Romulus

The military camp was a couple of kilometers outside of Staff Harbor and contained around thirty purple tents. It was only a small detachment made mostly of infantry to provide a defense of the city in case of rebellion or surprise invasion.

He got there the day after the funeral, and before interrogating the assaulter, Romulus went over to the tent that was assigned to him to drop off his belongings. He found the previous occupant to still be sleeping in his straw bed. Romulus left his things on a nearby table and kicked the man to sleep. “Get up soldier. This tent’s mine now,” Romulus said before disappearing out of the tent. He shook his head as he grew tired of how common this behavior was whenever he moved into a new camp.

When Romulus arrived at the assaulter’s tent, he flashed the royal seal on his uniform at the guard on duty and entered. Once Romulus got inside, he found the assaulter on the ground and bruised. His hands and feet were chained on the center pole but looked like they were tied to a saw. It was clear that he had already taken a beating from some of the soldiers. Romulus stood over the man, examining him. “You tell them anything?” Romulus asked, hoping he would respond in Dymish.

“They didn’t ask anything,” the assaulter responded in a brutish Borzor accent.

From the man who didn’t leave his tent to the guard who barely glanced at Romulus when he flashed his royal seal, it was obvious they didn’t make use of a good beating. “What’s your name?” Romulus asked as he squatted down.

“Why would I tell you?” The man asked.

“So, when we execute you, we have someone to notify,” Romulus answered without missing a beat.

“And if I don’t, are you going to beat it out of me?”

“You want us to give you the luxury of a public execution or not?”

The man sighed. “Doesn’t matter. I’m a Borzor.”

“Alright Borzor,” Romulus continued. “Why did you attack the prince and princess?”. He stared at the Borzor knowing what his answer would be the first time around.

“Fuck off.”

Romulus stood back up and kicked the man in his side. The Borzor winced but was relatively unharmed. “Tell me,” Romulus said once again. “Or you shall receive a whipping till death rather than a swift chop of the head!”

“What’s the difference? I’ll be dead anyway.”

It was more of the same for an hour. Romulus demanded why the man attacked his brother and stepsister, who sent him if they were foreign, and what their aim was. Romulus became exhausted from the numerous punches, kicks, and headbutts he gave to the Borzor. “I’ll give you something. Borzors are much more resilient to torture than the Dymish. I suppose they’re more conditioned to facing the consequences of crimes.” Romulus remarked.

The man's blood ran from his head to his feet. It looked like the man’s eyes were dripping onto his face and clothes, dirt entered his bloodstream as wounds opened up, but he still sat there and told Romulus to shove it.

A messenger then walked into the tent. Romulus turned toward him and demanded what he wanted. It was time for the war game. Romulus sighed as he wasn’t able to get an answer before having to take a break. Wiping his bloody hands on the inside of the tent, he left, but not before he turned toward the Borzor and remarked: “Tough shit, you.”

#

The war game was simple. Romulus was on the defensive while his opponent was simulating an invading force from the east. Romulus had half the size of his opponent but had the better terrain. Romulus organized his troops into three regiments. First, the main infantry that would be the meat of the army; second, the cavalry unit that would guard the flanks and the artillery that were typically sitting ducks in this type of battle. They were supposed to guard a pass, with whoever controlled it at the end winning the game.

The infantry didn’t carry metal swords, instead using wooden ones made for war games like this. Same with the cavalry, but the artillery did use military-grade cannonballs.

The battle started, and Romulus watched from a hilltop mounted on his horse. The entire battle was simulated in a forest, so information and visibility were severely limited. Romulus, however, brought a state-of-the-art mechanical clock only the royal family and earls had access to. He estimated how long it would take the enemy army to reach his position and waited. When the time came, he ordered the infantry and cavalry to pull back to the end of the pass and wait. After Romulus approximated how long it took them and waited, he ordered the cannons to fire on the pass. His inferior officers warned him that it would kill some of the soldiers, but Romulus brushed it off.

After about ten minutes of constant barrages, he ordered his cavalry to charge at the enemy and for the cannons to stop shooting. In a little under an hour, Romulus defeated an army double the size and completed his objective.

When Romulus arrived back at the camp, the commander of the enemy forces walked in front of him and confronted Romulus. “What was that, Captain Romulus?! You killed thirty of my men!”

Romulus paused for a moment and smirked. “Do you not lose men in war?”

“It was a war game,” the commander responded. “You shot at us with your artillery! You killed people in your army, so how is that supposed to help us? We need those men. We are about to be—”

“Those who died today provided something to me and you that is more valuable than anything they could have provided on the field of war. Experience.” Romulus put his hand on the commander’s shoulder. “Now you know not to chase an army down a pass without first checking if the enemy isn’t as a shit commander as you were. Now excuse me; I have a prisoner to interrogate.”

Romulus walked passed the man, but the commander persisted and followed Romulus. “What do you think the generals will do when they hear of this?”

“Nothing,” Romulus calmly responded.

“They will demote you. You know the generals don’t like wasting men.”

Romulus stopped in his tracks and took a deep breath. “You know you’re an idiot, right?” The commander became shocked. “Before you report me to anyone, I want you to think about something. If the generals are too scared to let thirty men die in an army of one and a half million, then I don’t think they are going to demote the heir to the throne.”

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“They’ll find a way.” the commander said after a pause.

“Really?”

“Yes.” The commander was no longer confident. The security in his voice disappeared, and he no longer looked Romulus in the eyes.

“You obviously haven’t been here long so let me tell you something. The only way I don’t leave the military a general is either I become king before that happens, or I lose a battle, skirmish, hell even a war game; then maybe, just maybe, I won’t become a general, let alone get demoted.”

The commander had no response. Romulus patted the man on the shoulder and told him: “You’ll get over it. They all do in my experience,” and walked back to the Borzor’s tent.

Along the way, he found a stool and brought it with him. The man asleep laid face down in the mud. Romulus sat down on the stool before lightly kicking the man. He woke up and found Romulus sitting calmly, waiting for the Borzor to collect himself. “It’s lucky that I found someone who speaks Dymish.” Romulus commented, “Some of you Borzor refuse to learn the language of the land. Can you read too?”

“Yes, I can read.” The Borzor answered, offended.

“Good.”

The Borzor continued to collect himself as Romulus sat there, watching. He asked about the Borzor’s condition, if he was near death, and if he was hungry. “What do you care?” The Borzor responded. “You playing nice isn’t going to work. I’ll die before you attempt to inspire some humility out of me. You’re going to make a grand old speech—”

“I don’t make speeches,” Romulus answered. “That’s more of Gala’s thing. Here’s what I am going to do.” He pulled up his stool closer to the Borzor and leaned in. The Borzor leaned back past the tent’s center pole. “I am probably going to get a speech of my own from the general staff. You see I just let thirty men of the military die out there, and they are not very happy about it.”

Romulus dropped the friendly act for a moment. “Soldiers are not people, they’re numbers. I did more to damage this army—in the eyes of the uninformed—than you have or ever will do. If I wanted to kill you, you would have been tied to a horse and dragged until you were on the brink of death. After that, we would make it stop, feed you, but not you let piss or shit and do it all over again. You understand?”

Romulus’s eyes pierced the Borzor’s. The prisoner didn’t respond, and Romulus grabbed his neck and asked him again. The Borzor nodded. “Why did you not kill Nero?” Romulus asked.

The Borzor didn’t respond or react. Romulus squeezed his neck a little harder and repeated the question. “There’s no way you’re stupid enough to not realize he’s worth more dead than alive to the king?” Romulus added.

“I suppose the truth seems irrational until you get the context,” The Borzor responded.

A smile crept on Romulus’s face as he let go of the man’s neck. He knew that he would get something out of this man after all. It was time to make the offer. “Let’s make a deal,” he proposed. “You tell me who you are, the people that you work for, and who you are protecting. In exchange, you shall die, but the people who you look after shall be under the protection of the crown. If you refuse then you shall die by the horse execution I mentioned earlier, and the kingdom shall be told that you are a rat, and the organization you work for shall be destroyed.”

“How would you know who they are if I don’t tell you?”

“Judging by your brazen attack, I assume they aren’t the most subtle of organizations. They’ll reveal themselves eventually. Plus, if you tell me, then there might still be room for negotiation.”

The man outright refused and cursed Romulus. Romulus waited for the Borzor to finish before continuing. “Would you rather have a slight chance of the people you care for surviving and the organization you work for getting what they want, or the death of thousands of my and your people? I mean a two percent chance is still greater than zero percent.”

Romulus waited. The Borzor contemplated the offer. Every other Borzor never listened to reason and threw tantrums, tried to escape, or commit suicide every time they were interrogated. Most of them were young males without any family that Romulus knew of. This one, however, was older and probably in his early thirties. “How do I know you will keep your word.” The Borzor asked.

“Thinking someone will keep their word requires some trust,” Romulus pointed out.

The Borzor sighed and closed his eyes. He told Romulus the name of the woman he loved. “Does she work for the same organization?” Romulus asked.

“I stopped her,” The Borzor responded. “I stopped her from serving the People’s Lord.”

“And which bastard country is supporting them?” Romulus asked.

“No one. They serve the people of Qar. The king, the queen, the princes, the princess, and the earls shall fall.”

“Was your organization also behind Titus’s death?”

“Yes,”

“Good, I can work with this,” Romulus said.

The Borzor sighed and seemed to be soaking in his last moments. “Go on,” he said. “Do it.”

Seconds turned into a minute. Nothing happened. The Borzor kept his eyes shut, not budging nor expecting his death to be prevented. After initially pulling out his sword, Romulus took a moment to appreciate that a Borzor accepted a deal for once. He waved his sword across the Borzor’s face, but the Borzor didn’t flinch. The man didn’t fear death, and so he granted his wish as he sliced his neck.

He sat there and watched him bleed out, and within seconds he was dead. Romulus closed the man’s eyelids before forcing himself back to his feet, cleaning the blood off the sword using the tent’s fabric, and leaving, and as he walked over to the general staff’s tent. Along the way, he was surprised about how much he considered following through with his end of the deal. That is if he ever found a woman with the same name that Borzor gave him.

#

The general staff summoned Romulus to the main tent. A large table resided in the middle and supported up to twelve people around it. A map of the country with the various military regiments lay across it. There were auxiliary sections of the tent containing some of the general quarters, with a small mail desk in the corner.

Romulus walked toward the table before stopping a couple of paces behind one of the chairs. He saluted by raising his right hand over his shoulder with his palm facing forward. He stood as straight as an arrow and looked at no one in particular. “Romulus Qar, prince of the Dymish and Borzor people, captain to the royal military, and servant to the reunification of the continent and Mydrazan, you have been called here to answer for your conduct during today’s war game. Thirty-four men have died. Thirty under the command of the enemy, and four under your command. Dozens of others have sustained serious injuries. How do you explain such disdain for your comrades’ lives?” His voice was plain yet insulting to Romulus. It was as if the general saw himself as superior to Romulus because of his rank, but Romulus knew if the general ever seriously threatened him, the general’s career would be over.

The general who questioned Romulus’s behavior was General Lepidus Pluto and was the one who spoke to Romulus whenever he went against the general staff. He was bald and short, but with an impressive beard that went down to his collar bone, while the other four generals had so much hair it was difficult to discern where their beard and head hair met.

“They pledged their life to the Kingdom of Qar,” answered Romulus loudly and clearly. “I serve the Kingdom of Qar, and I took the actions I thought appropriate that would better the needs of the Kingdom’s military.”

“Thirty soldiers are dead, captain,” General Pluto pointed out.

“And the experiences gained by the survivors better serve the needs of the kingdom than that could be provided by those dead men.”

“That may be your opinion Captain Qar, but you violated military policy. You shall be temporarily suspended of command for three days.”

A slap on the wrist. Romulus smirked but shoved his face back down so the generals couldn’t see it. “May I ask for an appeal?” Romulus asked.

“For what reason?” General Pluto asked as he sighed.

“I have extracted vital information of a prisoner. The men who attacked the prince and princess serve an organization named the People’s Lord. I believe this information outweighs my violation of military policy, and I formally ask my sentence to be overturned.”

General Pluto turned toward one of the generals seated. The seated generals groaned at Romulus while General Pluto, once again, sighed. “Anything else?” General Pluto asked.

“No, he died of torture as I tried to extract more information,” Romulus lied.

“Captain Romulus, your temporary suspension has been overruled. Dismissed,” General Pluto resigned.

Romulus saluted the generals before he turned and left the tent. It was such an inconvenience having to explain his actions to those idiots. They don’t know how to talk to people nor command their armies, but Romulus moved past that. He had a letter to write.