The Plight of Angels

by Elijah Reed

  The virtue of betrayal

  The chariot of which Cor and Facimus stood rattled and shook the ground, with all four horses forming a rhythmic beat as each set of horseshoes connected with the stone roads, roads that would soon guide them to a well-deserved rest. The quadriga shot through the Merchants district and into the district that many years ago Cor had chosen to build his home. As he passed the huge, beautiful and extravagant villas that made up this fine district, he considered his plans for the next month and contemplated the perfect solution to the problems of the empire, specifically the perfect solution of the tribal counsel.

  Facimus looked onwards at Cor deep in thought, nervously inquiring “Sir, can I ask you an honest question?” The emperor turned to Facimus and gave his answer “Yes, but don’t ask me again you’re my friend ask anything you like” Facimus’s grin was clear even under starlight, he asked, “The army you plan to give me, what is it for?” The question caught the emperor off guard; he was not expecting Facimus to be this sceptical about the role he was assigning him. Cor replied with a smile “For once my dear boy, nothing. I’m giving you this because I believe that you deserve it” He continued his explanation “The army itself serves no purpose, except to be given to you”

  Facimus didn’t believe him but listening to the old man was enough for now, “I don’t think you are nearly as powerful as everyone thinks” Facimus stated aloud for the emperor to hear. Cor smirked to himself “You’re right, soldier” Cor’s quadriga slowed to a halt as Facimus pulled back the reigns. He stepped down before Cor, removing his helmet and allowing Cor to say one more thing before the two went off in separate directions, Cor said “The bulk of your men should arrive on Wednesday, but I am also giving you command of the city’s old garrison tomorrow” Cor stumbled off into his home leaving Cor alone with the thin light that the stars and moon provided.

  Facimus left the land that surrounded his employer’s home. The nights after Cor visited the senate; Facimus would always walk along the gardens and clear his mind off the troubles of the previous week. The amount of peace that could be attained from this simple act was the whetstone that kept his mind sharp. Facimus continued his leisurely stroll until he came upon a woman; she was slightly tanned wearing a pale gray robe. The sight of her repulsed Facimus especially the scarred wrists, which clearly indicated that she had been bound at some point.

  The virtue of betrayal

  The woman sat with a dutiful elegance, long black hair cascaded down the back of her dress and a tattoo of resembling a bull was noticeably present on her left shoulder. She noticed the soldier walking alone “Amazing, isn’t it? She questioned aloud. Facimus stopped completely turning to see the woman, her question puzzled him. She spoke calmly to him again, answering “Pain persists only when those who call out, do so silently. Isn’t it beautiful that the gods created us only for us to beg for an end to their gifts?” Her smile faded as she continued “Maybe we desire for things the gods never intended for us”

  Facimus sat down in shock, his sarcasm and good mood cut short. Facimus sensed pain in the woman, calmly asking her “If you suffer why not reveal the source of your pain?” The woman’s sadness faded into anger, she snapped at Facimus “You do not do your duty, Facimus!” She elaborated “If the gods will it, it must occur and you have not done anything,” Facimus said nothing but remained silent in his shame. The woman stood up and began walking away, uttering “The senate, the villa, on the street like a dog; your duty cannot wait on your comfort or the unnecessary meaning you place on your life. They will demand an answer soon”

  The woman limped away into the night leaving the air cold and bitter as she left. Facimus had known this woman his entire life and yet knew nothing about her, not even a name. He sat up from the cold stone bench of which the conversation took place and strolled back to the villa. The day was not so bad for Facimus with the odd exception of the confrontation he had with his old friend and tomorrow would hold more merit, or so he assumed. “Maybe a warm bed tonight and maybe new station tomorrow doesn’t sound like a bad day,” He thought to himself as he walked alone.

  After twenty minutes of walking, he arrived back at the villa, his head clearer, and his intentions more still. He walked past the chariots and guards, through the decorated doors and into the villa. The villa served as a second home for him and many nights he would be glad to lie down on his crude yet comforting bed. He walked through to the guard’s quarter, past the beds of the other praetorians, an old oak table and into his own bedroom which lay just to the side of the makeshift armoury that they used to store their equipment. He stood at the foot of the bed staring at it like a starving man stares at food and stripped off, promptly throwing his Armor to the floor. He threw himself on the bed and in no less than a few moments he was asleep.

  The virtue of betrayal

  The night was warm and passed quickly; Facimus awoke to a feeling of wetness covering his entire body as came to realize that he had slept into the afternoon. A faint noise could be heard from the room next door, the heavy laughter of soldiers as they ate their lunch. He rose from his sweaty woollen bed and began to arrange his Armor, weapons, and clothes. Today was of no consequence really, a few hours of training drills and orders to hand out. Facimus crawled into his clothes and began tightening his Armor, which he carefully slid over the top of his tunic.

  After he finished putting on each piece of gilded iron, he slipped on some sandals and marched with authority into the guard’s quarters. The first thing he saw was a congregation of four soldiers surrounding the oak table, eating a meal of peas and pork chop. An indication that they had done nothing but waste time today. After his first step into the room, the soldiers jumped from their seats instantly into the stance of a salute. Facimus was utterly befuddled, he knew these men well and they would never stand to attention in his presence.

  Before Facimus could even utter a single word one of the soldiers chirped up “Your orders general?” Facimus laughed silently still perplexed by the sudden formality. Cor must have told them that I was being promoted” He thought. The soldiers maintained their still salute to the point of awkwardness. Facimus giggled to himself as his former comrades still stood in silence waiting on his word, he remarked: “So did he tell you or is this some kind of silly prank?” The same soldier answered in haste “Yes, sir” Facimus chuckled as he told them “You can stop saluting me now”

  The soldiers lowered their arms, Facimus laugh died down as he asked them “Who is my replacement?” Another soldier answered as if surprised that Facimus didn’t know “You are selecting your own replacement, the emperor told us we could have a day off while you decide” Cor had caught him off guard yet again and today was now entirely about finding the right candidate, the ironic bureaucracy of the soldiers life awaited him. Facimus opted to select his replacement on combat ability “I will decide outside, grab as many blunt swords as you can and gather the other men”

  The virtue of betrayal

  The men grabbed an arm full of swords from beside the armoury and hurried out of the room, leaving Facimus a few moments to get some food. He looked around the room, seeing that the table was bare save but the scraps that his former comrades had chosen opportunity over. One morsel was left untouched, a single apple that remained unscathed by the hungry soldiers. Facimus took it up and took a bite from it, the apple itself was bitter but to a hungry man like himself it radiated flavour and sweetness.

  A great breakfast would have to wait but a breakfast neither great nor sour would serve him well in the judgment of his former peers. The new general threw the core aside and walked out into the hallways of the villa. The day was warm and the hallways were barely occupied, with a single servant walking past him carrying plates of food. “The emperor must have guests today,” He thought, although it was more likely that Cor was just eating more them necessary. He marched out of the front door to see the last of his men assembling.

  The praetorians that he would be tes
ting lined up into two rows, equalling around twenty-one men. They stood together muttering and whispering to themselves right up until Facimus himself was in clear sight. The men halted their chattering and raised their arms in a salute. The formality, Facimus believed he would never grow accustomed to; it was a strange thing to have friends salute. He stepped in front of the rows of soldiers, he began to speak “Now here men, lower your arms. It is not for your way to salute a general without accomplishment or even a pretty wife.”

  The soldiers relaxed as he continued. “Our emperor is giving me a promotion and as much as I love you all as brothers, I cannot give Head Praetorian to anyone but the best!” Facimus grinned as he removed his helmet, announcing in a roar “grab a weapon and watch the pointy bit, the last man standing gets my job!” The soldiers laughed as each man grabbed a sword and spread out into a circle with each man facing the center. Before Facimus could even give the cue the men began their vicious combat. The first strike occurred with one of the men smashing the soldier next to him with the pommel, leaving the one stuck lying in his own blood.

  The virtue of betrayal

  The brutal combat continued as one of the most renowned Praetorians, Lachlan, a tall thin man with a bald head and hawk-like features. Lachlan devastated three other combatants. One with a boot to the knee, another via a sword stroke to the face and the yet another by using him as a shield against strikes thrown forth by other combatants. Lachlan himself was shortly taken down when one of the younger men grabbed the crest of his helmet and pulled him onto the ground; he was met with a flurry of strikes to the chest and could not bear to stand. The next most brutal strike came from non-other than the first to strike, Earnest, who having lost his sword somewhere in the fight resorted to beating one of weaker soldiers with his helmet.

  The fight was an intense display of both skill and brutality, seven men had been incapacitated, only one with a serious injury. Earnest, the first to attack, took the sword from the incapacitated soldier and marched back into the fray. To start his return to combat he swung heavily at a combatant, who to him seemed distracted. The man caught the blow with his sword, leaving a half second of hesitation before his riposte. The sword glided past Earnest before he brought it back for a second attack that landed on his shoulder, leaving him in severe pain as the man finished the crossing of blades with a fist to the face.

  Two other men had been struck down as they traded blows and eventually dragged each other to the ground in what appeared to be a fist fight. Lachlan eventually climbed to his feet ready to commit more energy to the fight. He proved his commitment in the first few seconds by striking down two more combatants, each one with the same stroke of his sword. The fight had progressed much while he was resting; there were no less than six fighters left, him, the man who beat Earnest and four others. The man who brought down Earnest was an incredibly skilled warrior named Sabura; he was the greatest risk to Lachlan.

  Both men charged through to remaining fighters leaving one severely injured after Sabura kicked his legs from under him and he cracked his skull during the fall... Facimus interrupted “Halt!” The two men left on the field turned to Facimus, hoping that the injuries inflicted by them would not forfeit them a chance at wearing the cloak of Head Praetorian. Facimus stood to observe blood-stained grass; he spoke bluntly “Clear these injured men from the field, the last two men should duel with honour.” It was said and it was done, the men began clearing the field, dragging away the two men who were too wounded to walk.

  The virtue of betrayal

  The open field outside of the villa was cleared within minutes as the men eliminated from the little tournament Facimus designed, desired as much as him to see the two the men fight. Lachlan was pleased by the break; he not unlike his opponent had taken a few hits in the melee and was unwilling to let his injury dictate the winner of this contest. Saburu was a man unlike Lachlan; he was shorter, more muscular and with more rounded in his facial features. Comparing the two or seeing either one stood next to the other was like observing the stark contrast between men who enjoy the soldier's life.

  The ones who love order and the ones who love brutality, the Praetorian Guard attracted more of both than any other. The light fell softly on the field as the soldiers hastily cleared away the clustering of blunted gladius, broken away Armor segments and the ragged remains of clothing that were unfortunately ripped free from their wearer. Facimus finally gave the signal for two men to step forward. “The last man standing will be promoted; everyone else gets a drink on me.” He declared in humour. The two ambitious warriors. Lachlan and Saburu both stepped back onto the bloody field.

  Facimus could almost taste the tension in the air as the men faced off. The sun began to cower once more behind the clouds and the soldiers observing from a safe distance began to mutter before falling into silence, as the bloodletting combatants looked ready to begin. Facimus’s smile was the only thing light hearted about the endeavour and yet even he had no idea which man was stronger. Facimus gave the final order “BEGIN!” Facimus screamed as the men marched ever closer to conflict.

  The first strike was thrown by Saburu, who grabbed his opponent's sword arm and struck him in the jaw with the pommel of his sword. Lachlan received much more hits in the first minute of this, the bloodiest of fights. Pummelled again and again with the blunt edge of the sword and its heavy pommel until. His legs began to buckle yet he did not fall because of opponents vice like grip on his arm. This brutal tactic looked to be the Lachlan’s end as he soaked up two more sword strokes to face. Saburu releases his arm, allowing the beaten, bloody and barely conscious man to fall onto the ground.

  The virtue of betrayal

  Lachlan’s face looked like that of mutilated pig, the soldiers who remained to watch the grotesque duel muttered of his defeat, his pride shattered within the first two minutes of this challenge. His tongue tasted of iron, his nose and eyes bruised and bleeding and yet he surprised all by pulling himself up from the ground. He looked onward at his opponent, arms raised as if he had already won and shouted: “You haven’t won yet dog!” He charged at his adversary hitting him immediately with a severe kick to the stomach, a kick that both winded and shook his adversary.

  Lachlan opted not to fight the man on his feet; he grabbed his head under his arm and rolled backward flipping the man onto his back. He hastily climbed on top of him and began striking with his fist and elbows. Saburu had not anticipated such a risky attempt at gaining the upper hand and was defenceless against the many punches and elbows that were being thrown at him. After the man lost consciousness Lachlan stood up, dropping the sword that he had hadn’t used once, next to his fallen challenger.

  Facimus marched onto the field, his eyes met Lachlan’s “You deserve this, friend” Facimus handed over his helmet to the newest leader of The Praetorian, the emperor's personal guard and the smallest most brutal fighting force in the empire. Facimus smiled as Lachlan placed the crested helm upon his head, he laughed aloud declaring with a smile “I think your men could use some rest, Lachlan” Lachlan was silent, he limped over to his fallen adversary who had since become conscious and helped the beaten man off of the ground. The other soldier, who had been beaten by the worthy two clapped as the two men shook hands.

  This was the irony of this kind of combat, in many ways it made the soldiers appreciated each other more, and fostered a respect that can only come from humility in victory. Facimus hoped that his new station would have that specific brand of brotherhood, although not likely it gave him hope. He walked away from his former comrades with a single thought “Would serving Cor as a general make him lesser than his old friends?” This thought was a cursed one that would haunt him for many days, or so he thought.

 

  The virtue of betrayal

  Facimus knew well that future couldn’t be told, but was held at ease knowing that the gods had favoured him greatly so far. He continued his solemn stroll, not just away from the field where he a
nd his men used to fight but also away from the great bond of brotherhood that he would likely never feel again. The cool air joined with the warm sun that had since returned from its cloudy retreat and created a peaceful relief with its breeze. A good, sad day this was for him. His solemn walk back to the villa, to get his belonging stretched far beyond any walk he had ever taken.

  He stood on the steps before the villa and looked back at the field once more, so he wouldn’t forget it. After he disappeared through doors the thought of the field faded from his mind. That space within his mind was taken with the logistical contemplations of how exactly he was going to live his new life. He wasn’t in any way as experienced in command as men who had become generals through the traditional means. He trudged through the halls of the villa and into his old quarters. Shock overtook him.

  Sitting on his crude bed was the woman, the same woman he knew from his childhood and the same woman of whom he spoke to on his last long walk through the gardens. She sat with a huge smile on her face, giggling as she spoke “Facimus, you are a general now?” Facimus delayed before answering “The emperor promoted me after I saved him from an assassin” The woman’s smile lit up as she asked, “So has you considered my offer?” Facimus’s mood was murdered by the question, his face turned to anger “What offer? You have told me nothing and I cannot help you if you do not tell me!”