Mark it well, for where it goes

So do the hearts of men

Cassius still felt numb when he was called to the tent of Consul Horatius Honerius. As he passed the embers of the pyre from the night before he cast his gaze aside. He couldn’t look. Walking aside at a brisk pace, he pushed open the flap to the command tent and entered.

Horatius Honerius sat in a chair at the back of the tent. Standing by him were his sons and, in a corner, a young lady no more than fifteen hugged a boy close and cried softly. One of Horatius’s sons, with dark red hair, was speaking in a hushed tone. “-no reason why they shouldn’t be able to see him.”

“It is unsafe and he is under guard,” said Horatius. “I told him I would keep them safe and I will.”

His gaze flicked to Cassius and he raised a hand to silence the protest coming from his son. All eyes turned to Cassius who straightened, consciously aware of how tired and unkempt he must look. He put a fist to his chest and bowed. “Consul.”

“Welcome, Cassius Sollicius. Come, stand before me.”

Cassius moved to the center of the tent and stood to attention. “At your command, consul.”

Horatius stood from his seat and approached, meeting Cassius’s gaze with his stern one. Cassius felt a shiver run up his spine. Punishment was due for his failure to protect his consul. Horatius seemed to notice his discomfort. “At ease, soldier. Tell me, how did Consul Rufus die? I would know how it happened…every detail.”

Cassius recounted the assault as best he could, summing up the attack on the fort and giving explicit details when it came to the creature that attacked them. When he reached that particular point, describing the fangs, fur, and hulking size of the monster, Horatius didn’t react. Cassius did notice, however, that his sons had two different reactions. One frowned and shook his head while the other’s eyes widened and he turned to his father, whispering, “It is as I-”

Horatius raised a hand to silence him and Cassius continued. Once finished, he said, “That is all I can remember to the best of my ability…Consul.”

Horatius nodded. “Thank you. You have served your republic well.”

Cassius looked up, his eyes stinging. “I have failed. I failed to protect my consul.”

Horatius shook his head. “Men cannot face forces beyond their understanding without preparation.”

“You believe him?” asked his son.

“I do, Corbenus. It aligns with Justinius’s story.”

Justinius nodded. “Indeed. It is exactly like the creature that attacked us on the road from Carxandria.”

“But…what does this mean?” asked Corbenus.

“It means,” said Horatius, rising from his seat and taking a cup to fill it with wine, “That whoever is playing us has stayed one step ahead this whole time.”

“But who are they?” asked Corbenus.

“I do not know,” responded Horatius, pouring a second cup.

“It is this cult, it must be,” said Justinius. “The order of…change or something. Lumina told me about some secret plans of theirs and how they had a creature with them. I bet it's the same group.”

“Lumina told you?” asked Corbenus. “And where is she to confirm this?”

“She is safe,” said Justinius. “That is all I can say. But you don’t believe me at my word.”

“I would,” said Corbenus. “But what you are telling me is hearsay. The further from the source, the less reliable information becomes.”

“I believe her and you believe me,” said Justinius. “What else is there to it?”

“Even if it is this cult,” said Horatius, approaching Cassius with two cups of wine, “There is little we can do about it right now. The city has been defeated. Our soldiers saw no other signs of this ‘cult’. The best we can do is be wary.” He proffered the second cup to Cassius. “Drink, soldier.”

Cassius took the cup with hesitation and bowed. “Thank you, Consul.”

Horatius raised his cup to the air. “To Rufus Ambitius, may he be in better places than we are here.”

Cassius raised his glass and sipped. The wine was particularly fine which surprised him. He hadn’t touched decent wine since he had left his home.

“So we will do nothing?” asked Justinius, frustration clear in his voice and posture.

“What would you have me do?” asked Horatius, sitting down and taking another sip.

“I…I would…search the city for them.”

“The city is in chaos. People are hiding at the moment. I doubt we would find anything of use and any reliable search could take weeks which we don’t have. We must return to Aquilla immediately. If we don’t, I fear the Senate will do something…irrational when they receive the news.”

“Who is in charge of the remaining forces?” asked Corbenus.

“Catonus Conditius will be temporary governor while we return. He will see to disbanding the forces and sending them home. Those from Aquilla will return on the morrow along with the prisoners and the rest of the senators. Not much else can be done at this-”

Shouting outside the tent caused him to stop and stand, hand on sword hilt. His sons did the same when a wild figure burst into the tent, yelling, “You tricked me! You half-gen-”

“Senator Alexus,” interrupted Horatius. “What in the gods' names do you think you are doing?”

Alexus Dignius stopped in his tracks. His jowls quivered as his mouth worked up and down in a fury. “Your son, that’s what! He has released a prisoner of war! A murderer!”

Justinius turned a very dark shade of red as he turned to his father. “That isn’t what-”

“Don’t deny it!” shrieked Alexus. “Did you not free a woman prisoner who killed nearly a dozen Aquillan soldiers?”

“A woman did what?” asked Corbenus.

Justinius seemed conflicted, alternatively standing tall but wilting under his father’s piercing gaze. “She did so in self-defense when you barbarically attacked her unprovoked. A band of soldiers against one woman!”

“Do you let your son make law now?” asked Alexus, turning to Horatius. “Does he get to decide who escapes justice and who does not?”

Horatius was still staring at Justinius who quavered under his gaze. “Father…I will tell you all later. I swear.”

“Will you punish him for it?” asked Alexus.

Horatius turned on Alexus, his face stern, voice commanding. “If I do, I will have to follow suit with my fellow senators. Shall I charge you for every crime you have committed against this republic, Alexus Dignius?”

“I?” Alexus took a step back, his face now purple with rage. “You accuse me?! Of what wrongdoing?”

“Shall I tell you? Once uttered they will be clear for the world to see.”

This seemed to upend any bluster Alexus had. He looked away, turned to the tent flap, then spun around again. “You refuse to destroy the city. Then, you spare most of the populace. You don’t execute any of their leaders. You allow your…‘son’ to get away with crimes and now you attack your own senator's reputations? You have destabilized our glorious republic! What shame! What horror you bring with self-blind ambition, your-”

“Alexus, you are not in the senate chambers,” said Horatius. “Your speeches mean nothing to anyone in this tent. Now leave. You may rant in the senate if you will when we return.”

Alexus flapped his mouth in silence, his beady eyes flicking back and forth, bulging with ill temper. “Very well! But you will regret this!”

“Is that a threat?” was Horatius’s cold response.

“A prophecy!” yelled Alexus, spinning on his heel. “One you will fulfill by your actions!”

He left the tent, pushing past the guards at the entrance. A silence filled the tent as Horatius sighed and turned to Justinius. His son was shaking his head, a forced smile on his face. “Glad he gave up, that old-”

“If you ever make a decision like that again,” said Horatius, “Without consulting me…I will see to it your punishment will be one you won’t forget.”

Justinius turned red and backed away, hanging his head. Cassius felt the tension and the need to escape filled him. He stepped forward. “Consul.”

Horatius turned to him and accepted the cup Cassius offered him. “You are free to leave, soldier.”

Cassius straightened in surprise. “Surely I should be punished for my failure, Consul.”

Horatius looked him up and down. “You seem to have been punished enough. But if you wish to satisfy some guilt in yourself, then I give you this. You will travel with us to Aquilla and you will tell the late Consul’s wife about his death. If she asks for details, give them. Only then can you return home. Understood?”

Cassius saluted once more. “Yes, Consul.”

“And you are in charge of guarding these children on the journey home,” he said, gesturing to the young woman and boy standing to the side. “Fetch your things and bring them to my tent.”

“Yes, Consul.”

Horatius’s hand flicked out as he turned away. “Dismissed.”

***

The journey home was arduous for them all. Justinius felt an impending sense of dread hanging over him the entire way. He tried to visit Damianus once but was rebuffed by the guards who had strict instructions to keep everyone away from the prisoners. He could, at some instance in the night, hear their wails and curses echoing through the camp. He visited the two siblings, Veronica and Ignatius when he could, not only to comfort them but to reassure them that their sister was well.

“But you are sure she will be alright?” asked Veronica for the fifth time in a single visit.

“I am positively sure,” said Justinius, eyeing Cassius who sat close by watching them. Cassius caught the silent cue and nodded in agreement. Justinius lowered his voice, “She is on a ship to stay with my brother in Mecarta.”

“What’s it like there?” asked Ignatius.

“I don’t know,” said Justinius. “I have never been there. But I hear it is a wondrous place, filled with people from across the world and many strange sights and sounds. They even say that fair folk and Fatae live on the mountain nearby.”

“Really?” asked Ignatius, soaking it in. “I never read that.”

“He’s making it up,” said Veronica. “And your brother? Is he handsome and kind?”

Cassius let out a chuckle before he silenced himself. Justinius blushed at this, feeling a stupid moment of envy for his brother who would get to spend time with Lumina. “I have been told he is, yes. I haven’t seen him in many many years though. And I remember him being…humorous. So I think he is kind too.”

“I hope she will be safe and happy with him,” said Veronica, sitting down. “What will become of us?”

“You’ll be safe,” said Justinius.

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“I won’t let anything happen to you,” added Cassius, moving to sit on one knee next to her. “You have my word.”

Veronica smiled sweetly at him but could not completely remove the veil of worry from her face.

***

Augustina leaned against her pillows on the bed, breathing heavily. She had never known pain like this before as she prepared herself to bring her son into the world. She screamed as another wave shot through her body and she pushed. The continued sound of trumpets echoed in the distance, signaling the arrival of the troops back home. “Breathe, Domina,” said the midwife.

Augustina took several deep breaths. “They are back.”

“It will be well, Domina,” said the midwife. “Your husband can wait till-”

“No.” said Augustina. “I promised to hand our son to him upon his return and I will.” She took another steadying breath and clung to the hands of the nursemaids on either side. “We continue.”

“Would you like something to ease the pain?” asked the midwife, concern written across her face. “It will help the process.”

“No!” shouted Augustina then recovered herself. “No. The pain helps me focus. I won’t be drugged and addled when he returns. I will continue.”

The midwife nodded. “As you wish. Ready?”

Augustina felt another wave of pain and she clung to her nursemaids, screaming as she pushed once more.

***

Damianus struggled to keep going through the streets of Aquilla, chained with the rest of the prisoners as he was. His legs were sore, his feet covered in blisters. Most of his wounds had only recently recovered from the battle but some had broken open again.

All around him, the streets were lined with jeering, booing, and screaming Aquillans. Their taunts were derisive, their insults worse than any he had heard in his life. The feeling of hatred, disgust, and snide pleasure could be felt all around him. Never had so many eyes been on him in his life, even in the senate of Aquilla or the courts of Carxandria. Never had such pure, unbridled hatred been directed at him. He looked into the faces around him and saw no pity, no remorse. If any were there, they were shoved to the back of the crowd or were wise enough to stay home rather than view the suffering of others.

A cabbage, rotten and slimy, flew from somewhere in the crowd and struck him in the head. He sputtered and gagged, smelling its putrid stench on himself. He turned his head instinctively to see who had thrown it. A group within the crowd stood out from the rest, pushing through the crowd and flailing about, screaming and baying like rabid animals. “Kill them! Kill them all!”

Damianus turned away, feeling something begin to dribble down his cheek and then neck. Whether it was cabbage ooze or blood from a reopened wound, he couldn’t tell. He tried to gaze somewhere that would grant him some level of peace and security. But there was nowhere to look. Angry faces surrounded him. His feet were scratched, cracked, and bloody and the dust choked him. He gazed at the sky above, at the clouds far away, and spoke a prayer. “Cause, have mercy.”

He stumbled on a cobblestone, nearly falling forward, and the crowd laughed mockingly. More rotten food was hurled at the prisoners. A panic came over him as he looked around for anything to help him. Then his eyes rested on a man standing on a platform in the crowded forum. His gaze pierced his own and seemed to see further within, even to his soul. The man, middle-aged and dressed in a simple tunic, smiled kindly at him. There was a sadness to his gaze but a peace that emanated from it and into Damianus’s heart. His panic subsided and he passed the figure who disappeared into the crowd. A guard nearby shouted to one of his fellow soldiers, “Clear a path to the old grain house! We are to keep them there for now.”

Damianus kept his gaze ahead resolutely, letting the world around him slide away as held to the peace given to him in a strange gift by the gaze of a mysterious man.

***

Augustina held the little bundle in her arms, feeling the pain throughout her body as she stood by the doorway to her home so soon after delivery. She was sure he would be here. He would come to see her before the emergency senate meeting, wouldn’t he?

Doubt began to fill her mind as the sun continued on its path and there was still no sign of him. She sat in the atrium, feeding her son and smiling down at his little red face. He had his father’s hair, dark and flat, with already so much of it. His face was like his too, save the nose. And the long eyelashes.

The sound of horse hooves was heard suddenly outside the door. Augustina called out. “Aemilia? Get the door please!”

She rose and disrupted the baby's feeding which caused him to let out muffled grunts and a whine of protest. She stood in front of the fountain, rocking her son. Then a knock came at the door. The household paused in confusion. He wouldn’t knock. She recovered herself and nodded to Aemilia who answered the door.

Instead of her husband, a stranger entered around the same age as her husband. He removed his helmet and bowed. “Domina Ambitious. My name is Cassius Solicius. I am sorry that this call is unexpected.”

A sudden sense of dread filled her and she felt her heart stop. It couldn’t be. “Where…where is my husband?”

Cassius looked pained, his face paling even further. “I’m sorry…Domina. He is gone. He died on the battlefield. I saw it with my own eyes and was present at the burning of his body.”

Augustina took a step back as if receiving a physical blow, nearly stepping into the fountain. Her body limbs felt numb. The physical pain of her birth gave way to a pain so intense from her heart it felt like it would burst. “I…see…”

It was all she could think to say. The servants were not so silent. The whispers began, quiet sobs emanating from some of those who had served longer. Augustina felt no tears. No overpowering sorrow. Just pain followed by numbness. She looked Cassius up and down and noticed his filthy armor and appearance. He must have been on the road all day. It should be Rufus standing there so dusty and worn. She turned to Aemilia. “Bring our guests to the private quarters. Feed and draw water in the private bath for him.” She turned back to him. “I will hear your story later. When I’m…ready.”

He nodded sadly and allowed himself to be led away. The servants hung back, standing in doorways and staring out at her. She could feel their eyes. Or thought she could. She wasn’t really feeling any more. She couldn’t feel her legs.

She slowly sank to the floor, the child in her arms now wailing pitifully as the rocking stopped. But from her, there were no tears. No wailing. She felt the void. The dream they had built toward, they worked so hard for. It was gone.

***

Justinius felt nothing but irritation as he entered the senate chamber once more. It was afternoon, the room was sweltering, and the shouting was already in full commencement as senators from opposing sides shouted across at one another and even at fellow members of their own branch. Lords, populace, and moderates were all in uproar and consternation over something that he did not understand. “What is going on?” Justinius grumbled.

“I suspect the news of Rufus passing has hit some of them hard,” said Corbenus.

Justinius listened to the few snatches of conversation he could make out. “That is not all, I think.”

They took their places in the midst of the lords and waited for their father to enter. His entrance was not met with the respectful silence of earlier times but with angry voices raised in protest or panic. “He cannot sit alone! We must hold an immediate election! Why did you bring Carxandrians back? Who is to stop the rebellion?”

Justinius wanted to cover his ears in frustration. The staff cracked on the senate floor and the speaker yelled, “The senate is now in session. First agenda-”

“I would speak, consul!” yelled Alexus, standing from his seat.

“It is not your place,” snapped Magnus, glowering at him from his position front and center in the populace.

“I was to go first,” said Antoninus, rising from the moderates. “We need to discuss bringing the men home as soon as possible. The neglect of our crops-”

“That can wait,” said Magnus, turning his glare on Antoninus.

“Oh really,” responded the senator. “We can wait till our people are starving and even more of the population is revolting?”

Justinius sat up at this, listening intently. The staff cracked again and the speaker called. “The senate will come to order.”

“Sit down, Antoninus,” yelled Tullus from the lords. “We already know what you will say word for word.”

Moderates raised their voices in an irate chorus. The staff cracked again when Horatius stood from his seat and, in a commander's cry, boomed out, “Come to order!”

The noise died down and, in that moment of quiet, he continued, “I would hear everything that has transpired since we left for war and then we will inform you on the war. Senator Antoninus, we understand your concern. But for the present, recount what has transpired while the consuls were at war.”

He sat as mutters accompanied this statement. Antoninus looked annoyed but he stepped onto the Senate floor. “Honored Consul. Senators. I regret to inform you that the people of the Asperet peninsula, the province of Lustra, as well as the coast of Praerupta, have officially sent the Senate their intention to revolt. They have driven out the governors and, in Lustra, there have even been rumors that the rebellion is led by a man who uses magic. Lord Sebastien of the Flame, or so they call him, has sent a missive with his intent to dismantle our republic one province at a time. We are, in essence, in a populace war. A war which might have been avoided had our men not been all called away to destroy Carxandria-”

Antoninus was cut off by a storm of howls and boos. Alexus rose and attracted the attention of many in the crowd by wildly waving a fist in the air. “We didn’t even do that! Now we have a city that could revolt against us along with these rebels. We should call up more men to put down the rebellions and simply be rid of Carxandria!”

“Are you mad?” yelled Antoninus. “You want to call more people away from their farms? We already have a food shortage as it is. You wish to increase it?”

“Our plantations grow plenty of food,” responded Magnus.

“Even if that were true, which it is not,” said Antoninus, “We are all aware that no one here willingly shares more than what they are taxed. And that means more farmers losing land and more homeless on our hands.”

“This talk is pointless,” said Magnus, “Until we can elect another consul, there will be no way to resolve conflicts without an unfair advantage to one side of the vote.”

“We come to it,” said Horatius from his consul seat. “It is true, the consul Rufus Ambitious was killed in the conflict.”

“Rather conveniently,” came a mutter from somewhere in the room. It was heard by enough people to cause a renewed uproar among the lords and populace.

The staff cracked again. “Senators,” said Horatius, “By ill fortune has this occurred. But we do not have time to hold elections once again. Crisis is upon this nation and we need-”

He was drowned out by harsh yells of protest from the populace. “Impossible!” yelled Magnus, standing. “We refuse to enact policy until a new consul is elected.”

“You cannot simply demand things!” yelled Tullus Ultimius from the Lords. “Who do you think you are? You are no longer consul.”

“I call for an immediate election right now, just among the senators,” yelled Antoninus who was still standing in the center. “An emergency election among the senators right now.”

“And who shall be the candidates?” asked Horatius coldly.

The room once more broke down into squabbles across parties and within them. Justinius buried his head in his hands and fought the urge to leave the room.

“Senators, to order!” yelled Horatius once again.

Justinius lifted his head and stared at his father, wondering how he planned to resolve this mess. His father stood tall, his toga falling neatly on his arm and he struck an imposing stance. “I understand your fears. We have a crisis and it needs resolving. Coming food shortages, rebellion, a dead consul. The law states that a new consul may be chosen by the surviving consul if a majority of the senate agrees with the choice. If-”

A rumble of low voices rose to a clamor and he hurried on. “If you disagree, I’m willing to find another solution. But we must make a choice. Therefore, I would have the senate vote on how we are to choose an elector. If you would trust me to choose someone well, let it be as the law states. If you cannot agree to this, then we must postpone this meeting until proper solutions can be devised and debated in the senate, not suggested in blind panic.”

The muttering continued and Justinius already knew how he would vote. And how his father would want him to vote.

The doors of the senate building opened with a startling boom and all eyes turned to see who had interrupted. A soldier, trembling and ashen faced, marched into the senate and bowed before the consul. “Pardon, my Consul, but there is a situation that needs your attention.”

“You interrupt the senate while it's in session?” demanded Magnus irately.

Horatius waved the man forward. “Speak. What is happening?”

The soldier rose from the bow. “It is the prisoners. We attempted to keep the crowds back, as you requested. But groups have become hostile. A band has scaled the roof of the temple beside the old granary and is attempting to break in. The soldiers aren’t sure how to proceed, retaliate or back down against the riot.”

Horatius and many others, including Justinius, rose in alarm. “We must stop them!” he yelled, his voice echoing through the chamber. His face burned but he kept his gaze on his father.

“Why should we?” said Alexus Dignius. His face held a smirk that was more knowing than it should have been. “It is no more than they deserve.”

Horatius turned to the senate, only momentarily indecisive. “This senate meeting is adjourned. I suggest all stay put until the riot is put down.”

He turned to the soldier. “Gather what is left of the city watch. Come.”

***

Damianus heard the scrapes and smashing coming from the roof for some time before they broke through.

He had been shepherded into the old grain house, its tall, thick walls insulated, the red tiles on the roof faded with time and the pillars surrounding it scratched and chipped by the weather. The large double doors of old iron had slammed close and been sealed from the outside and the Carxandrians began to settle along the wall or in the dirt center. Their whispers echoed about the room as the yells from outside continued.

Damianus shifted about the room, offering words of comfort. “Keep a bandage on that. It will be well soon. Don’t worry. Things will be worked out.”

As time passed, the screaming grew louder and a chant could be heard. “Kill Carxandrians, murderers all!”

The irony was not lost on him but the cries were unnerving, not just because of the threat but due to the rage and hatred in their voices. Then, the scraping had started. Noises from outside the building at the back and side. The cries came louder. Clashes with the guards could be heard outside. The Carxandrians began to pull away from the door, huddling together at the far corners in fear.

Then dust fell on him from above, bits of plaster hitting his head. Smashing sounds echoed around them. Damianus looked up, terror leaping into his heart. Strangely, he did not panic. That peace remained within. A hole appeared in the roof as more debris fell from above and Carxandrians fled from the falling rubble.

Faces appeared above them, feral snarls of delight upon their faces as they looked down at the captives below. “Widen the hole!” cried a man from above. “Use these! Kill them!”

A tile flew from above, expertly thrown, and struck a noblewoman in the face. She crumpled without a sound, blood spurting from her decimated face. The screams grew louder as those inside ran for the edges of the room, dodging more volleys of tiles. Each person that was struck crumpled in pain, unconscious or dead as the tiles broke skulls, shoulders, and arms that offered pitiful cover. Damianus stood in front of a group against the wall, watching the hole grow larger as more tiles were hurled in, striking feet and legs.

A man fell through the hole, overeager in his throw, and fell on his head. An audible crunch from his broken neck was heard and his body twisted in an awkward position and lay unmoving. Another section of the roof fell, dropping another Aquillan to the floor screaming in pain as more faces became visible above. Tiles rained down from the widened hole and Carxandrians began to drop, blood flying from their wounds. They were screaming and wailing, begging for mercy from their captors, from the gods, from the Cause. Torches were tossed, flames licking at the wood supports within, and smoke began to fill the room. Damianus stood his ground stoically, helping any he could to get out of harm's way. A woman clutched her infant, both wailing as he stood over them, hoping against hope to keep someone, anyone, safe. “Stay behind me,” he told her, turning slightly to look at her.

A searing pain filled his head and his vision went dark. Darkness to light. And the pain was gone. There was nothing now but the world beyond. Finally, there was peace.

His body fell over the woman and she pushed him off, screaming in terror. Moments later, the entire roof and supporting columns caved in, dropping a mass of structure and screaming Aquillans into the building, crushing all within.