The Ultimate Spoils (Tumultus Chronicles Book 1)

by Nathan R. Mancini

  There was another awful crack as the back of his head hit the hard marble floor beneath the shallow waterline. Before the splash from the fall had time to settle, Kaeso was on him, in a rage of unrelenting strikes. The First Centurion’s armoured fists rained down onto the lifeless Teos with the force of a hammer to an anvil. Even as the metal studs of his gauntlet became drenched red and the slave’s face caved in, Kaeso did not stop. Only once the bone crunching sound of each impact had become the wet thump of tenderised meat did the panting killer stop his slaughter.

  Octavia shook with horror. She watched the monster that was Kaeso rise from the red waters and leave the bloody pulp of what remained of her former slave floating behind. Her stomach churned at the sight. Poor Teos, she wept.

  Storming out of the pool, Kaeso glared at her with the unblinking eyes of a man utterly possessed. Even his own legionaries paused in their looting and gave their First Centurion a fearful glance. His blood still hot, they all moved out of the way, none daring to look him in the eye.

  Kaeso marched to where legionaries stood over the other slaves who had been herded into a small pack, their terrified faces following his every movement. Some of the kitchen maids screamed as he drew near. Kaeso shouted a curse and with a single chopping motion he signalled the men. Octavia was not familiar with legion battle signs but this gesture was clear enough. As one, the legionaries guarding the slaves stepped forward, blades in hand.

  The slaves were quick to realise their doom and they squirmed and shouted as rough hands yanked great handfuls of their hair, pulling their heads back to expose their throats.

  Octavia looked away as the screams of her two-dozen house slaves were silenced and their bodies crumbled to the floor.

  Sheathing their swords, the legionaries reformed into ranks before the front gates as Kaeso barked another order. Pacing the floor, the frenzied First Centurion searched left and right, hunting anything left to kill, but there was no one but the quivering mistress of the house. Octavia felt his eyes bore into her with a gaze full of malice. She knew she was dead, but after that brief moment of unbounded fear, Kaeso turned away.

  With a bellowed command, the First Centurion and his legionaries began to fall out. Marching through the front gates of the estate, where once had been a peaceful atrium garden they left a scene of utter wreckage and butchery.

  Octavia sagged in despair as the armoured brutes left. She was about to try and stand when a legionary suddenly returned. The man walked straight to her and without any deference delivered his message.

  ‘By decree of the Senate, your standing is no more, your property is forfeit to the state and the remaining years of your life shall be spent in humble service to the Temple of Taranis,’ the soldier said matter-of-factly. Octavia tried to think, but everything was happening too fast. The soldier did not slow in his message. ‘Do not attempt to leave the city, for we will know. Do not associate with any past friends of your late husband or ever mention his name again, as it is to be wiped from the histories. Do you understand?’

  When Octavia said nothing, the legionary turned and headed to rejoin those outside, but as he did so he looked back over his shoulder. ‘You should be grateful the Dictator has shown you such mercy. A priestess will come for you at dawn and you had better be here,’ he added coldly and walked out onto the streets of Septem Hill.

  Once more, Octavia found herself completely alone and surrounded by the devastation of her house. There, in the middle of her atrium, with the front gates swinging in the breeze, she began to weep.

  ***

  The docks of Emissus were in flames. Like one giant tinderbox, the timber structures of its shipping berths and walkways had erupted into a firestorm that soared high over the city. What had once been dubbed the Jewel of the North was now a vision from the hells of Khronus. Dense plumes of smoke trailed into the clouds, turning the sky dark as if an eerie twilight had descended upon Emissus. Burning embers rained down on the surrounding districts, sparking spot fires all throughout the cramped quarters of the metropolis. But the worst of all, by far, was the screaming.

  Clutching the rails of his vessel, Hannibal watched from the safety of the water as the vast shipyards of the great harbour burned. Even from his distance, the prince could feel the heat of the blaze on his face and his eyes began to water as they stared into the flames.

  Through the harsh glow, he could make out tiny flickers of movement of those hopelessly trying to contain the raging inferno. Armed with nothing more than buckets of water and shovels of ice scraped from the roadways, people were running back and forth between the burning buildings. Hannibal knew the men of the citizen fire brigades would be in chaos as they struggled desperately to protect their city. Many would die. But from the sea, it all seemed surreal.

  If he were honest, Hannibal had felt detached from the scene ever since giving the order to burn the docks. Even when he walked on the piers hours before and heard the first of the screaming, he felt nothing. Hannibal did not consider himself a cold man and in his mind, he knew he should be sorry, but he was not. Not for the militias he had slaughtered to enter the city that morning and not for those poor citizens trapped in their tall apartment buildings, now awaiting a fiery death. He was numb to it all, for it was easy to forget the suffering of others when consumed by your own despair.

  The prince closed his eyes. The warmth on his skin brought back memories of his youth and for a split second, he relived walking on the desert sands beneath the Syphaxan sun. It had been so many years since leaving his homeland for Arcem that he had almost forgotten the sensation. Hannibal savoured the feeling and promised himself to remember it well, for he knew he would never experience it again. His heart grew heavy at the thought and when he opened his eyes, they did not water due to the heat, but for Syphax. Watching from afar the struggle of those on the docks, Hannibal also envisioned a part of his own demise in the flames.

  His role in Consul Valerius’ failed coup had doomed him, for Arcem did not forget its enemies. That was the reason for the carnage before him. His decisions that day were simple but not made lightly. There was no triumph in any of it, only necessity. In the end it was Arcem’s unforgiving ways that had forced his hand.

  After breaking his oaths to the Senate and joining the Valerii in treason, Hannibal knew he was as good as dead. With his support bases in Monarx all betrayed, he had no chance of surviving in Arcem and without Valerius as consul, he was just another foreign aggressor. An enemy to be hunted down and killed, no different to the Evastii king, Ariogaisus. It would only be a matter of time before the Senate rallied its legions against him and so he took the only option remaining. He struck first, to put as much distance between himself and Arcem as possible before the legions began their chase. That was why he had returned north through Arvum Superior, to the largely undefended city of Emissus and stolen its grand fleet.

  By seizing their major naval force from its winter moorings, he not only attained a means of escape, but also denied Arcem any means of pursuit – that is, until they managed to rebuild a fleet. Hannibal supposed it would take Arcem at least a year to accomplish such a feat and so to further his head start, he ordered the great shipyards destroyed behind them. It would be many years before Arcem could come looking for him, and by that time Hannibal hoped to be far off the edge of the map, well beyond Arcem’s reach.

  The consequences of this strategy were not lost on Hannibal. He knew the deaths of the city’s militias and its citizens on the docks would only confirm his damnation in the eyes of Arcem. But his fate was already sealed. Had it not been such a grave decision to make, he would have seen the irony of the dilemma: that in order to escape Arcem’s wrath, he must unleash more of its fury.

  ‘My prince,’ a voice called out behind him. Hannibal turned his gaze from the blazing shore to those onboard. His champion stood saluting, his expression concerned. ‘It had to be done my lord, there was no alternative.’

  Hannibal nodded. ‘Eventually the s
ons of Arcem will come for us and they will not be merciful when they do.’

  ‘We will face that challenge when it comes. We have time enough to prepare for it. But for now, sir, the crew needs a heading. Shall I order the fleet to Syphax? Your father will give you sanctuary there.’

  ‘No, I cannot return home with the legions following at my heels. I will not bloody the sands of Syphax, nor shall I drag my father into my failures. The war that would result would engulf the entire kingdom and I will not have that blood on my hands,’ said Hannibal sternly. Tensions between Syphax and Arcem had always been strained, but he could not allow himself to be the spark that caused a full-scale war. Because deep down, he doubted Syphax could win.

  ‘The Aecor Collectives then,’ offered Sejanus. ‘There are many broken coves and inlets among which to hide. The smaller islands remain largely undiscovered by Arcem and we have colonies and allies there removed enough to support us without involving Syphax directly.’

  Hannibal looked out across the water as the ship cleared the harbour and sailed into the open ocean. ‘Even the islands are too risky. Our fleet is too large to remain hidden for long, and once found, you could be sure those little island nations sympathetic to our cause would not hold out long against the might of the legions. We would eventually be crushed and once dead, my father would still be driven to war out of vengeance.’

  ‘Then where can we go, sir?’

  Hannibal put a hand on his champion’s shoulder. ‘Tell me, do you trust your prince?’

  ‘With my life sir, as do the men,’ said Sejanus straightening. ‘We would follow you into the darkest of hells and beyond.’

  Hannibal smiled at the man’s loyalty. It did him proud to know he commanded such faithful servants, because what he had in mind would surely require such zeal if they were to survive.

  The prince turned his gaze to the other man standing on the deck beside his champion. ‘What say you, Arcemite?’ he asked.

  The man was silent for a moment, his face a bitter grimace as he looked from the billowing clouds of smoke looming over Emissus to Hannibal and back again. He had not spoken a word since the slaying of the city’s garrison that morning and the decision to burn the harbour had not sat well with him. Though he argued furiously against it, Hannibal had overruled him. For once, the Syphaxans were in command and it was the thousand-odd legionaries the man brought with him that were the auxiliaries.

  First Centurion Hector Valko turned from the rails of the galley and sighed. ‘I will follow you against the Dictator,’ he said at last.

  Hannibal nodded. ‘Good, for we shall need every man with a strong sword arm where we are going. Sejanus, tell the fleet its heading is north, across the Ominor Sea.’ The Prince of Syphax grinned. ‘Let us see if the Senate dares follow us into the wild lands.’

  ***

  The chatter in the Senate house died instantly as Fulvio approached the central platform. The red stripe of a military tribune was gone from his toga and had been replaced by two bold lines of deep purple to mark his new office. The symbolism was clear, two stripes, denoting the singular authority he now claimed, greater than any consul, individually or combined. Had it not been for the crusting line of stitches that split his left cheek down to his jawbone, the dictator would have struck a heroic image for the Senate. But the traitor Corvinus had left his mark and Fulvio entered the chamber with an involuntary scowl pulled across one side of his face.

  Before him, the two consul’s chairs lay vacant. Fulvio regarded them for a moment as he walked up to the speaker’s dais. Two consuls; one traitor, one Ironclad – neither capable of stopping him now. The empty chairs did not go unnoticed by the assembly and though none dared to look him in the eye, Fulvio felt the bitter stares of the senators judging him as he walked.

  With the Tumultan winter well under way, many of the nobility had been unable to make the journey to Monarx to attend. Little more than half now sat on the cold marble benches of the Senate chamber, shivering in their summer togas. None of them want to be here, thought Fulvio. To be summoned from their country estates and notified a dictatorship was now in effect – the offense was clear on all their faces. The Senate had of course known and respected Fulvio in the past, both as a military tribune and as the sole heir to the Tarquin gens. However, for them to see him now ascend the podium of the Senate chamber would surely be a testing change. With any luck, the morning frost would help hasten the proceedings and discourage any longwinded debates. Fulvio knew many did not believe his account of the Battle of Lapsus Magna, but he did not care. He had a legion camped by the city walls to testify his legitimacy and no senator present had the evidence or conviction to dispute it.

  ‘Gentlemen, I am sorry to call upon you all like this, but given the gravity of recent events, I feel it would be imprudent of me to act without your guidance,’ said Fulvio, gripping the sides of the rostrum. ‘I am sure you are all aware of the great peril to which Arcem very nearly succumbed at the hands of the traitorous Valerii these last days.’

  There was a loud clatter as the gilded doors of the chamber swung open, causing a stir of interest among the benches. Flanked by half a dozen of his supporters, Cornelius Aquila entered the Senate house.

  The brutal raid by Fulvio’s legionaries on his daughter’s house had been whispered all throughout the city, spreading fear across the classes for many past followers of the Valerii.

  Aquila stood intrepidly before the gathering, his face stern and barely masking the fury that burned behind his eyes as they stared straight at Fulvio.

  ‘What is the meaning of this blasphemy? Why do our consular chairs sit empty whilst this turncoat stands in their place? This is a sacred assembly and is not to be tainted by such insults,’ said Aquila.

  Beside the rostrum, Elder Liberius looked rattled by the bluntness of the senator’s entrance and was about to say something, when Fulvio raised a hand to stop him.

  ‘Senator Aquila, it is good of you to join us,’ smiled Fulvio. ‘Tell me what perturbs you so? Surely you do not dispute my legal rights?’

  ‘The power of dictator can only be granted by the will of the Senate-’

  ‘My authority was bequeathed by Consul Zeno and what is a consul, if not a spokesman ordained by the Senate?’ A wave of assent rippled through the benches of Fulvio’s supporters in response.

  Aquila looked around the chamber, meeting the gaze of all those seated. ‘A consul may guide the Senate, but would never dare to presume he commands its voice, for that is the very reason we have two consuls. Only a dictator could claim such singular powers and before the eyes of the gods, no such title has been given.’

  ‘We were in the field of war and the very Republic was at stake, I find it hard to imagine a clearer reason to enact a dictator,’ said Fulvio, tightening his grip on the rostrum to hide his irritation.

  ‘Indeed you were in the field then, but you are no longer. The traitors have either fled Arcem or been killed by your hand. The danger has passed and therefore you must relinquish any claim you presume to command over the Senate.’

  ‘You know, I am quite surprised the Praetorians even let you inside this holy place,’ said Fulvio, as if the man had not spoken. ‘I was under the impression senators must be pure in name to be admitted.’

  ‘I should not know why. There is no stain against my honour. By Almighty Taranis, the Chronicles know I have never been anything other than a loyal servant of the Republic and I shall challenge any man here to state otherwise,’ said Aquila, gesturing to the Senate benches. No one dared say a word.

  ‘Was your house not tied to the traitorous Valerii?’ asked Fulvio, smiling. ‘I should think there is much suspicion upon your name and your loyalties. First you ally yourself with rebels and now you come barging into these hallowed chambers demanding a lawfully appointed agent of this Senate surrender his title... I think you hold more devious intentions in your heart than you would have us believe, Aquila, and so I do indeed challenge your innocence.’


  ‘My house has divorced all ties with that name. Surely the savages you sent to assault my daughter in her home informed you of that,’ said Aquila boldly, clutching the perfect folds of his toga. ‘You claim that I am unfit to wear this robe of duty when it is you who sends armed men to scare noble women and ravage their households before their very eyes. And what did this illegal raid find, what was it all for? Nothing.’

  ‘Actually you could not be further from the truth Aquila. I sent legionaries to search the residence of a traitor, as is my right. You should be thankful mercy was shown to your daughter, given that our most sacred of relics was found desecrated in her house.’ Fulvio paused for effect. Letting the words linger he looked around as he met the curious looks of the seated senators. He had each and every one of them in the palm of his hand. Fulvio licked his lips before continuing, savouring the moment.

  ‘Did I not mention what my men found in the home of this man’s daughter?’ he asked. ‘The stolen remains of the Spolia Opima have finally been uncovered, but it grieves me to say that they were broken and defiled beyond repair, in a traitorous final act of defiance to this Senate.’

  The chamber erupted as the assembly came to its feet in a torrent of shouting and cursing. Those few supporters who entered with Aquila had to act fast to defend their patron against the flow of senators that threatened to tear the man apart. The grey, old men very nearly came to blows on the Senate floor.

  Fulvio smiled widely at the horrified look on Aquila’s face as he tried to reason with the incensed crowd, but in the corner of his vision someone else caught his attention. Beside the dais, Elder Liberius slumped awkwardly to the floor, knocking over the consular chairs as he did so.

  The elder’s walking staff was of no aid and fell from numb fingers to roll down the marble steps of the central podium with a clatter. The ancient custodian wheezed as if he had been punched and clutched at his chest in pain. Several other senators were quick to notice the elder and ran to his side.