“THE NATION WILL BE DIFFICULT TO CONTROL IF I AM not victorious,” Vespasian said sternly. Taking a deep breath, he looked Tribune Flavius Maximus squarely in the face.
“You must understand that,” the emperor added. “In the end there may be little glory in this task that I offer you. Should we fail to secure the Shashidan mines, the depleted state of the treasury might well give rise to a revolt. Only two legions will remain here in Ellistium with which to enforce martial law. Moreover, all thePon Q’tar and Heretic ranks go with me, for I will need them in the field. That leaves only you and a handful of other tribunes who can employ the craft. I do not envy you this job.”
Turning away, Vespasian resolutely folded his arms across the breastplate of his dark blue dress armor and looked around the room. He would be leaving the palace soon, perhaps never to return. He would miss it.
Vespasian stood in his private office. Broad and spacious, the room was magnificently decorated. Massive oak doors lay in the far wall, closed for the moment and guarded by two centurions on the other side to ensure privacy. The floor was made of highly polished onyx and alabaster checkerboard squares, and in its center was inlaid the letterV in solid gold. The walls were tall, with fluted pilasters between the many colorful frescoes. A wide skylight let in air and sunlight. Vespasian’s elaborately carved desk stood nearby, its top littered with parchments, beeswax plaques, styli, and abaci.
Vespasian turned and walked out onto his balcony, thinking. His legions and armada were ready and the momentous day had finally arrived. The forum lay before him, its beautiful columns and majestic buildings glistening in the midday sun.
Looking down at the impatiently waiting throng, it seemed to him that every single Ellistiumite had come to this spot to cheer the war procession’s departure from the city. The sun was high and the day hot, and the eager spectators had already waited for hours. Turning back to look at Flavius Maximus, Vespasian realized that the citizens would have to wait longer still, for he refused to leave the tribune in control of the capital until matters were clearly understood.
“What say you?” he asked sternly. “Are you up to the task? Will you and your two legions fight to the death if need be to maintain control in my absence? If not, simply tell me and I will appoint another in your stead. I will attach no shame to your decision should you decline. But I must know that whomever I leave in charge can be relied on.”
Putting down his wineglass, Flavius rose from his seat at the meeting table he shared with Persephone and Lucius Marius. Without hesitation he walked to his emperor. Thumping his clenched right fist against his chest, then opening his palm and thrusting it forward, he gave Vespasian his best military salute. Vespasian eyed him warily, wondering whether the show of loyalty was a bit too hearty.
“You have my devotion unto death,” Flavius answered. “Surely you know that. We have fought in many battles together, and I wish I were going with you yet again. But we each know that a soldier cannot choose where he fights. I have every confidence that you will succeed in taking the Shashidan mines and return home in triumph. Seeing our forces parade back through the forum with countless wagons full of Shashidan gold will indeed be a day to tell our children’s children about.”
Thinking about how his course had come to be set, Vespasian thoughtfully walked farther out onto the balcony, this time allowing the adoring crowds to see him. At once thunderous cheers arose and thousands of flower petals filled the air like so many snowflakes suddenly in a blizzard. Despite having secured the public’s badly needed confidence, Vespasian remained worried, ever calculating.
My subjects desperately want this campaign, Vespasian thought as he waved back at them. And why wouldn’t they, after the Suffragat took such pains to persuade them of its righteousness. But what do civilians know of war? Just one day on the battlefield would change many minds, but there can be no going back now. As he watched the crowd, his thoughts drifted back to the difficult Suffragat meeting that he had overseen yesterday.
The ordeal of choosing a tribune to rule in Vespasian’s absence had been politically charged and time consuming. ThePon Q’tar had wanted a man named Magnus Attilus to oversee Ellistium in Vespasian’s absence, and in many ways Attilus would have been a good choice. Attilus was mature and wise, a brilliant field commander and a powerful craft practitioner. He might have served well, and he had been on Vespasian’s list of choices.
But in the end Attilus was thePon Q’tar ’s man through and through, and because of Vespasian’s growing concerns about Gracchus’ motives, the emperor had finally rejected him. As expected, thePon Q’tar immediately voiced an outraged protest. The Suffragat had then bickered for hours like maids at the market until Vespasian became disgusted and finally used his power of official decree to proclaim Flavius as the new Imperator Tempitatus, or temporary ruler. Flavius was well aware of how he had come to be chosen, the emperor’s defiant act further cementing his well-known allegiance to Vespasian even more.
Hoping that he had chosen wisely, Vespasian took another deep breath, then turned to again look at the man who would serve in his stead. If there was ever a stalwart tribune, it was Flavius.
Short, stocky, and sturdy as a marble column, Flavius wore a neatly trimmed red beard. Dark blue eyes and a flat, crooked nose that had been crushed twice in battle highlighted his imposing face. His hair was red, close-cropped, and thinning slightly at the temples. As he stood before Vespasian he looked splendid in his dress uniform, complete with golden breastplate and matching gauntlets, greaves, and blood-red cape.
Flavius was a devoted family man with a loving wife named Atia and three sons of fully endowed blood, each of whom was a centurion in the famed Twenty-fifth Legion. Vespasian knew that watching their sons go would be hard for Flavius and Atia, but their loyalty to the empire was unswerving.
He looks every bit the commanding emperor, Vespasian thought as he studied Flavius. That is good, for his lot here will not be an easy one.
Vespasian glanced over Flavius’ shoulder to give the First Tribune a questioning look. Lucius took another sip of wine, thinking. After placing the wine goblet back atop the table he nodded, signaling his agreement. Vespasian looked back into Flavius’ eyes.
“Very well, then,” he said simply. “It is done.”
Walking to his desk, Vespasian took up a rolled-up parchment and a gold ring, then walked back to stand before Flavius. He handed the parchment to the new Imperator Tempitatus. Flavius accepted it gratefully.
“This official decree holds my and Gracchus’ signatures,” Vespasian said. “It is also marked with my seal, further proving that I have appointed you to your new station. In the absence of the Suffragat it additionally empowers you to declare martial law and to do away with the right to trial should you see fit. If a revolt arises, immediately set an example by executing several of the suspected rabble-rousers. Their guilt or innocence is unimportant-nothing deters anarchy like very sudden and very public killings. Make their deaths slow and gruesome before giving their bodies to the usual lot of corpse collectors and bone grinders.”
Vespasian then handed the gold signet ring to Flavius. It was a gorgeous piece of jewelry, produced overnight on the emperor’s order. The letterF was deeply inscribed into the face of the ring. Vespasian watched as Flavius reverently placed it onto the third finger of his right hand.
“Guard that ring with your life, just as I guard mine,” Vespasian said. “It is the only way that I will know that your messages are genuine. Most of your communiques will be by mental communion with Gracchus. But if you wish to tell me something in secret, send a parchment containing your seal by messenger bird. It will take longer, but I will have no doubt of its veracity.”
Flavius gave Vespasian another crisp salute. “All will be as you order,” he said. Then he stepped nearer and placed one hand atop Vespasian’s shoulder. “And I thank you for this honor,” he said softly.
Vespasian gave a short laugh. “Don’t thank me yet, old friend,” he said wryly. “The time for that will be if I come home laden with Shashidan gold.”
“You meanwhen!” Lucius laughingly shouted.
Vespasian looked over to see that the First Tribune had risen to his feet. Taking another slug of wine, he smiled broadly, then sauntered past Vespasian and Flavius and out onto the balcony. The impatient crowd promptly roared again, this time so loudly that it nearly hurt everyone’s ears. Smiling, Lucius turned back to look at Vespasian.
“Now that the formalities are over, it’s high time we got going!” he said with a wink. “Those poor civilians waiting down there are starting to wilt.”
Vespasian nodded at Lucius, then looked at Persephone and reached out to her.
“My love,” he said simply.
Persephone rose from the table to take her husband’s hand. As she did so, Vespasian stretched his other hand out toward Flavius. The Imperator Tempitatus responded by slapping his palm against the inside of Vespasian’s forearm and grasping it firmly, signaling the common greeting between devoted legionnaires.
Vespasian smiled. “Walk out with us,” he said to Flavius. “I want the people to see you standing by my side in your new role. It will help to cement the transition.”
Vespasian raised one hand and called the craft. As the massive doors parted and Persephone, Lucius, and Flavius passed through, Vespasian paused for a moment to take a last look around the room in which he had agonized over so many difficult decisions. For better or worse, from this day forward all of his choices would be made in the field. Finally he turned and followed the others out.
In the end it would take hours for Vespasian’s lead chariot, Persephone’s personal litter, the litters of thePon Q’tar members and Julia Idaeus, and the two valiant legions that would return to serve under Flavius’ command to navigate the broad forum and wend their way among the thousands of adoring citizens. Trumpeters and drummers heralded Vespasian’s departure while untold multitudes of colorful handkerchiefs waved and thousands more flower petals rained down from windows and balconies. In two days the procession would link up with the remaining twenty-eight legions awaiting them at the fountainhead of the Six Rivers, near the boundary of the Borderlands. From there thePon Q’tar ’s azure portals would transport them the thousands of leagues to where the fighting would start in earnest. It would be a campaign like no other, and regardless of its success or failure, it would forever change the fate of Rustannica.
As Vespasian guided his two white stallions through the forum and toward the city limits, even now he worried about the great venture that he had birthed. Little did he understand the ever-rising danger of what he had set in motion, for there were forces awaiting him the likes of which no Rustannican emperor had ever seen.
Deciding to meet his destiny head-on, Vespasian grimly slapped his reins across the stallions’ haunches.