The Ultimate Spoils (Tumultus Chronicles Book 1)

by Nathan R. Mancini

  Hannibal looked back across the cityscape of Arcem’s capital. From his vantage point, the vast metropolis of Monarx lay before him in all its brutal glory. Immense curtain walls of stone enclosed the city, casting much of the outer suburbs in shadow. Flanked by the heights of the citadel higher up Septem Hill and the outer walls, the sprawling city had a crude, martial feeling that pervaded all within it.

  How I loathe this place, he thought. It was like living under siege, or in a marble prison. He much preferred the open air of his country villa in Praedium to the confines of the capital.

  Of course, Monarx boasted some impressive features, like the Temple of Taranis and the mansions of Septem Hill. But it was a hollow veneer, the vast majority of the capital belonged to the slums of its half a million poorer inhabitants. Hannibal looked across the city to the densely built-up apartment districts of these lower classes. How so many managed to live in what were clearly cramped and filthy conditions was beyond him. But given so many citizens did so and survived, it was easy to understand how these people had come to carve out their nation from the barbarian. They were stubborn, emotional people filled with tales of their own pre-eminence.

  Yes they were mighty, he had to concede. Not in the sense one sees a mountain or great forest as mighty, but in the way an axe may triumph over an ancient tree. Though small and often blunt, there is a simple logic to its design that is undeniable given the determination.

  Hannibal sighed.

  Arcem truly was another world compared to the desert sands of Syphax. Though only across the sea, his beloved homeland might well have been on the other side of Tumultus. What he would give just to see his father and brothers again, to feel the warmth of the Syphaxan sun or smell the fragrances of the royal palace gardens in the breeze. Alas, he could not. For five more years, he would remain, a glorified prisoner in all but name. His oaths still binding him to the servitude of an ancient pact.

  Tracing the curving line of the Aestus River south-west he followed the great mass of water with his gaze, imagining somewhere in the distance it flowing into the blue waters of the Caol Sea and then upon the shores of his homeland. Across the sea, the Kingdom of Syphax had once been the greatest power on Tumultus. Emerging in the centuries following The Fall, it had been the first to rekindle the flames of civilisation from the dark ages of Tumultan history.

  Using the oceans as a highway for its armies and trade, Syphax had flourished while the cities of mainland Tumultus suffered under the marauding tribes of the north.

  But over the decades, the Kingdom of Syphax failed to realise the rise of a new power across the sea. Led by a man called Romanus, the young nation of Arcem was carved from the rule of the barbarian. Underestimating the drive and ambition of their neighbour and its leader, Syphax was caught off guard when Arcem’s expansion threatened its trading colonies in the islands of the Aecor Collectives.

  Though superior in numbers and naval experience, the armies of Syphax constantly found themselves on the back foot in the brief war that ensued, such was the audacity of their enemy. When the native soil of Syphax itself had been threatened, a peace was entreated. Defeated by the young force of Arcem, King Syrus surrendered half his claim of the Aecor Collectives along with any conviction that Syphax was still the major power on Tumultus.

  Hannibal cursed the ancient king’s weakness and cowardly legacy.

  The Kingdom of Syphax was now but another vassal to Arcem, albeit an important one. Its rich lands supplied Arcem with many things; grain from the fertile banks of the Pyridis River, spices from the distant southern mountains and of course, men.

  Alongside their autonomy, Syphax also surrendered the better part of their army to continually provide a legion for Arcem’s disposal in the field. Of all the terms in the peace treaty brokered one-hundred and twenty years ago, it was this which had most angered the Syphaxan masses. A lasting hatred still remained for King Syrus and none felt this more than Decius Hannibal Barca, the Prince of Syphax.

  Like all heirs to the Syphax throne, once of age Hannibal had been sent across the Caol Sea to Arcem to honour the pact of the long dead king. Though many princes before him had returned home with powerful friends, new trade agreements or an appreciation for Arcemite life, Hannibal would not betray his true allegiances. He had not forgotten why he was here. Contrary to the belief of many Syphaxan merchants and council elders, Arcem was not their friend. It was their master and Hannibal vowed he would not become soft by sharing in the spoils of his own country like those princes before him. Such was his duty as the future successor to his father, King Hyksos.

  As the commander of his nation’s levy legion and representative of his father in Monarx, Hannibal had long since grown weary of his obligations. To think his ten-year posting was only half completed only soured his mood further.

  The prospect of facing another visitor did not improve things either. No doubt his guest was here to ask a favour. That is all they ever come here for, thought Hannibal. Will it be the gold of Syphax or its soldiers today? he wondered.

  The Prince of Syphax looked across the balcony at the visitor waiting patiently inside. Curiously, this one was not the middling type of Arcemite aristocrat that usually came for his patronage. What will he ask of me? Hannibal wondered, studying his guest.

  The soldiers definitely, he will ask me for my soldiers, Hannibal thought. No doubt he plans another campaign to win his family more fame, only to leave my legion as a footnote in the histories. These people are such hypocrites, they preach honour yet their politics revolves around bribes and blood. They will flatter me when they need me but will believe themselves superior once the hard work is done.

  Hannibal sighed as the last rays of sunlight shone on his bronze skin. They held little of the day’s warmth and were nothing compared to the heat of Syphax he remembered from his youth.

  Hannibal finally left the balcony and entered the adjoining room to greet his guest.

  ‘Tell me Consul Valerius, to what do I owe the honour of your company?’ the Prince of Syphax said, his accent rich.

  ‘I have come to ask something of you and your legion,’ said Gaius Valerius, standing.

  Hannibal smiled at this, the expression carrying no humour. Of course he wanted his soldiers. It was no longer even amusing to see through these people anymore.

  ‘Can I offer you some wine perhaps?’ said Hannibal, gesturing to a decanter on a nearby table. ‘It is a local vintage of course.’

  ‘No thank you, I have already dined.’

  ‘Very well, so tell me why the might of Arcem requires my legion?’ asked Hannibal, indicating the two dark-skinned Syphaxan soldiers of the Thirteenth Legion at the door. Each wielded a curved khopesh sword held against his white linothorax cuirass of reinforced linen armour and bronze scale. Whilst he freely admitted the superiority of Arcemite steel and utilised their armourers to equip his levy legion in the field, Hannibal liked to maintain the traditional war-attire of his bodyguards when at home.

  Hannibal noticed how his guest – the famed veteran warrior – studied his Royal Guards. No doubt it was a rarity for most Arcemites to see soldiers armoured in something other than heavy chainmail shirts or segmented plate. The Syphaxans’ lighter armour was made for the native style of warfare in the deserts of their homeland. What they lost in defence was more than made up for in speed and flexibility.

  The two guards stood like statues, their shaved heads remaining completely focused as they were regarded. Like most men from Syphax, they were tall and the Arcemite consul, considered big amongst his own people, was clearly not used to this disparity. Hannibal smiled, enjoying the notion.

  ‘I understand your men to be well suited for the open plains. As it so happens, I have a campaign planned against the Oirthir. It makes sense to use your legion’s talents to the advantage. And I’m sure you would enjoy the Great Plains to be a lot warmer than if you were to find another posting in Arcem’s north,’ said Valerius.

  ‘The Oirthir
are great horsemen and valuable trade partners to my father’s lands-’ Hannibal began.

  ‘Who have begun raiding ever deeper into our southern borders,’ Valerius finished. ‘It is no longer the case of a few clans resorting to banditry on merchant caravans. They are becoming coordinated and daring. Allied towns and outposts are now under increasing threat. It has come to war.’

  ‘So how may I ask do you intend to bring the Oirthir to heel?’ Hannibal asked. ‘They are after all mostly nomads of the plains whose cities are few and far between. The sheer amount of materials required for such a march would be immense, some might even say impossible. So how do you intend to prosecute this campaign of yours?’

  ‘Allies,’ said the consul as if it explained everything. ‘But I would prefer it if we could leave the talk of strategy to the privacy of generals.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Hannibal, turning to look at the two guards by the door and with a wave of his hand, dismissed them. The Syphaxan guards bowed in unison and left the room.

  Consul Valerius watched them go and waited a moment after the door was closed behind them before he was confident of their privacy.

  ‘Forget the Oirthir, they can be settled another day,’ he said.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I’m not here for your legion because of the Oirthir; I’m here to gain your backing in a more private matter,’ said Valerius.

  ‘Not against the Oirthir,’ repeated Hannibal suspiciously. ‘Yet you require the support of the Thirteenth Legion.’

  The consul nodded.

  ‘Though many of Arcem’s politicians have come to me, like you, asking for my soldiers’ backing in their schemes, I have not once allied myself to such men. I shall tell you now I have no interest or intention to ever become involved in your bloody handed politics and no amount of gold or titles you have, or intend to have to bestow upon me will change that,’ said Hannibal, offended by the bluntness of the man’s conspiracy. ‘I think you have grievously misjudged the strength of our relationship. I am not your friend Valerius, I am here only because my duty bounds me to be. My oaths are to serve the will of your Senate but it seems you have come for me to betray that, so I say again; I am not interested.’

  ‘I am not here with trinkets or any illusion to our friendship Prince of Syphax,’ Valerius said, his voice commanding with a force of personality which more than made up for the difference in height between them. ‘I’m offering you and the Thirteenth Legion a chance to go home – and do not forget you speak with a Consul of Arcem, for I’ll tolerate no more of your insolence.’

  Hannibal immediately straightened to attention at the man’s words, his emotions betraying his usually guarded demeanour. The consul’s threat meant little to him of course, but the prospect of going home had found its mark.

  Hannibal cursed himself his momentary weakness.

  Gaius Valerius smiled, his grin revealing the confident satisfaction of one seeing his prey trapped before him. He clearly knew he had the Syphaxan prince now.

  ‘I am listening,’ said Hannibal, running a hand through the tight braids of his long, black hair.

  ‘In the coming months I intend to seize power from the Senate completely,’ the consul said, as he helped himself to the wine decanter he had previously declined. He poured two glasses and gave one to Hannibal. ‘The Senate will not yield without a fight and will turn to whatever forces they have available. From Praedium your legion will be amongst the closest to defend the Republic and will be mobilised against my takeover. Know it will be in Arcem’s and your best interests that you answer this call and follow the Senate’s instructions.’

  Hannibal raised his eyebrow.

  ‘After being included in the Senate’s mustering, you will await my signal and then detain as much of the aristocracy and their men as you can. Be civilised in this action but use whatever force is necessary.’ Valerius continued.

  Drinking deep from his glass Hannibal digested the gravity of this proposition.

  ‘What if I cannot? Arcem has many legions beyond our two, three if I can assume your son is included,’ he said.

  ‘The coming of winter will soon dismiss the auxiliary armies for leave and those legions south of the Aestus River will be too preoccupied with the Oirthir to intervene. This will give us the edge. Even if the Senate somehow manage to realise my movements, they will be rendered silent by the elements. As always, the harsh snows will ensure no birds can fly to deliver warning and only those few legions closest to the capital could be called upon by riders,’ said Valerius somewhat dejectedly. It seemed the veteran consul genuinely took no joy from the fact he could outmanoeuvre the country he had spent his entire life serving. ‘The Senate will be at every disadvantage and this will allow for a clean takeover between our three legions.’

  ‘You seem to have considered this more than most the men who have come for my support,’ Hannibal smirked. ‘So, what shall you do after being crowned king?’

  ‘Be careful in your conclusions Syphaxan. I do this not for myself, but for my country. The status quo will not last the turn of the century. Do you really think the mountains and rivers will hold out the barbarians much longer? The world is pretty and safe when viewed from a map at home but I have seen the borderlands grow restless. War is coming and nothing I say as consul can renew the spark of the Senate. Do not think for a minute that your golden lands would remain secure for long were Arcem to fall. The northern tribes will drown this world in blood and fire if we let them!’ Valerius exclaimed, stopping only when the two Syphaxan guards burst through the door.

  The impassioned Arcemite gazed at the two bodyguards and blinked as if startled from a daze, perhaps only realising then he had been shouting.

  Hannibal turned, glancing at the two soldiers and raised his hand to stop them. It was certain death to any man who touched a consul. Despite this, Hannibal knew his men would have cut the Arcemite down for threatening their prince. As Royal Guards they were sworn to defend him at all costs, even if it meant forfeiting their lives.

  The two guards exchanged a hesitant glance with each other and their master before lowering their swords. Hannibal reassured them with a nod. They bowed again and resumed their places outside the door.

  Best not to goad the Arcemite again, he thought, they are so quick tempered.

  ‘I will not let the dark ages of our histories return,’ the consul whispered, his mighty aura crumbling. The man beneath the title stood before the Prince of Syphax. In that moment Hannibal believed the Arcemite.

  ‘You said of going home...’

  ‘Upon a successful transition of power to my family, you will be granted leave to disband the Syphax levy and return home,’ the consul said.

  Hannibal paced the room, exiting outside onto the balcony. Deep in thought, his mind raced as he considered the gambit.

  ‘Grant my country its freedom again,’ he bargained.

  ‘Autonomy may come in time,’ said the consul, joining him outside.

  The Prince of Syphax shivered in the cool evening breeze. He looked across the city of Monarx. It had majesty of its own, but it was not home and that was all he truly longed for. At least the release of the levy legion would allow Syphax’s resources to expand its own territories and not those of Arcem, he figured. As king, his father would approve.

  ‘The Thirteenth Legion will follow you, Consul,’ Hannibal said at last.

  ‘Good, then we are friends,’ said Valerius, offering out his hand. The Syphaxan regarded it for a moment before taking it in his own. Gripping wrist-to-wrist in the Arcemite military fashion, they sealed the deal. With that, Valerius began to walk away.

  ‘One more thing, Consul,’ the Prince of Syphax said.

  Valerius stopped before the door.

  ‘Speak.’

  ‘It was you,’ Hannibal smiled, the realisation suddenly dawning on him. ‘You have the Spolia Opima.’

  Consul Gaius Valerius just kept walking.

  ***

  The
Senate chamber was in turmoil, that much was evident to Corvinus from the shouts echoing from its gilded doors. He knew something terrible must have happened.

  Behind him, the first rays of sunlight were beginning to shine through from Victory Square into the outer chamber of the Senate house. Though the sun was rising, torches from the night before still smouldered around the room and much of its expanse was shrouded in gloom.

  The statue of Romanus stood tall in the centre; his noble features partly shrouded as if his marble form wore the lingering morning mist as a cloak. The place had a ghastly feel to it and a sense of guilt edged on Corvinus’ thoughts.

  He shivered slightly as a chill ran down the metal on his spine, knowing the coming of winter was not the sole cause.

  On the far side, behind the statue, Corvinus heard voices. Talking in low tones, it was impossible to understand what was being said over the noise coming from the inner chamber.

  As he walked towards the inner door, Corvinus saw a small group of senators huddled below the statue of Romanus. Their breath fogged in the cool air as they whispered among themselves. No doubt their conversations were regarding the day’s session. Maybe their agents had managed to leak them information about the reason behind the emergency session.

  Either way it cannot be good news, Corvinus thought. But the way they halted their discussions as he walked past with guarded looks confirmed Corvinus’ suspicion. Something grim was definitely in the air.

  He could not help but think the worst as his imagination played out the possible reasons for that morning’s session. Is our treachery revealed? Has Liberius finally found some piece of evidence my father failed to destroy?

  Corvinus pulled out the messenger’s note from the folds of his toga. The summons had not specified anything but his required attendance on an urgent matter. Could this be some type of lure to disarm him and his father? Was a squad of Praetorians in waiting, ready to arrest them once inside? He very much doubted it, it was far too elaborate a trap and though Corvinus knew it to be ridiculous, the thought still remained.