The Ultimate Spoils (Tumultus Chronicles Book 1)

by Nathan R. Mancini

  ‘Sir, the Seventh Legion stands ready,’ said Eliphas, saluting. ‘Though I have a duty to report to you that my men are weary and in need of-’

  ‘Your men have come this far, they may stand a little longer,’ snapped Fulvio, instantly regretting doing so as the wound on his cheek the field surgeons had so hastily stitched closed flared with fresh pain. ‘Besides, as an Ironclad I think you might want to witness this... in your general’s stead.’

  ‘The physicians have assured me that Consul Zeno will survive this and when he does, you can be sure that I will inform him of all that has transpired in his absence.’

  ‘The general still lives?’ asked Fulvio, carefully covering his annoyance. He wondered what this development might mean for his newfound authority. It would take some intense political gamesmanship for things to play his way in the Senate.

  ‘General Zeno is Ironclad,’ said Eliphas proudly. ‘He will not yield his life so easily. He will be back in Monarx on the consul’s chair within no time.’

  ‘Then may the gods watch over him,’ sniffed Fulvio. ‘Come, I want to show you what happens to those traitors who follow their general blindly against the true authority of Arcem.’

  The Fourth Legion was lined up opposite them. Its ranks were almost the same size as their Ironclad brothers but there was one obvious difference. Only a fraction of the legion now stood – those of the First Cohort and the cohorts that had been loyal to Fulvio. Their armour was covered in gore. The rest knelt in the snow, their hands tied behind their backs. With heads hung low in defeat, they were completely at Fulvio’s mercy. Some looked up at him, their faces silently pleading, whilst others were full of hatred. Either way, Fulvio paid them no heed. Unlike the fool Valerius, he was not after their love, so he would take their fear and with it he would harden their allegiances.

  ‘Soldiers of the Fourth Legion, you are disgraced and guilty of following a traitor against the sacred Republic,’ shouted Fulvio, his voice carrying across the field for all to hear. ‘Your honour is tainted with this treachery and it must be cut out from your ranks if you are to be trusted again in the field of war.’

  The heads of many of those kneeling sunk in despair, already guessing at what was to come.

  ‘First Cohort, walk the ranks before you and mark every tenth man for death. Untie the rest,’ said Fulvio.

  The legionaries of Kaeso’s First Cohort stepped forward to carry out the order and were met with the shouts and cries of those kneeling. Soldiers and veterans of a dozen campaigns broke down at the thought of being that ill-fated tenth man. With grim efficiency, the First Cohort paced through the lines of kneeling men and began the count. Prayers could be heard muttered all throughout the ranks where they walked. Men flinched as they heard them approach. Sweating nervously, most sighed in relief as they had their bonds slit. Elated by their fortune, they stood and praised Taranis for their second chance at life – that was, until it dawned on them that it would be bought with the blood of their friends.

  Quivering with fear, those poor souls still kneeling watched on hopelessly as the men abreast to them were spared and slowly began to surround them. With gloomy expressions on their faces their brothers looked down on them with clenched fists. Tragically, this was a punishment wrought by bare hands alone. Many of those kneeling wept openly whilst some just stared numbly at the ground, waiting for the end.

  ***

  First Centurion Eliphas Fallax and his legion watched the horrific scene unfold. Decimation – it was a barrack-room taboo, an ancient punishment that had not been employed in Arcem for decades.

  Reserved only for a dishonoured legion, it was a punishment whereby every tenth man was be sentenced to die at the hands of his comrades. Looking on at the miserable faces of the Fourth Legion, Eliphas was not completely certain which was the more fortunate group. No matter what count a man received, all were damned in one way or another.

  The deaths of so many did not sit well with the First Centurion. Though he had effectively ordered the deaths of a thousand good soldiers from his legion in their flight south, and Fulvio was only condemning three hundred men, Eliphas knew this was infinitely worse. Marius and his men had died well, with honour and against a true enemy. It was a heroic sacrifice which actually achieved something. This would be butchery. As he watched on, ready for the bloodbath to begin, Eliphas felt doubt for the first time in his career and it tore at his soul.

  ‘Sir, the count is finished.’ The shout came from among the ranks of the Fourth Legion in a booming voice which Eliphas instantly attributed to Victor Kaeso, their First Centurion. With it, the attention of all those present suddenly turned to Fulvio. Only two words were heard and they were spoken with such severity that it sent a shiver down Eliphas’ spine.

  ‘Decimate them,’ said Fulvio coldly.

  ***

  It took some time for the blunt execution of over three hundred men to finally end. Though silence eventually fell over the field, the screams of those condemned continued in the minds of their killers long after their broken bodies could give voice.

  Fulvio nodded to himself, pleased none had failed to carry out his order.

  Before him, the men of the Fourth Legion quickly reorganised themselves into fresh ranks. Above the crumbled bodies of their comrades, on snow splashed red with blood, the soldiers stood facing him.

  He rode forward and drew a breath before continuing.

  ‘For those that now stand before me, remember that it is to my mercy that you owe your lives. Do not forget your loyalties again. We shall never speak of this day again, for it is but dust to the Chronicles. Your treason and any past honours are now forgotten, but I shall give you the chance of redemption. You are to be renamed and the legion formed anew. From now on you shall be the Victorious Fifth, for I will tolerate nothing less. Now, soldiers, I will hear your oaths of allegiance,’ said Gnaeus Tarquinius Fulvio, the Dictator.

  XII

  ‘If I charge, follow me. If I retreat, crucify me. If I fall, avenge me.’

  General Corvinus, to First Centurion Valko on the Gaur Mons.

  ‘What now?’ asked Tribune Bantius as he poured another cup of wine for his guest. Like most legion rations, the drink had a rough bite to it. Good for taking the chill out of a cold winter’s night like this one, but little else. Bantius passed the cup across the table to where his companion sat, distractedly running a hand over the weak flame of the candle between them. Located on the uppermost levels of Ultor’s mighty citadel, in the stone-grey room of the tribune’s chamber, Hector Valko looked up and received the drink with a grateful nod. The First Centurion was not the sort of character Bantius would typically entertain, but he had to admit the recent campaigns against the Evastii had smoothed their relations considerably. One could almost describe it as friendship, if such a thing were possible between an aristocrat from Monarx and a commoner from Ultor.

  Bantius then watched the First Centurion take the folded message that lay before them and set it over the candle. The heavy parchment took a moment to catch, but eventually the letter that had caused their sombre mood was aflame. Word had arrived from the south only that hour. Suffice to say, it had not been the news they expected.

  As the flames crept towards his fingers, Valko tilted the parchment and dropped it into the liquid wax by the candle’s wick.

  With dark eyes, he watched the scarab symbol of the Prince of Syphax slowly bubble in the heat as the dark crimson seal melted into the pale wax of the candle. Only when the image had fully dissolved and nothing but ash remained of the note did the First Centurion speak.

  ‘We must decide,’ he said simply. ‘Stay or go. We can carry the fight out of principle, but without the consul’s credibility we shall be branded traitors. Or we might submit to the mercy of our enemy and we both know how limited that is.’

  ‘Strictly speaking he is not our enemy,’ said Bantius, staring into his cup. ‘We just... happened to have been following the orders of those above us in the
chain of command. Perhaps it is worth pleading our case. After all, we have not raised a hand against anyone. We were in Caldinium when our general was busy rolling the dice in politics back home.’

  ‘You make it sound like a game.’

  ‘Is it not? Kings and soldiers; are we not merely pieces on an infinitely vast board before the gods? Do we not all compete for power over our lives and those of others? It is in our nature. Obviously there are those born superior to others in this grand game – no offence friend Valko, for I talk in general. Though you are lower class, there are always individuals with the ability to be the exception,’ said Bantius, his words starting to slur as the wine finally began to catch up with him. Valko shook his head at the tribune and took a long drink from his cup. In the corner of the room, the narrow firing slit of the embrasure revealed some of the night sky and the First Centurion could see the stars through the clouds – a rare sight for this time of winter.

  ‘No, I do not think it was for our general’s unsated ambition that he did this,’ he said. ‘I have served with General Valerius before he was consul and he is an honourable man. He would never act without the interests of Arcem at heart and I believe his son was true to that vision also. Whatever they were fighting for, it would have been a good reason.’

  ‘Be that as it may, the facts remain. Both men – beloved as they were – have failed in their gamble and are now dead because of it. Which leaves us with the dilemma you described; do we stay or go?’

  ‘Whether you like it or not, I believe Fulvio is our enemy. As an aristocrat his pride will make it so. Apologies, but I speak in general of these things,’ said Valko. The tribune just smirked at the remark. ‘Fulvio will not forgive the Third Legion its victory on the Gaur Mons nor its commander’s triumph before Caldinium.’ Valko continued. ‘Whether he decides to label us rebels for our association and has us crucified, or if chooses to disband us out of mercy, the end remains the same. We are no more.’

  ‘I will not be a martyr,’ said Bantius softly. ‘I will stay and take my chances with the Dictator. I trust he would not be so foolish as to crucify a son of House Furii. The nobility would be in uproar if he did. Though of course it will take some time to rebuild my image in the Senate, I will not fight him. No, my name will protect me. Though I wish I could say the same for you. What shall you do?’

  The First Centurion stared into the flame of the candle and sighed.

  ‘I remember something Corvinus said to me on the night we went up the Gaur Mons...’ Valko shook his head at the thought and smiled. ‘I have never disobeyed an order from my general yet, so I will not start now. Inform the men of what has transpired and let them choose. At dawn I will take those who want to continue the fight and go to meet Prince Hannibal.’

  ‘Then may the gods smile upon our paths,’ said Bantius standing, with his cup raised in salute. Valko joined him.

  ‘And to the Valerii, may they forever walk in the halls of Taranis.’

  ***

  Octavia fell to her knees, tears running down her face. Soldiers ran past her without regard as they ransacked her home, their heavy armour splashed red with the blood of her house guards. All around the atrium, furniture lay toppled and smashed from the legionaries’ ruthless search. Octavia had no idea why such men had come and she wished her husband was there to stop them. She looked up and whimpered to see the dead bodies of the house guards before her. They had been cut down the second they opened the front gates to these men, who somehow carried the seal of the Senate. There was no way these soldiers were from the Senate and Octavia expected she would share the same fate as the guards before they finished their plundering.

  The commotion peaked to new levels as the house slaves were herded through the chaos into the atrium. With a string of shouted curses and using the flats of their swords to strike those not fast enough, the soldiers forced the slaves to their knees before Octavia.

  Through the chaos, one of their numbers broke from the pack and ran towards her.

  ‘Domina, I am here,’ said Teos, skidding to the ground beside her. Octavia looked up and nodded weakly to the house slave, pleased for the comfort of having someone nearby. Why was Corvinus not there to protect her instead? She sobbed miserably. He had promised to keep her safe.

  The sound of heavy footsteps stomping towards her caught Octavia’s attention. A tall shadow loomed over her, darkening the marble floor. Octavia risked a glance and saw the brute standing above her. The man was a giant, with broad shoulders and thick, armoured plates that looked as if they could crush her under their weight alone. A spiky plume of dark crimson horsehair crested the man’s helmet laterally, making him appear even taller. Octavia did not recognise the soldier but behind the cheek-guards and straps of his helmet, she could clearly see that he was smiling.

  ‘Octavia...’ said the man in a crude voice that made her shiver. Beside her, Teos jumped to his feet and tried to shield her. His short, unimpressive figure was dwarfed by the soldier before him, but remaining true to his duties, he stood defensively between the armed giant and his mistress.

  ‘I m-must ask that you be m-mannered in your business here and remind you that you address the mistress of this estate and a member of the n-nobility,’ said Teos, his voice trembling along with his legs as the giant turned his fierce gaze on him. ‘F-further, I must ask you do my m-mistress no harm and c-cease in destroying her house.’

  The soldier looked Teos up and down, amused by the scene of a slave trying to have courage.

  ‘But I can harm you, correct?’ said the soldier, smiling.

  Teos was taken aback and looked to Octavia, bemused. ‘No, I mean-’ his words were cut short as the giant backhanded him across the mouth, batting him away like an annoying insect.

  Octavia hung her head low and cringed as she heard at the awful sound of the strike connecting. She saw the giant’s shadow fall over her as he returned his attention to her once more.

  ‘Lady Valerius,’ said the man with a mocking bow this time. ‘My name is Victor Kaeso, First Centurion of the Fifth Legion and I am here on behalf of the Dictator.’

  Octavia wanted to shout at the man. To curse his life with failure and suffering under the eyes of every god she knew. She wanted to tell this Kaeso how she was a lady of the aristocracy and about the pain her husband would inflict upon him for this offence. But when Octavia tried to stir some fury in her voice, she could not and all she managed was to whimper a single word. ‘Who?’

  ‘Who?!’ laughed Kaeso in her face, his voice like thunder. ‘By the gods, you nobles really are dreamers – behind the pretty walls of your gardens, safe in your own little worlds. Gnaeus Tarquinius Fulvio has been empowered by the Senate to see out the treachery caused by your late husband and his father.’

  The news struck Octavia like a shard of ice through her heart.

  ‘Corvinus...’ she choked.

  ‘Dead,’ smiled the First Centurion. ‘Executed for the traitor he was. He now lies cold in the fields of Lapsus Magna, a place I am sure you will be hearing much more of from the news-heralds in the days to come. Now, tell me what you knew of your husband’s plan.’

  ‘Nothing,’ sniffed Octavia, tears streaming freely down her cheeks.

  Kaeso turned as another legionary approached. In the man’s hand, Octavia saw the gold band of the Syphaxan crown she had been sent after her husband’s victory on the Gaur Mons. She felt her stomach tense with fear.

  ‘Sir, we found this,’ said the legionary, handing the crown to Kaeso. Tracing the armoured fingers of his gauntlet over the Syphaxan hieroglyphs engraved on its surface, Kaeso stared down at Octavia with a cruel smile.

  ‘Nothing, you say?’ said the brutish First Centurion. With blinding speed he smacked Octavia across the cheek. Octavia fell to the floor, her features instantly swelling with an ugly bruise.

  Still bleeding from his last stand against the armoured giant, Teos ran to protect his mistress. Drawing the small knife from his belt he stood over Octa
via in another futile act of defiance.

  Kaeso did not even draw his weapon, such was the ridiculousness of the threat the trembling house slave presented him. Raising his gauntlet for another blow, Kaeso feigned a strike and smiled to see Teos flinch.

  ‘Where is the Spolia Opima?’ he continued.

  ‘I don’t know,’ wailed Octavia.

  ‘Where is the sword?’

  ‘What sword?’ said Octavia.

  ‘Do not play ignorant with me my lady, you are much smarter than that. The Sword of Arcem, Romanus’ sword. The Dictator demands it be returned to its rightful owner – the leader of Arcem. Now where is it?!’ yelled Kaeso at the cowering Octavia. The First Centurion sighed loudly and his face darkened with anger. Octavia could see the veins on the man’s neck bulge, his eyes twitching. Breathing nasally, he looked barely in control of the rage boiling within him. ‘Do not make me get my hands bloody,’ he said, in a voice little louder than a whisper, but spoken with such foreboding that it rattled Octavia to her core.

  ‘Sir, we have torn the place apart,’ said the legionary beside the First Centurion. ‘There is nothing else here.’

  Kaeso ignored the man and kept his stare squarely on those before him.

  ‘Octavia, I will only ask once more. Where are they?’ he said slowly, clenching his fist as he spoke.

  ‘They’re not here!’ cried Octavia, her voice breaking with fear. ‘Corvinus took the sword north with him after receiving it; he said he wanted to inspire the men with it. His father has the Spolia Opima and I don’t know what he did with it, I swear!’

  With a deafening roar, the First Centurion lashed out at the comment, his armoured fist descending on the closest thing at hand – Teos. The blow connected with a sickening crack of bone as the man’s neck snapped back sharply. Teos was sent reeling and tumbled back into the atrium’s small fish pond. Knocked unconscious by the murderous punch, Teos’ body was completely rigid and he fell without any attempt to soften the landing.