The Ultimate Spoils (Tumultus Chronicles Book 1)

by Nathan R. Mancini

  The dense woods were also home to many bandits and fearsome predators. Few people ever travelled its lesser trails, as they were now. Individually, they would have never dared such a journey, but with his veteran father, First Centurion Kaeso, Tribune Fulvio and Xaphia together, their group encompassed some of the best swords in Arcem and were escorted by a dozen legionaries. Had trouble presented itself along the way, they would have made short work of it. But there had been none: no bands of runaway slaves or brigands, not even a merchant traveller lost on his way. No one but the Prince of Syphax knew that they were coming.

  Slowly and utterly exhausted by their long journey, they rode into the secluded campsite their ally had prepared for them. They passed two Syphaxan sentries standing by the roadway and entered a small circle of tents, their canvas sides each stamped with the scarab symbol of the Thirteenth Legion.

  Even in this early hour, Corvinus saw legion servants walking back and forth between the tents, readying for their arrival. His stomach growled as he saw cooking fires being stoked and large pots boiling away above them, steaming in the cold air. It was a truly welcome sight. Though Corvinus had never met a Syphaxan other than his childhood tutor, never serving with them in his military service, it seemed the rumours of their hospitality were true.

  Outside the largest tent, a small host of Syphaxan legionaries stood waiting to receive them. Each wore the segmented plate armour of an Arcemite First Cohort veteran, but with obvious alterations. Theirs were embellished with bronze trimmings, engraved with Syphaxan hieroglyphs and over their breastplates they wore a long, white stole that was riddled with yet more of their ancient symbols. Corvinus had no idea what to make of the markings. Were they detailing personal triumphs or did they have some sort of religious significance to ward off danger? Their shields were also foreign; narrow and oval with polished bronze facings, they were nothing like the large rectangular shields Arcemite legionnaires used for storming through danger. Corvinus was at least pleased to notice that the swords they wore around their waists were in fact gladii. The Syphaxans waited in a neat line before them, all standing guard without helmets, revealing their tanned faces and shaved heads.

  One man stood ahead of the ranks, presumably the officer. Unlike the others, his armour was lined with gold and his stole was crimson red with hieroglyphs in gold thread.

  The man bowed low as they approached.

  ‘Greetings Consul,’ he said fluently. ‘My name is Sejanus Hathor, Captain of the Royal Guard and Champion of His Majesty, the Prince of Syphax. Please, follow me.’

  Gaius Valerius nodded and twisted in his saddle to address his retinue as they finally came to a stop.

  ‘Corvinus, Fulvio, with me. The rest of you, wait here for our return,’ he said, dismounting his horse. Legs aching, Corvinus half-slid, half-fell from his horse and followed his father. Beside him, Tribune Fulvio dismounted with similar inelegance, but Corvinus was too exhausted to even see the humour of it. In truth, he was still irritated by the lack of time he had been allowed with his wife back in Monarx. Between the Senate meetings and his father’s plans, Corvinus had shared barely a day in his own home before leaving the city once again.

  Following behind the Syphaxan captain, they walked towards a large tent which they supposed to be Hannibal’s, leaving the hooded Xaphia with First Centurion Kaeso and the rest of their entourage.

  No words of conversation were exchanged between Corvinus and Fulvio as they walked. Though Corvinus knew they were all weary from their journey, the tribune had been particularly sullen since joining them. To be honest, Corvinus had been quite surprised when Fulvio pledged his support for their coup. At one stage they had believed the tribune had rejected their offer and Corvinus almost gave permission for Xaphia to kill the aristocrat in his Monarx home, then at the eleventh hour he had joined them. But there remained some animosity between them.

  Of course, their rivalry on the Gaur Mons might explain Fulvio’s manner, but Corvinus still would have expected the man to be a bit more amicable at the promise of a consulship. And yet there was nothing but silence between them.

  As they were escorted to Prince Hannibal’s tent, several servants with the Syphaxan scarab imprinted on their tunics tried to approach the group with trays of drinks and fruit. Much to their confusion, the servants were briskly dismissed by the Syphaxan captain as he led the way. Corvinus quickly realised this would be a cold reception, wondering if they had done something to offend the Thirteenth Legion.

  ‘My master awaits you,’ said Sejanus, holding open the tent’s doorway for them to enter.

  Entering from the snow-speckled white of the wintery forest into Hannibal’s quarters was like crossing into another realm. Rich colours of red and gold silks greeted them inside and warm air washed over them, making their stiff extremities burn at the sudden change. Braziers of incense hung from the roof, giving off exotic scents that made Corvinus think of distant lands. Leopard skins lined the floor and heavy chests full of scrolls were scattered around the prince’s table.

  On either side of the room, a pair of sandstone statues faced them; each as tall as a man with the head of a different animal. Corvinus had seen their forms before, he remembered, years ago in the books of his Syphaxan tutor. He could not remember their names but he was sure they were deities. The statue to Corvinus’ right was a humanoid figure with the head of a hawk. It stood clutching a book to its chest with one hand, and a short, gold spear held out in its other as if defending against some unseen evil. The statue to the left had the head of a lion, its teeth bared and claws ready to leap out at the unwary. Corvinus did not understand the particular significance of these two gods or why Hannibal would want to carry such bulky things with him on campaign. They truly are a different people, he thought. The Syphaxans had hundreds of deities in their pantheon, ancient gods, and Arcem tended to ignore that so long as they worshipped Taranis as well.

  Between the two statues, hanging from the roof above the prince was the royal banner of the Thirteenth Legion. The scarab emblem at its centre was of the most brilliant emerald Corvinus had ever seen and the golden fabric around it gleamed in the torchlight.

  Standing beneath his legion’s standard, Decius Hannibal Barca, the Prince of Syphax waited for them, and he did not look pleased. As the three Arcemites entered, Hannibal threw a scrawled-up ball of papyrus towards them.

  ‘Explain this,’ he said, bitterly.

  They exchanged a cautious glance with each other, troubled at their reception. Fulvio was the first to move. Reaching down, he picked up the paper ball that had landed at his feet. Unravelling its folds his eyes began to read its message. He hesitated for a moment before speaking.

  ‘General, we have been discovered,’ he said, handing the note to Gaius. The consul snatched the message from Fulvio’s hand and read its contents. Finally, he passed it on for Corvinus to read.

  “In the name of the sacred Republic, stand down your legions and await trial before the Senate. You may tell the same to my traitorous brother consul, Gaius Valerius.”

  The message ended with the wax seal of Consul Zeno.

  ‘This changes nothing, we go ahead as planned,’ said Gaius, breaking the tense silence that had built up. ‘Zeno was always expected to discover us sooner or later, better we know it now than walk into a trap unprepared. The old man is too rigid in his code of honour; by giving us this chance of mercy he has just thrown away the one advantage he might have used against us.’

  ‘We were never meant to have been revealed so early! You promised me we would have complete surprise over the Senate,’ said Hannibal. ‘What are we to do when the city militias are called up against us? Will you lay siege to your own capital and kill your own citizens? Or what will you do when those loyal legions in the south are recalled?’

  ‘The legions to the south are too busy with the Oirthir to aid the Senate. I have seen their latest reports – they cannot be of assistance,’ said Valerius, calmly. ‘As for the militias,
I have enough agents and goodwill within the city to buy their support. General Horatius remains in the capital, but his legion is still in Caldinium, far away and of no concern. The only force inside Monarx to resist us is the Praetorian Guard, and there are not enough of them to hold all of the city’s gates. There will be no siege.’

  ‘What of Consul Zeno, are we to just forget about his legion?’

  ‘No of course not, but you seem to forget that the Seventh Legion is in Emissus and that mine left Ultor three days ago. We have a head start on Monarx to our advantage and your legion alone outnumbers the Ironclad by more than two-to-one. The field is still in our favour.’

  ‘General, if I may,’ said Fulvio, walking over to where he spotted a map of Arcem spread out across the table. ‘The mountain roads are frozen slick and are under much snow, our pace will be slow through the valley passes from Ultor. If the Seventh Legion were to take the coastal highways they may well reach Monarx in time to stop us, or at least be close enough to inspire the militias to defend the capital.’

  The consul was clearly troubled by this suggestion. Corvinus knew his father required the takeover to be as swift and bloodless as possible in order to maintain the support of the citizens. It was essential that nothing primed the masses to interfere.

  ‘How long until the Fourth Legion arrives here in Praedium?’ asked Corvinus, joining them around the table.

  ‘Allowing for the weather, they are due from Ultor in two days, but as I said before – the snows are only getting worse as winter deepens,’ said Fulvio.

  ‘I fear your legion is too far away to take part in this, Corvinus,’ said Gaius, looking down at the map. ‘They are not due for at least a week. By the time they reach Ultor from Caldinium, the battle will have been fought.’

  ‘My legion is ready to march on Monarx and can be here by noon,’ offered Hannibal. ‘There is no point in them remaining in Praedium acting innocent when our enemies know what we are about. Let us march on ahead and we can secure the capital for you.’

  ‘Apologies if this seems direct, Prince of Syphax,’ said Fulvio, looking over towards Hannibal. ‘Citizens of Arcem would not look kindly on us if a foreigner marched his army on our beloved capital. It would be best if the Fourth Legion seize Monarx alone, if only to provide the impression of a legitimate power transfer and not an invasion.’

  Hannibal was silent for a moment, knowing his people – whilst rich and worthy allies – would never be equals to the men of Arcem. Syphaxan autonomy would change that though. Once this coup was over and he was free, he would help restore his nation’s grand empire.

  ‘Perhaps that is best,’ muttered Gaius. ‘I shall take my men to Monarx alone and seize control. As for you, instead of going for the capital, I want you to march your legion north and stop Consul Zeno’s legion from reaching the capital. By whatever force, do not let them interfere.’

  ‘Father, is it wise to split our legions over so vast a distance?’ asked Corvinus. All those present looked to the consul, who seemed to have aged years over the last few weeks. Tired and still scruffy from the night’s ride, Gaius sighed. In the end it was Fulvio who answered the question.

  ‘We must divide our forces, it is the only way,’ he said, eyeing Corvinus with a poisonous stare. There was definitely something wrong with the tribune’s attitude, Corvinus decided.

  ‘I am curious as to why you want break up our army when we can so easily defeat the Ironclad as one force,’ said Corvinus, returning the man’s gaze.

  ‘Curious you say? I only tell you how I see it,’ said Fulvio. ‘I think you forget that I have as much at stake in this rebellion as you do, if not more. We are no longer fighting superstitious barbarians like the Evastii, but Arcemites – trained and disciplined – and I shall not put my name or my life into the hands of your inexperience when facing such enemies. It is only tactically sound to keep the Seventh Legion as far away from the capital as possible.’

  Corvinus was about to retort but his father stopped him.

  ‘Be calm please gentlemen, we are all on the same side here,’ he said, raising a hand. ‘I have made my decision and it will stand. Hannibal will take the Thirteenth Legion north against the Ironclad and we shall continue on to Monarx when the Fourth arrives here in two days. Agreed?’

  ‘Very good, General,’ said Fulvio, with a wicked smile across his face.

  Corvinus stared at the tribune. For a long moment the two remained locked in a venomous glare, until Corvinus finally dropped his gaze and sighed. He had been wrong before and conceded much of the current predicament was a result of his decision to press their legions so far north. Perhaps he did have much to learn. Not wanting to press the issue and receive another scolding from his father before the company of others, Corvinus reluctantly held his tongue. Gaius was the veteran statesmen after all and had not failed yet. It was his duty as a son to honour his father’s decision. Corvinus simply nodded.

  The others in the room all turned to Hannibal. The Prince of Syphax was standing by the lion-headed statue, in what Corvinus quickly realised was some sort of prayer. Running his hand down the length of the lion’s nose, the Syphaxan stared into its eyes, completely disregarding his guests.

  ‘Hannibal?’ Gaius Valerius called out. The prince turned slowly.

  ‘Yes Consul, I heard what you said,’ replied Hannibal. ‘I shall take my legion north as you ask and I will do what is necessary to hold off your enemies. My only concern is I know deep down you are a man of honour, so I hope this change of character does not impede your success as a militant.’

  ***

  ‘You should kill him,’ said Xaphia, running a gloved finger down the length of her blade, testing its razor-sharp edge.

  ‘Who?’ asked Corvinus, turning from the doorway of the tent the Syphaxans had prepared for him to regard the gangly figure of his bodyguard sitting on the floor.

  Staring down the curved length of steel, Xaphia spun the hilt of her sword, watching the candlelight dance along its polished surface. ‘The tribune of course,’ she said without looking up. ‘He will only give us trouble.’

  ‘I know, but my father believes we need him,’ said Corvinus as he sat on the side of his bed and began pulling off his boots, still damp from the ride. ‘Fulvio is a Tarquin, the oldest family in Arcem. His ancestors fought alongside Romanus the Great against the barbarian tyrants, his support can bring many of the upper houses of the Senate to our side.’

  ‘Perhaps, for now, but if Fulvio ever realises the full extent of your father’s plans that may change. He does not yet know this is not just another fleeting power seizure in Arcem’s history, but will establish a far more permanent singular authority,’ said Xaphia, sheathing her sword in one fluid motion. ‘If Fulvio discovers you are intended to succeed your father in that position, his allegiance will surely disappear. You know he hates you.’

  ‘Yes,’ Corvinus sighed. He could not shake the feeling of guilt and the knowledge that many of the complications to their original plans stemmed from his actions during the Evastii campaign. Not for the first time since returning to Arcem, he regretted his headstrong command and the rift it created with the tribune.

  ‘Then kill him,’ urged Xaphia. ‘Better he dies now before your cause suffers any division.’

  ‘No, my father desires Fulvio’s support in this transition and so he must have it. When the time comes that Fulvio is no longer needed – once we have taken Monarx and control the Senate – then I will gladly talk of killing him. But my father ordered fatalities be kept to an absolute minimum, so until that time comes, we will not kill the oldest and richest name in Arcem unnecessarily. As much as it pains me to say, Fulvio lives.’ Corvinus said, feeling the words twist in his gut.

  ‘I should have taken his head that night in Monarx when he was first included in your father’s plans,’ hissed Xaphia. ‘It would have been a most enjoyable hunt.’

  Corvinus looked over at the bronze facemask of his bodyguard. ‘There is someth
ing wrong with you,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘By the gods, where did my father find you?’

  Xaphia turned to face her master and Corvinus could feel her black eyes smiling at him. ‘What makes you think he found me? It was I who found him, during the great battle of the Parum Islands so many years ago.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Corvinus, surprised she had even answered. ‘You once said that you have been here since The Fall, why would you wait so long to reveal yourself and to a lowly centurion of all people?’

  ‘I first came to this planet as an emissary of my species. Back then Tumultus was a very different place; it was so peaceful, so advanced. You know this from the histories in the Chronicles and fragments of technology that still remain from that time, but I was there.’

  Corvinus leant forward, completely enthralled by her story. ‘Go on,’ he whispered.

  ‘The initial design of my stay was to trade knowledge between our races. The Seleukians were quite interested by you humans and your kind had equally as much to learn from us,’ said Xaphia. ‘But not long after came The Fall.’

  ‘What happened?’ pressed Corvinus.

  ‘War happened,’ hissed Xaphia. ‘In great and devastating fury, Tumultus descended into chaos. The world turned savage. Nations crumbled, your people turned upon each other and bands of survivors became tribes. It was the dark age of your history, full of superstition and ignorance. Of course during that time, I could not simply reveal myself to the world, so I hid on the secluded shores of the Parum Islands... waiting for the right time.’

  ‘Until the great Balhiran raid brought the tribes to the islands and then the legions of Arcem in its defence? With my father among them?’ asked Corvinus.

  Xaphia’s bronze facemask nodded slowly.