Princes of the Universe, Part I

[tthf]

wow, talk about shaking things up... yet another twist to the tale.
I for one thought that both weren't going to survive that aztec onslaught, like a greek tragedy of sorts.

 

[Sisiutil]

wow, talk about shaking things up... yet another twist to the tale.
I for one thought that both weren't going to survive that aztec onslaught, like a greek tragedy of sorts.

Yeah, but I'm writing about Rome, not Greece. Or, at least not yet.

 

[tthf]

@ Sisiutil, lolZ

 

[Izipo]

It's great,
Just great

 

[Clovis]

So, is it a Shakespearean comedy, where all get married, or a tragedy, where they all die? We'll see what kind of author you are!

 

[Sisiutil]

So, is it a Shakespearean comedy, where all get married, or a tragedy, where they all die? We'll see what kind of author you are!

You're actually comparing me to Shakespeare?!? My blushes!

I'd like to think, then, that it resembles one of the problem plays. Those tend to be my favourites.

 

[BorgeoisBuffoon]

Oy. Haven't posted in a while, but...poor Lucius. Amazing story, man-you're keeping me on the edge of my seat here seeing the Roman lands expand and Lucius's heart break. A bit of a generic compliment, but a genuine one nonetheless.

 

[Clovis]

Problem as in tragedy, I see?

 

[Sisiutil]

Problem as in tragedy, I see?

Not necessarily. The problem plays such as Measure for Measure and The Merchant of Venice are hard to classify as tragedies or comedies. In them a character is presented with a difficult situation or dilemma, almost an insoluble one, and must find a way out of it.

 

[tthf]

merchant of venice.....
shudders at memories of literature lessons once upon a time..

 

[Clovis]

Hey! I liked Shakespeare!

 

[Sisiutil]

merchant of venice.....
shudders at memories of literature lessons once upon a time..

Since I was formerly an English teacher, I may have administered those literature lessons.

I'll post the next installment later today.

 

[Sisiutil]

Chapter Eleven: Noble Men

Part 10 – Brothers and Sisters of the Faith

Caesar may have called it “mop-up duty”, but it took a good amount of time to accomplish—just as long as the more difficult, early part of the war had taken. The Roman army split into two smaller forces, one under Caesar, the other under the bereaved Quintus Lutatius Catulus Senior, now promoted to General. The Romans spent the next three years finishing off Aztec resistance and capturing the last Aztec cities.

Lucius Rutullus Lepidus was with the Fourteenth Legion for the duration, first serving as its commander in his fallen friend’s stead, which did nothing to alleviate the private guilt which tormented him—quite the opposite, in fact. Shortly thereafter he also became a junior legate, splitting his duties between Caesar’s command tent and leading the Fourteenth. The loss of his left eye did little to diminish his ability as a fighter, especially since he retained full sight on the side of his body which wielded his sword.

Sporting an eye patch over the most prominent of his battle scars, the sole living recipient of the grass crown became something of a living legend amongst the Roman troops. The story behind his earning of the corona graminea now had a sequel, concerning his gallant, lone defence of a fallen comrade within the Aztec capital. The Fourteenth became known as “Lucius’ Legion”—though if any man called it that within earshot of him, he caught an earful from the Legion’s dour and formidable commander.

Lucius had always been a thoughtful and sensitive man, and as the conflict wore on, he began to question the morality of his actions. He reflected that it was probably because he spoke the language of Rome’s enemy. He understood their shouts of righteous indignation as they defended their cities and towns, their cries of anguish when a beloved comrade fell, and their screams of desperation to their gods and their mothers as they lay dying of some horrific wound. To his ears, they sounded no different from his own comrades, and he could not help wondering what else they had in common. Surely they had mothers and siblings at home who worried about them—sweethearts, perhaps, as well.

Not that he ever let his thoughts affect him during battle. There, the choices were clear. Fight or surrender. Live or die. Rome or Aztec. Caesar or Montezuma. His choices were clear, his loyalties unshaken, and he never hesitated. It was after the battle was done that all the questions came to haunt him. Those thoughts and his memories of Claudia swirled together in his mind on those restless nights, because of all the people he’d ever known, she was the only one with whom he could have shared his feelings. It might have all been outside the realm of her experience, but she would have listened; she would have tried to understand. But that door, he thought, was closed forever.



In the aftermath of the capture of Tlaxcala, a small city on the Aztec western coast, he came across a dying Aztec longbowman. He was about to pass the man by, leaving him to die like so many other enemy combatants, but the archer looked up, right into Lucius’ remaining eye, and asked for water so politely, as if he were a guest in Lucius’ home. Lucius took pity on the man. He knelt and gave him a few sips out of his own canteen.

“Why do you still fight?” Lucius asked the longbowman. “You’ve lost the war. Your leader is a fanatical tyrant. Yet still you fight us. Why?”

“This is my home,” was all the man said.

Lucius nodded in understanding, for if their situations had been reversed, he would have fought just as ferociously in defense of Rome. He remained at the man’s side for over an hour, holding his hand until it limply dropped from his grasp.

As he walked solemnly through the streets of the city afterwards, a frail voice had accosted him.

“Legion-man, you want good time?”

He looked towards the sound of the voice and his one remaining eye opened in shock. The girl who’d spoken couldn’t have been older than fourteen. She was thin—gaunt, really--and her brightly-coloured dress was frayed at its hems. She had the neckline of the dress pulled open to reveal the tops of breasts that were only just beginning to form. Her hair was long and dark as obsidian, her eyes the same, her skin golden. Her feet were bare. The expression her face wore was one of resignation rather than enticement. She trembled as he looked at her, but not out of fear; she was obviously hungry, which had no doubt driven her to this sorry fate.

“How old are you, little one?” he asked her in her native tongue.

The Roman Legions, like all armies in foreign lands, had learned some of the local language. With soldiers’ typical efficiency—and disinterest—they only learned enough to get by, and in heavily accented voices at that. As a result, the girl was quite startled to hear a Roman soldier speaking fluent, unaccented Nahuatl. So startled that she completely forgot to dissemble.

“Thirteen,” she answered.

His jaw clenched; she was nearly the same age as his youngest sister. “Do you have any family?” he asked.

She shook her head, and he saw her eyes shimmer before she glanced down at the ground. “All dead,” she told him.

He exhaled heavily. "What is your name, little one?”

“Cuicatl,” she told him.

That brought a sad smile to his face. “Can you sing?” he asked. Her name meant ‘song’.

She looked up and nodded, the resigned look returning to her face. She suppressed a sigh, imagining that the big Roman with the eye patch would want entertainment along with his… entertainment.

“What about sewing and cooking?” he asked.

Now she frowned, not comprehending, but she nodded her head again.

“Come with me, Cuicatl. I’ll give you a job, if you want it, that won’t require you to sell your body.”

He brought her back to the Roman camp and gave her a meal and a place to sleep.

“I’ve hired us a servant,” he told the other members of his century when they asked about her.

“A little portable R & R, sir?” one of the legionaries remarked with a knowing grin.

The ferocious look that comment earned him from Lucius made the man turn white and shiver.

“Spread the word,” Lucius growled at the man, but loud enough so everyone heard, “that any man who molests her, accosts her, or even looks at her the wrong way will answer to ME!” The whole century had practically jumped out of their skins at that, all save Gnaeus Decumius, now the Fourteeenth’s primus pilus, who was busy suppressing his laughter.

Her safety now guaranteed, Lucius put Cuicatl to work the next day. She cooked meals for he and the other members of his century, mended and washed their clothing, polished their armour, and did other jobs, for which he made sure she was decently paid by all she served. She could indeed sing, and did so as she worked, favouring those within earshot with haunting melodies in Nahuatl—age-old story-songs about star-crossed lovers and capricious gods. Of all who listened, only Lucius understood them fully, and in more ways than one.

When it came time for the army to move on a few weeks later, she was healthy and well-nourished, her spirits on the mend. He even saw her smile once or twice. She and Gnaeus Decumius had struck up an unexpected friendship, the burly primus pilus having installed himself as her second benefactor and protector, and he was teaching her Latin—or at least the rough form it took in the Subura. Even so, Lucius half expected her to stay behind in Tlaxcala, the only world she’d ever known. But when the army marched north, she was among the camp-followers walking with the baggage train.

***

It seemed fitting that the last city taken by the Romans should be the one that started the entire war in the first place. That it got left to last was understandable. Calixtlahuaca was a remote city, little more than a village, really, on the continent’s most isolated north-western reaches. It was surrounded by ice-covered plains and frigid ocean and not much else, save for an iron mine that comprised the town’s sole industry. That a place so humble should have caused a conflagration so great astounded all concerned. Montezuma had fled there and despite the city’s Confucian majority, he named it his capital. Then again, he didn’t have any other cities left to bear that honour.

The city succumbed quickly, its meagre garrison falling before Roman might within the space of an afternoon on a cool northern summer’s day. Montezuma himself fell to Caesar’s sword in personal combat shortly thereafter. The strange lightening and thunder that accompanied that event only added to the troops’ already-considerable awe regarding their immortal Commander-in-Chief.



Lucius marched into the centre of the city with the Fourteenth Legion, with Caesar riding a white stallion before him. As they proceeded to the town square, the inhabitants came out of their homes to watch them. They were silent, their eyes wide with amazement. They were unable, at first, to actually believe that the Aztec empire was no more, and that mighty Rome had fought for over several years to conquer their land—all, ostensibly, to liberate them. Because they were fellow Confucians. Because they had suffered greatly at the fanatic Montezuma’s hands.

The only sound filled the air as late afternoon turned to dusk was that of the marching soldier’s hard hobnailed soles striking the cobblestones. That is, until one remarkable incident occurred. As Caesar entered the central square, a doorway in one of the houses nearby opened, and a little Aztec girl ran out. Caesar brought his horse to a stop and signalled for the Legions to do the same as the girl, no more than six years old, her dark hair in pig-tails, ran towards him. Behind him, Lucius tensed, expecting some sort of guerrilla attack. But nothing of the sort occurred.

Somewhere, in that frigid wasteland at the end of the continent, the dark-haired Aztec child had found a few brightly-coloured flowers. She stood beside Caesar’s horse, a shy grin on her pretty little face, and raised the makeshift bouquet up to the Roman leader. He leaned down from the saddle to accept them, and in that moment, his stern visage was transformed, and he bestowed the broadest and brightest of his smiles upon the child, who reacted by giggling and running back to her house.

Before she got here, the town square had erupted. People were pouring out of their homes, rushing towards the Romans, but not in anger. The citizens of Calixtlahuaca were cheering, they were exulting, they were weeping with joy, hailing the Romans not as conquerors, but as liberators. Every soldier, abashed and blinking away his own tears, was clapped on the back by some father or grandfather, hugged by some weeping matron, or kissed by a smiling girl.

Lucius watched it all in wonder. The dour mood he had been mired in since Tenochtitlan slowly began to fall away, and was erased completely when an elderly Aztec, his lower face covered with a long, grizzled beard, clasped his thick forearm with a trembling hand.

“Are you a Confucian, young soldier?” the old man asked, though something in his tone expressed a doubt that he’d be understood.

“Yes, most revered grandfather,” Lucius said in fluent, formal Nahuatl, accompanying his words with a respectful bow.

The old man smiled broadly even as tears rolled down his withered cheeks. “Oh, bless you, my boy! Bless you, and all Romans!” he said, and threw his thin, trembling arms around Lucius’ broad shoulders.

In an instant, Lucius’ dark mood evaporated as if he had not lived with it these last three years. Tears fell from his one remaining eye, and he embraced the elderly Aztec as though the man was his own father.

Then there was a stirring in the crowd behind them. The mob of citizens respectfully parted, the cheers diminishing and replaced by gasps of reverence. Lucius turned and saw why: as the crowd of Aztec citizens and Roman soldiers parted, a single figure stood there, clad in a resplendent jade-green robe and high round hat, his long beard snowy-white and immaculate. As aged as he was, his eyes were those of a both a youth and a sage, sharp and perceptive, wise but full of mirth.

“Mencius, my old friend!” Caesar exclaimed, jumping down from his horse and moving to greet the High Priest in a few long strides. They shook hands, then embraced and laughed.

Somehow the crowd knew who this man was. They pressed forward, but gingerly, timidly extending their hands towards him as if beseeching his blessing. Turning from Caesar, Mencius spent the next few minutes doing his best to greet every one of his faith’s liberated followers.

Suddenly his gaze fell upon Lucius. He nodded towards the legionary and greeted him.

“It is good to see you again, Lucius Rutullus Lepidus,” he said.

Lucius’ thick brows rose, astonished that the High Priest remembered him from that one meeting all those years ago. He bowed respectfully. “Likewise, Master,” he responded.

“We must talk later,” Mencius continued. “I am sure we have much to discuss.”

Lucius suddenly realized that the High Priest was correct; at that moment, he wished for nothing more than to speak with the learned sage and seek his counsel. But the crowd thronged around them indicated that would have to wait.

“I look forward to it, Master,” Lucius said, his eagerness evident in his voice, and he favoured Mencius with another bow.

“Lucius, I think I have need of your vocal skills for a moment,” Caesar said, beckoning the legionary towards him.

The crowd parted to let the tall, formidable-looking legionary with the eye patch through, awed that both the High Priest and the Roman leader had paid special attention to him. His own comrades were similarly impressed, but no longer surprised by anything when it came to Lucius Rutullus Lepidus.

“I need you to relay my words to the crowd,” Caesar told him simply, and Lucius nodded his agreement and understanding. Caesar turned to the citizens of the liberated city and raised his voice; Lucius, standing beside him, followed suit.

“Citizens of Calixtlahuaca, on behalf of the Senate and People of Rome, I, Gaius Julius Caesar, bring you greetings and salutations,” he said, then paused as Lucius translated for the Aztecs in the booming voice that was at home on either a stage or a field of battle. “As of this day, the Aztec Empire is no more; Montezuma is dead.” A rousing cheer greeted that news; the persecuted Confucians of Calixtlahuaca bore no love for their former leader.

“Tomorrow, a new day shall dawn, a day when all the citizens of our continent, be they Confucian, Buddhist, Taoist, or any other faith, may worship as they choose, in peace, and without fear of persecution.” Another cheer; Caesar waited for it to die down. “You have suffered greatly, I know, citizens of Calixtlahuaca, and many of your loved ones have paid the ultimate price. I can think of no better way to honour their memory and your endurance than with a pilgrimage to the holy shrine of Confucianism, the Kong Miao. So I say to you today that Rome offers to all the citizens of Calixtlahuaca, as a token of our affection for our brothers and sisters of the faith, a pilgrimage to Antium to visit the great shrine, fully paid for by the Senate and the People of Rome!”

Gasps of astonishment were followed by more cheering, and by tears of joy. Caesar grinned broadly, glad that his generous and heartfelt gift was appreciated. He turned to Lucius as the crowd’s cheers continued to grow in volume.

“Well, my young friend,” he said, a hint of sadness in his voice, “what do you say? Was it worth it?”

Lucius glanced at the crowd, a foreign people, but one to whom Rome in general and he, in particular, were bound by a shared faith; and beyond that, he saw the joy of a people finally, at long last, lifted from the chains of oppression. All across the former Aztec Empire, in fact, he knew that Montezuma’s former subjects were waking up to the same realization as Isabella’s had: that they would enjoy more peace, freedom, and prosperity as Roman citizens than they had under their former rulers. They would even have a say in how they were governed, which was no doubt most astonishing to them of all. And Lucius’ heart swelled with pride, for he was a citizen of Rome, the greatest city in the greatest civilization in the world, a civilization that now stood astride a united continent as proof of its unquestionable superiority. And in spite of everything the war had cost him, he knew there was only one answer he could give.

“Yes, Caesar,” he said, his voice shaking with emotion, “yes, it was worth it.”

 

[Ultimate_Waffle]

Another great addition to the story. Although, technically, it appears as though the continent isn't yours yet. I still see a barbarian city on continent, unless that's just an older picture.

 

[Sisiutil]

Another great addition to the story. Although, technically, it appears as though the continent isn't yours yet. I still see a barbarian city on continent, unless that's just an older picture.

Oh, quibble. Barb cities don't count. You know Caesar's Praetorians will sweep them aside with ease.

 

[Clovis]

What about ol' blood an' guts himself?

 

[tthf]

great chapter!

now, if only there was a lone aztec fanatic resistance fighter/ 'sniper' longbowman somewhere around that town square...

 

[Clovis]

What for, more tragedy?

 

[biggamer132]

So, what's next for good Lucius? A return to Rome, riches, and romance?

 

[BorgeoisBuffoon]

Amazing. Good to see something of a happy ending for at least many, many people. I salute Caesar, Lucius, and all those who bravely fought on either side, and I am happy the Aztecs will hopefully have better times to come.

Actually, speaking of the Barbarian cities, seeing even a tiny mention of their soon-to-be-conquest WOULD be interesting, if I may offer a tiny and happily-ignored suggestion. I'm just all for seeing what you'd make of Ghurzan or Jute culture here.