can't deny him these desires. You can't control him by your over protection. After all, it is just as you said, your protection can't be present at you will and wishes, you two live separately now. It is only fair and smart of him to learn how to fight in this blood soaked city. To tell the truth, I regret not teaching my kids to fight before I was captured. At least then I would be sure they are alive, striving as I am somewhere else."
Diarmuid's furrowed forehead relaxed, and a solemn expression took over his face. Ilianus was right. Diarmuid's thoughts were just selfish and self – centered. By the time his prayers would reach for Oscar, he only had to make sure his spears would arrive at the right time.
***
Meanwhile, within the palace where its governor was more of a persecuted prisoner, Germanous stood in the center of the assemble, his authority pushed beyond the margin of opinions and decisions like never before. To distance yourself by choice wasn't as hurtful as being pushed aside, and certainly not as freighting either. His words meant little, his voice echoed lower, his opinions weighed lighter, his entire attendance mattered slightly, everything relating to his presence was devoured by leers and askance speeches. When he claimed the governor's seat, he refused his father's council, he didn't accept his father's status, he didn't project his father's image. Aspiring to be an utterly different person, he found this objective forcing him to walk down the same route as his father had; heeding his counselors, grasping at his status, and admitting his image to everyone around but himself. By taking over governing the province he ruled, he wished to demonstrate the difference between the two pair of father and son whom the people always tried to link and compare. Seeking to weed out the roots of his father by his radiant blossom, he found himself manacled by them. They were confining him and now they were seeking to haul him beneath the soil merged together with his father's shadow.
Whether to look out for an assassination attempt or to focus on the matter at hand, the blond governor didn't know which to do. The capital ambassador's led the assembly, steering the council opinions the way he desired, mostly in the direction opposing what's left of the governor's wind.
"What happened a few nights ago demonstrated clearly the long path this province needs to wade until it reaches a sample of Rome's greatness. What your soldiers had failed at, Germanous, a Roman official did in a single night, the night of his arrival!"
Plinius stood silent without appreciating the admiration and gratitude he was showered with. He had seized some men from that vicious gang indeed, but it was not solely his doing; it was sheer luck that had guided him down that canal but the ambassador was too bent on obliterating that fact.
"We have questioned the captured men with every possible method, but they are a patch of stubborn mules who refuses to speak…"
"They are proud of their crimes, calling their evil a divine retribution!"
Another soldier added to the first one's statement. Caecilius was not satisfied, he insisted that the methods used were mild, and openly accused Germanous of going soft on the criminals so that the tribute would not go to Plinius. At that accusation, the blond's face darkened. He was cornered, even this silly accusation proved to be a deadly threat to him. Whatever nonsense Caecilius spouted, the counselors all hummed in agreement with like a herd of sheep. Many words flowed his mind, but like a mirage, he was certain they will reach no ears and will do him no good. No one was ready to listen to him, no one wanted to, no on desired a false oasis.
"I find these words absurd when said by a fellow citizen of the same empire."
Germanous' face paled though he would have rejoiced at the unexpected back up. He looked at the direction from which the melancholic sounding defend came from, and his eyes fell on the man who remained silent for too long. He did not expect that man to speak, if not in joining the accusations, then definitely not in standing up for him.
Laurentius stepped to the center of the hall, facing the ambassador who felt his imperial aura shrink in the shadow casted by the long - haired man.
"General Plinius efforts cannot be denied, but our soldiers have been working nonstop to protect the citizens of this province, they are their families after all… and what man would slack in protecting his family? Certainly not a Roman soldier… certainly not the soldiers I have trained and fought with!"
Laurentius's words resonated in the hall like the roars of an awakened tiger, stifling anyone's objections or mockery of the city's garrison and reducing their satire to shivers of fear, turning it to a zealous disapproval of the ambassador's suggestion. Caecilius had missed this man, he did not consider him a part of the game he was playing but now as that man decided to participate, he had shifted the game rules and direction with his first step.
"As for the captured men, I doubt we will get anything from them now or later regardless of any cruel methods we apply. I was the one interrogating the prisoners so the claim of leniency is utterly false. More so, any blind soul can tell you that these men are united by what this assembly unfortunately lacks; Faith in their cause."
The council room fell into an ashamed silence. Every two standing next to each other nodding in agreement with the counselor's words. The ambassador took a step back although Laurentius remained in his place, feeling a sudden threat, a storm that could so easily pluck him and throw him back to Rome, or more terribly, into his grave.
"None of the six prisoners resemble the other. Neither in background, ethnicity, or religious beliefs. They are unified by their goal; bringing down those whose life had been fortunate and generous to them… they have made of their suffering and grudge a conviction nothing can shake. Their vows of comradery while not chivalrous or pure, still stand solid and unbreakable."
Germanous watched the scene unfold in front of him as if he was in a trance. Nothing seemed real, a veil of mystic dominance took over the hall. Caecilius's aura was finally degraded somehow by Laurentius sole act of stepping forward. He easily took hold of the entire room yet still returned the control to the rightful person's hands; the governor.
"Men who fall prey to a certain conviction are easy to puppeteer yet difficult to persuade. Our acts of standing up to them will increase their belief and justification of their cause and methods, and will solidify our image in their distorted minds as the oppressor they are fighting against."
"So what do you suggest, Laurentius?"
A voice rose, one of the counselors dared to speak and question the long – haired soldier integrity.
"Are you saying we should negotiate with them, change our image, and disprove their cause?"
Germanous waited for the man's answer, interested in what it would be. Guessing from his monologue, this idea was not farfetched but the counselor managed to surprise him yet again with an unseen, unexpected ruthlessness.
"Of course not."
Laurentius replied, eyeing the speaking man with a flaring gaze no one believed these grey pair of eyes could shine with.
"We will obliterate every one of them in answer to their despicable deeds starting with these prisoners. Interrogating them any further is a waste of time."
Laurentius concluded his speech, delivering the testament and the verdict at the same time. Caecilius nodded without thinking, approving of the man's words. Germanous knew Laurentius would not resort to violence against the ambassador, but the loss of control and the cowardice seizing the ambassador was a sight he wished to engrave in his memory forever.
Plinius watched the entire exchange without interfering or weighing in, despite being the indirect cause of this gathering and commotion. He looked at Laurentius from where he was standing, next to Caecilius. For a soldier it was not difficult to tell when another one made an entrance, and Plinius knew very well that the man who took charge of the assembly was not an ordinary fellow soldier, but a formidable one. Following his speech, he was sure that if the gang did not have innocents blood on their hands, then that man would have accepted to negotiate with them and listen to their demands in a prudent diplomatic strategy that did not amount to cowardice. But since these rebellious thugs chose violence then they could only be answered with a similar justified one that did not amount to needless cruelty.
It was a perfect balance.
Plinius recognized the soldier acting as a counselor now to be a man who had not fought a losing battle, who knew what course to take at every curve, and who let
his words speak and his actions affirm, never dallying or showing off.
He, without a doubt, was the strongest man in that room.
***
After the end of the assembly, Germanous stayed at the hall. He did not wish to retire to his chambers, although he had no work to do. The penalty for the captured criminals was already decided so he had nothing to think about except the future which dwelled too far yet so close, warning more than promising.
Germanous withdrew to his favorite balcony. The cool air did not help to sooth his mind. Although the breeze was mild and refreshing, it turned into a tearing storm inhaled by the blond's stimulated body. He was seized by the different possibilities the future possessed, forcing him to surrender his every next awakening to fear and worry.
He was accustomed to solitude, having grown up with its comfort, it became a peaceful escape with few people allowed to share the imagination it brought, at times serene, at others so vivid. However, the solitude he was left in now wasn't a comfortable one. It was the kind of solitude that births life to doubts and fears.
Alone, the impending peril to his status was closely environing its claws around him. But was he truly alone?
The moment the rug of glory he had sewed for himself was about to be pulled from under his feet, a man stepped up and halted this malicious attempt for no explained reason.
Why?
Ignorance was not a wise ally against that man.
In panic, Germanous sent a soldier to notify him about the counselor Laurentius, his whereabouts now and what was he doing.
His thoughts finally calmed down after that order. Germanous sat on the chair waiting patiently like a prudent man for the soldier's return. He will carry him Laurentius' intentions and there will be nothing he will have to worry about. As long as he acts faster, he will be always ahead. Germanous closed his eyes and sighed in relief regaining his composer. He did not know he was holding such a deep troubled breath until now. Then, like the rise and fall of the tides, another thought jumped into his mind.
In panic, he sent a second soldier to observe the ambassador.
Then a third to observe the recently arriving soldier, Plinius.
And he will be sending a fourth and a fifth after the previous three… even a sixth and a seventh if he was wise enough…
He will be sending men behind the others back, the same he will be anticipating them behind his own.
As long as he could not trust anyone, he should not expect anyone to trust him.
This way he was safe, and fate would favor him again.
No, this was not quite right; as long as he surpassed fate and worked up his wits, he will be safe.
Germanous raised his head and stared at the ceiling releasing continuous sighs.
A never ending race, a never ending chase.
The only way to endure this run was to imagine it as a never ending song, that he liked to repeat and mime along.
A song of loneliness.
A song of solitude.
A song of exhaustion.
A song of tiredness.