Chapter VIII - Hope
“Come on, it's time to go,” said one of the soldiers, with dark hair and an age-wrinkled face. He was probably the centurion, as evidenced by the strange helmet that towered like a red sun over his head and the insignia that hung from his cape.
A soldier approached them and clapped his hands. “Come on, women, get up, it's time to march you down.”
Alana rushed to her feet and helped Irema get up. They looked around as the multitude advanced, frightened and weary.
“What do you think they'll do to us?” Irema asked, her voice low.
“By Ares... I don't know, but they surely won't buy us a gift.”
“Alana... They just... They just killed everyone. They killed Karus.” Irema’s eyes were opened wide like ripe apples. She panted. “They... Alana... I don't know where my mother is.”
Alana shut her eyes again. A tear finally escaped and slid down her cheek. She started to sob and clasped hands with Irema again.
“This... This cannot be. But…”
“It is not alright, Ala. It’s not.”
The image of her house burning and that arm on the path came back into her mind. She lowered her head.
Father…
Was he really gone? Like mother. She could not come to terms with that. Could that mean that she would never see him again? It did. It really did.
She looked around.
She remembered that morning. She wished she had stayed with him. She wished she had hugged him for the last time, at least. If only she had known about the attack, she would have run away with him into the woods, never to lose him.
But then, Irema whispered in her ear:
“Alana... What did the Elder mean?”
“What?”
“He said something about Ares,” Irema muttered.
“The legend. You know the legend. Don't you?” Alana whispered in her ear,
“I don't know about that. Mother didn’t tell me much about the God of War...”
Alana cleared her throat. Her glance was fixed on the rocky road and the feet that moved with hers toward who knew where.
“Irema. It is a legend, like those they used to tell little children. But you know, it's true; and we all know it's true.”
“Cut to the chase, Alana. What is it about?”
“It's about Ares, the God of War. He fought the giants of the Earth and led our people in battle against them.”
“Giants?”
“Yes, giants of iron and stone, of clay and dragon bones. They were ancient gods who were cursed for betraying their father Saturn.”
“And...”
“The Red Sun of Ares shone over our land, back then, bursting open from his Mother, the Morning Star. Its light was red, like fire, and he commanded a legion of incandescent warriors. They came down from heaven, like falling stars. Then... They fought the giants, dropping fireballs from above. Ares himself, he battled them until he locked them with the strength of his arm, and locked them in the earth, along with the sword he wielded. The Sword of Ares.”
“So... He says the sword will appear?”
“Legend has it that when the Sons of Ares are again threatened, and the balance of the world is dangling from a string, the Sword of Ares will be wielded by a great hero; who will in turn battle the giants again and lock them back in the earth once again. Well, it is strange that Elder Aranus talked about it. I think he just means we should keep our hopes up.”
“But why was he with the soldiers?”
“Irema. It's obvious. They are forcing him to make us bend. You know everybody likes Aranus the Elder. He's a good old man. They want to use him to legitimize what they've done to us.”
“But! What do you think he'll do?”
“I don't know. By Ares. We should really talk to somebody.”
Irema sighed.
“Who? Alana. It’s all lost. What can we do? We can only die. Or...” Irema lifted her head again. “Alana... Do you think the legends are true?”
“They are real. But… I don’t know when it will appear. But you know what Father said?”
“What... What did he say?”
“He said that we are the ones who make the legends real. The gods don't go around writing, you know? Like Itruschian or Helenish plays. They don't go around making us say things. I mean, maybe they make us out of matter. Like... Father said I am made of red matter, plus some luminous yellow Jovian energy, that means I am a bit rash, you know? And...”
“Will you two freaks shut your nasty mouths?” shouted one of the soldiers; a young, fat man with a missing tooth. “You wenches are indeed strange. I can't keep up with your verbose tirades.”
Alana frowned, she was about to yell an expletive, but Irema grabbed her by the arm.
“Calm down,” she whispered.
“By Jupiter,” the soldier growled. “You are just like a man. But don’t worry. Whoever gets you will teach you how to behave.”
Alana rolled her eyes.
“Don’t listen to him, Alana,” Irema whispered to her.
“What does he mean, get me?” Alana raised an eyebrow. “You. Fat scum. What do you mean, get me?” she addressed the soldier.
“I'm telling you. You'd better do what the little priest said. Do your homework. Behave yourself, or things might get ugly. We’ll be giving you a chance.”
“You keep your stupid threats in your pocket,” Alana said.
“Ala, please, stop,” Irema insisted.
The soldier walked toward her, grasping the handle of his sword. He unsheathed, pointing the shining blade at them.
“Now, shut it or things will get worse.”
Alana clenched her teeth.
Irema whispered.
“Alana. Just... Wait...”
Irema was right. She had to wait, and then, she would have her way and set things right again. Alana sighed, looking away from the man.
“I like that. Obedient, huh?” the fat soldier laughed.
Alana contained the boiling rage. She shook her head and kept marching. They were already out of the rocky path and walked downhill into the forest. They saw the barracks up for the foot soldiers where Atila would have trained. Now, the position was completely deserted.
“Why the barracks?” Alana asked, but nobody answered.
“I just don't know what's going to happen, I can only think the worst,” Irema said.
“What is the worst?” Alana raised an eyebrow.
“Losing my freedom. Losing the ownership I have on myself. On my future,” Irema said with a sigh. “What should we do?”
“Pray for that sword to show up and...” Her thought process was cut short. What could she do to make the legends real?
They walked into the dark wooden building. Its walls were made of round logs. The women were filling up the house, pressing against each other.
“Look!” Irema said, pointing at someone in the crowd. “It’s Gitara!”
Gitara heard and turned sharply. Her face was red with tears.
She pushed through the crowd and ran to hug Irema. “By Venus and Ares... It's so good to see you.”
“Gitara, how are you doing? Did they hurt you?”
“They did not. Oh my...”
“What did they...”
“I don't know what they're going to do now. My man is in the North. I hope they haven't attacked him as well. By the gods, I can only wish.”
“Oh, love. I hope, I really hope nothing happens to them.”
The remaining soldiers entered and positioned themselves next to the walls, their weapons uncovered, and the crowd started to push against each other, gathering in the centre of the building.
The centurion was the last one to enter. He yelled in order to get everyone's attention.
“Silence!”
The chatting and murmuring stopped, but the wailing and weeping that echoed did not.
“Silence! Quit
the sobbing or we'll silence you ourselves.”
And no sound was heard. Alana clenched her fists.
“Women of Adachia,” the centurion said. “The men in whose company you found yourselves, who you used to call husband or father, have collectively been found guilty of plot and treason against this great and noble Empire.”
Alana looked at her friends, frowning.
“What is that son of a hog talking about?” she whispered.
“And thus,” he continued. “With great sorrow we had been ordered to dismantle the rebellion. We have done justice on the men who followed the Mysteries of Ares, and protected civilization and the Empire.”
“Liar. The soldier said they would not leave any man alive to tell tales!” Alana said.
“Liar!” The voices of the women rose like a choir of discontent.
“Murderers.”
The centurion frowned and yelled:
“Now, you quit your bickering, or we will call treason and do the same to you.”
“Not true!” Gitara screamed. “Our husbands, the very children of the men you killed, serve the Empire with dedication. My husband is now a legionnaire like yourself. Where is this plot you talk about? It's not true at all.”
“The orders of the governor are strict, and so is the evidence. Now, as for your future...!”
“Liar, murderer!” The women kept chanting, as many of them rushed to the walls, grabbing the soldiers' wrists as they were about to kill.
A sturdy matron lunged on the centurion and threw him to the ground.
Alana cheered, rushing into the wall as well, as the women kicked the soldiers, venting out all the anger for what they had suffered in the day. Alana could see the rage in their eyes, some had fought against Itruschian soldiers back in the day. Alana’s hope went through the roof as one of them snatched the sword and stabbed the soldier in the belly.
A whistle was heard coming from the centurion's mouth, and a shadow stood over the door. Dark figures emerged from the door carrying square red shields almost the size of their bodies and long diamond shaped swords and maces hanging from their leather belts. They rushed in, their swords drawn. Alana shook her head and her hope suddenly vanished. They stepped in waving their blades at the women’s unarmed bodies, some lifted up their arms to protect themselves, and the blood sprawled on the walls and skins. Alana let out a scream.
The warlike women warriors of old did not yield as quickly, as many tried to reach for the swords and canes, but the soldier’s swords were swift and merciless. Alana shut her eyes. The battle could not be won. Screams pierced through the air. The crowd pushed against the centre again, protecting each other from the swords, which continued to wound unarmed women until the centurion commanded them to stop.
“Murderer!” the centurion screamed. “Who did that!” He pointed at the dead body that lay against the building. Other soldiers stared with blank eyes. One of them pushed through the women and knelt down next to the dead soldier.
Alana looked around. Another soldier pointed at a woman with dark hair.
“She did it. I saw her!” the soldier yelled.
“You murderers, you will see!” the woman said, her chin up, as two soldiers ran to grab her by the wrists.
“Take her outside and put her on the rack,” the centurion ordered.
“Should we….” a soldier asked.
“Kill her at the end,” the centurion said.
Alana felt rage burn in her soul again.
“Listen to me!” The centurion raised his hands. Now, there was silence. “Do you prefer to die out as a race? Listen to me. We have spared you all for a reason. We have a plan for you. If you provoke us a single time more, I will make sure to eradicate your race from the face of the earth. Listen!” The centurion stood up. Blood stained his lower lip. “If I see any of you making a scene, I’ll make sure I hang you like pigs. We are giving you all a chance. If you do not comply, like the old priest says, you’ll get whipped until you cannot walk any more or endure your last night on earth on the rack.”
“Now, to the plan,” he continued. “Our soldiers will take care of you. The ones who are not wid... I mean, the ones whose husbands are not away for war will be taken care of by members of the legion who are currently single. Given in marriage to the best of them so you can be cared for, and your legacy to be preserved.”
“Better kill us!” one of the sisters said out.
“What the devil? This is madness. Uh, disgusting.” Irema lowered her head, her face pale with all she had just seen.
Fear and disgust filled Alana’s bosom. And silently, she prayed to Ares for deliverance.
Chapter XIX - Sons of Pain
Cladius walked out of the marble theatre, shuddering. He rested his head against a painted pillar, his curly hair brushing against it. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned swiftly and found Larius smiling at him, revealing three golden teeth among the yellow ones.
“Cladius, pal. What did you think of my speech?”
Cladius took a deep breath. “Well you did sound like you’re full of conviction.”
“I am glad you liked it. I was thinking of you.”
“Were you? Why is that?” Cladius raised an eyebrow.
“I need your help and advice,” Larius narrowed his one eyed and smiled. Cladius cleared his throat.
“My advice? You massacred an entire town. You’ll empty the province you’re in charge of. An entire race for goodness’ sake! You knew I did not agree.” He felt guilty for not telling anyone. Well, what good would it do to let anyone know, it had been too late. “And what about that spurious idea about a conspiracy? Where did you get that from?”
“Cladius. Why do you doubt my words? We did our research and uncovered the plot. Do you want more people in our glorious Capital to die under the hand of those... those savages?”
“And what evidence did you have? Only your word. And even if what you say is true, that Larius was not honourable. You could have checked on them, observed them closely, infiltrated the meetings.”
“So you’re a traitor as well.”
“What?” Cladius turned. “Of course not. I just wish to defend the dignity of this Empire. It is called Sacred for a reason, and it is that we respect the will of the gods. And the gods long for peace and order.”
“It is for peace and order that I have carried this out, old friend,” Larius chuckled.
“And now you did it.”
“Yes. Just one thing.”
“What...”
“Don’t cause trouble.”
Cladius clenched his teeth.
“What do you mean?”
“I knew of your projects. I knew you had communication with the Artisan Guild, and that they had some ulterior motive behind.”
Cladius took a deep breath.
Larius continued.
“I know you wanted their support for your own campaign next summer. And lo and behold. They are gone now. Your base for Consul is gone forever.”
Cladius swallowed. He had been outplayed.
“So now, desist, brother; as the gods have chosen me to carry out this duty; and their favour is shining on me to protect this land.”
Cladius breathed deeply.
“And I will keep honouring my duty to this Empire, while traitors like you rot and die. Unless you join me. I am giving you a chance, Cladius Julianus Duodecimus. Do not stick your nose in here, for you will be gone if you don't do this. I am a civilized man. I'll give you the chance to help me, or else you will be gone like your stinking bear-men. I will have you working by my side if there is to be peace between us.”
Cladius lifted his chin.
“I...”
“I trust in your good judgment,” Larius said, turning his back on him. He turned once again. “And, no hard feeling between us. I’ll let you know when I have something for you.”
Cladius released the tension on his body an
d shook his head. Yes. His plans to run for office as a Consul had been thwarted. He had thought of the Gadalian artisans as easy targets to root for him if he kept promoting their products, but now; an alliance with the Western ones would be difficult.
He looked at Larius, who strode toward the exit, as senators greeted him like a hero. Cladius then walked back to the now empty theatre, he took a deep breath and peeked, stared at the place where the half-breed patrician had died. The blood was still there, but his body had been taken out as a nuisance; and a testimony to Larius’ research.
There was someone who could help him. He scanned through the crowd. Who he was looking for looked exactly like everyone else in there, with a long white robe and white hair and a long cane.
“Senator Walpatinus. Senator!” he called, pointing at the man, who looked back. Cladius noticed his downcast face. He stared at him, waiting for him to approach.
“What is it Cladius?” the old man asked.
“Did you hear Larius’ speech?”
“I am not deaf, Senator Cladius.”
“What do you make of that?”
The old man took a deep breath.
“Well. Larius screwed those horse people over.” He laughed with a decrepit smile. “No more gold armours for us. They were too expensive anyway.”
“Sir, you don't even know half of it. He told me this morning. But I have been working with people from the province where it happened. Believe me, there was no evidence for the conspiracy he talked about.”
“Well. What good does it make? You found out too late. Like us.”
“You don't understand. It was all a lie. I had contact in the countryside, in his province, and no word of such a conspiracy ever came to us.”
“Well that is obvious.”
“And? You can't do anything?”
“What can we do? The matter is resolved.”
“No. It is not. First, this represents the destruction of a people. It is a crime, Senator Walpatinus. It is...”
The old man stared at him, slightly raising an eyebrow.
“And what do you want me to do?”
“Sir. A crime has been committed. It has to be proven somehow.”
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