by Vox Day
He smiled.
Patronus, whether he was taken aback by this or his eyes were simply dry, blinked. It was probably nothing, a trivial coincidence, but Corvus decided that he would take it as a sign of weakness and a good omen.
In the meantime, Ferratus concluded with a succinct and memorable slogan that would probably be on the lips of a dozen poets by nightfall. The Senate erupted with enthusiastic applause that echoed throughout the temple, and Corvus imagined that Patronus would have given much for the opportunity to end the debate and see the matter voted upon at once.
“I thank Lucius Pompilius for his most excellent explication of the proposed law,” Paetinas said, beaming as Ferratus’s rhetorical triumph somehow reflected well on him. “As consul provincae, I will not be speaking on this matter, and therefore I shall ask my colleagues if they wish to avail themselves of the opportunity to advise this body.
Torquatus, as Corvus knew was his custom, merely lifted his hand to decline. His colleague believed it was beneath the dignity of the presiding consuls to enter directly into the debates, but preferred instead to work behind the scenes while studiously maintaining a loftily objective front when the Senate was in actual session.
“Then perhaps the Consul Aquilae Suffectus will rise?” Paetinas placed ever so faint a stress on the “Suffectus,” and from the challenging glint in his eyes, Corvus knew his fellow consul assumed he would follow Torquatus’s lead.
Corvus cleared his throat, glanced across the chamber toward Patronus, and smiled again.
“Do you know, Marcus Fulvius, I rather think I will.” He didn’t wait for Paetinas to respond but rose to his feet and spread his hands before addressing his fellow senators. He took a deep breath and tried to imagine that he was addressing not the great and powerful men of the city but merely a legionary cohort as he had done so many times before.
“If, city fathers, I give you thanks in a very inadequate manner for the regard you have shown to me, and to my brother, and to my House, I entreat you not to attribute it so much to any coldness of my heart, as to the magnitude of the honor which you have done me. I am no orator, neither am I a politician. I am merely a common soldier. And even if I were trained in the rhetorical arts, what eloquence could be so great, what clever turn of language could do justice to the sobering responsibility you have entrusted to me?
“Wherefore, since your authority has summoned me—since the Senate has recalled me to the city I have always loved and served to the full extent of my ability—I will take care never to lose my virtue and loyal attachment to you, who are the conscience, and the voice, and the guiding genius of this great republic and its People.”
There was a little polite applause for the uncontroversial sentiments expressed, but it was readily apparent that, although it was his virgin speech, there was little appetite for the usual cliches and conventions in light of the more weighty matters to be discussed.
“It is in accordance with the customs and established usages of our ancestors, that those who, by your will or by the election of the People, have been seated before you, should, the first time an assembly of the Senate is held, take an opportunity of providing a panegyric on their ancestors in order to demonstrate that they are worthy of the rank they now bear. I, however, have no intention of speaking before you of my House, not because they were not such men as you see me also to be, born of their blood, and educated in their principles, but because, as it is rightly said of we Valerians, our House is Amorr.
“However brief my term as consul suffectus shall be, however short the time in which the weight of this responsibility shall be placed upon my shoulders, I will sit before you as a man whose sole concern is for the Senate and for the People of Amorr. Patricians and plebians alike, your ancestors shall be my ancestors, and you shall all be my House.”
There was a little more applause for this, even from the auctares camp. Patronus continued to stare at him, though, like a man with a stick waiting for a snake to strike.
“Not only have you made me consul, though that is of itself a most honorable thing, but you have made me so in such a way as very few men in this city have ever been made consuls before. And though I lament the death of the noble Lucius Andronicus Caudinus that made my appointment possible, a sorrow which I am well aware you all share, I am greatly sensible of the honor that has been shown to me. I think of this eminent and unexpected kindness of yours, O city fathers, as a reward for my courage, and as a source of joy to me, but still more calculated to impress me with care and anxiety. For many and grave thoughts have occupied my mind since the letter arrived in the legionary camp informing me of your desire that I appear before you.
“First, there is anxiety about discharging the duties of the consulship, which is a difficult and important business to all men. Second, there are the strategic concerns about the present military crisis, which as consul aquilae, falls directly to me. And third, there is the weighty matter at hand, concerning which Pompilius Ferratus has spoken with great skill and passion. Now, as I have already said, I am but a soldier. I cannot expect to convince you, city fathers, with any soaring feats of rhetoric, for such things are well beyond my capabilities. Nor can I hope to set your imaginations on fire as Ferratus has done, for I am speaking of the world as it is rather than the world I would wish it to be.”
He saw Patronus lean forward at this. And the Severan was not the only one, for if the assembled senators had listened to one speech, they had listened to a thousand, and they very well knew when a speaker had finished with his prelude and was approaching the salient point.
Corvus smiled. How very like battle this truly was, even down to that vital moment when one side made the vital decision to stand and fight or break and run. But he was a Valerius, and in four hundred years of making war, House Valerius had never run.
“You will indulge and forgive me, city fathers, if I draw upon my experiences as a soldier. War has been my teacher for many years, and the lessons it teaches its students are hard ones not easily forgotten, for they are written not with pen and ink, but in bone and blood. The law that Pompilius Ferratus has proposed, this Lex Ferrata Aucta, brings to mind the construction of something familiar to many senators in this assembly, which is the plan of battle.
“When constructing his plan of battle, the wise general must take into consideration many things, some of which he knows, and some of which he does not. He knows how many troops he has, but he does not know how many troops the enemy possesses. He knows the strengths and weaknesses of his officers, but he cannot know the weather on the day of battle. If he is lucky, perhaps he can choose his ground, but even the most carefully prepared field may still present surprises once the battle is joined.
“City fathers, once more I call to your attention the memory of my predecessor in this office: Lucius Andronicus Caudinus. Caudinus was a veteran of many wars. He was neither inexperienced nor foolhardy. He suppressed no fewer than four provincial rebellions before he was charged by this body to march his legion into Cynothicum.
“I cannot say that I know what his plan was, but I am certain he had one, and I am convinced it was the sort of plan that any experienced commander would prepare prior to going to meet the foe. We can be certain that Caudinus would not have given battle had he not been confident of victory. Indeed, who among us harbored any doubts that Caudinus would return from the north wearing the victor’s laurel?”
At this, there was a good deal of murmuring throughout the temple. Even Torquatus was sitting up and paying attention now. There were enough generals, past and present, in the audience that the talk of battle stirred their interest.
“And yet, he failed. Despite all his plans, all his experience, all his good intentions, and all his confidence in his legion, it is clear that he did not foresee some vital factor. So it was that he met with consequences that were very far from his intentions. So it was that he perished, and his legion with him.”
An unsettled air filled the Senate, and man
y of the senators murmured to one other. But Corvus couldn’t tell if it they were sharing their agreement with his words or their resentment of them. He might, he began to realize, have made a mistake by choosing as an example a defeat that could be laid at the Senate’s feet as its chosen general now lay buried in the cold northern ground of Cynothicum. The Senate did not deny it made mistakes, on occasion, but neither did it enjoy being reminded of them. But there was nothing for it now except to carry on. He would have to hope there were still enough men who valued reason more than rhetoric.
“Like every general, I have known sleepless nights, wondering if I had anticipated everything correctly, if the scouts’ reports were accurate, if the estimates they provided me were trustworthy. Not two weeks ago, I stood with my command staff and watched the young men of Legio XVII stand its ground against an army four times its number, an army consisting of two of the fiercest and most warlike goblin tribes ever known to Man, tribes that have ravaged our northwestern borders for decades.
“Some attribute our subsequent victory to the favor of the Most High God. Others attribute it to the military genius of the commander, but I can tell you with certainty that the main reason Legio XVII defeated the united Vakhuyu and Chalonu tribes was the skill and fortitude of two legionary scouts. They spotted the enemy, noted his location, counted his numbers, and defeated an enemy patrol before returning to the legion. Despite being wounded in the process, they provided their general with the precious information he required to lay the foundation for the legion’s victory.
“I ask you this: What scouts does Ferratus offer as he asks you to embark on this march into unknown lands? What preparations has he made against the many dangers to the Republic that lay hidden within his proposal, waiting only the inopportune moment to rise and imperil us? There is nothing, I tell you. He is asking you to walk over a perilous abyss upon a bridge built from nothing but dreams and air!
“Ferratus tells you that the people of the allied cities deserve citizenship. I answer that not one in five thousand has ever served in the legions or served Amorr in any way! Ferratus says the allies have fought loyally for the Republic in her legions. I remind you that, like every legionary under my command, they have fought for gold and land, and they have duly received their just rewards.
“Ferratus tells you that the allies will be grateful. I answer that their children and their children’s children will astound your descendants with their ingratitude! Ferratus tells you that Amorr will be enriched by new taxes. I remind you that the allies are already taxed more heavily than the citizenry. And, under the new law, they would be given a voice in their own taxation! Ferratus speaks of a city that will become more than a city, but I warn you of a republic that will no longer be a nation and an empire that will shatter and fall!”
The murmuring of his audience swelled into outright arguing, and the group of men surrounding Patronus no more radiated an air of casual certainty. The great man himself was still expressionless, but Corvus fancied he could see concern hidden behind his apparent nonchalance.
Now was the moment to strike, and strike hard. He could feel it in his bones as clearly as ever he had felt the decisive moment on the battlefield.
“City fathers, as a general, I dare place no trust in a scout who cannot tell me the enemy’s numbers or his whereabouts but instead flatters me with the great glory that is sure to come on the morrow when the enemy lies broken and defeated. As a man, I do not buy a piece of property when my agent cannot tell me where it is but only assures me that I shall be the envy of all my neighbors. As an Amorran, I cannot trust a proposal that leaves a thousand questions unanswered but promises me that I shall be admired by posterity.
“And as a Senator—no, I forget myself, as a Consul of the Senate and People of the Sacred Republic of Amorr—I cannot vote for a law that will bring about one hundred unintended consequences for every one that is correctly foreseen.
“You cannot turn a new recruit into a veteran centurion by simply calling him one. You cannot turn an orc into an elf, or a goblin into a dwarf. And not even this august body can transform a Malkanian, a Bithnyan, a Galabrian, or even a Vallyrian into an Amorran by simple decree. We are Amorrans by blood, by tradition, by history, and most of all, by the grace and favor of the Most Holy and Immaculate God.
“And so now I plead with you, I implore you, and I advise you to set your faces against the Lex Ferrata Aucta. This law will not enlarge Amorr but diminish it, perhaps even extinguish it altogether. For twenty years, I have defended the Senate and People against her foes on every side, but I cannot defend this noble assembly against itself. City fathers, instead of my military command, instead of my legions, instead of this consulship and the other badges of honor you have so kindly granted me in reward for my many victories won on your behalf and in your name, I ask nothing of you except that you exercise wisdom and diligence in preserving this sacred republic which you hold so very dear!”
Corvus stepped back and sat again upon the red leather of the consul’s chair.
The Senate erupted again. This time, however, it was not the rapturous explosion of enthusiasm that had greeted Pompilius Ferratus’s address, but the rancorous sound of a hundred arguments breaking out. It was hard to tell, but judging by Maximus’s broad smile, his virgin speech as consul appeared to have accomplished its purpose. Here and there, senators were applauding. But more importantly, he saw that Severus Patronus had risen to his feet and was stalking angrily out of the temple, followed by three or four of his acolytes. He left Ferratus still seated behind him, looking pale and bewildered.
“The princeps is highly displeased, I think,” said Torquatus, leaning toward Corvus. “Until you opened your mouth, he knew he had the vote sewn up. Now Ferratus won’t even get three hundred. You’d better make sure you have an escort home this evening. Don’t linger around the Forum.”
“He’s that desperate?” Corvus grinned, unconcerned. If the Severan wanted him dead, he’d have to get in line behind one Marcus Valerius Magnus. And it was a little much to expect a soldier newly come from the battlefield to worry about being attacked by a few unarmored street thugs. “Why is this law so important to him?”
“I have no idea,” his consular colleague answered. “Vanity, perhaps. He’s getting old, and I imagine his desire to leave his mark is growing stronger as his days grow shorter. But he’s been spreading the gold around pretty thickly over the last month or two, so he’s definitely not going to appreciate you interfering with his plans, whatever they might be.”
Corvus mused on Torquatus’s words as their other colleague called the senators to speak to the assembly, one-by-one, in the order of their rank. Since the princeps senatus had abandoned the assembly, Marcus Fulvius began to call upon the ex-consuls, followed by the praetors and ex-praetors. A few of the pro-law party attempted to chip away at some of the points Corvus had made. Others, even more ineffectually, tried to revive the glorious vision painted by Ferratus, but their lack of his rhetorical gifts only rendered their efforts all the more grotesque.
And for every senator who rose to speak in favor of Lex Ferrata Aucta, three more stood to speak against it. Some of them simply underlined Corvus’s points. Others raised a panoply of new questions and objections, which soon served to make it clear to all and sundry that there were a myriad of details that would have to be addressed before the law, even if passed, could reasonably be implemented by the magistrates.
How would the new citizens be ruled? Would they have their own senates, or would they elect senators to the Senate itself? How many senators would they be permitted? What would happen to their kings and other rulers? Should they all be classified as plebians, or would it be necessary to introduce a new class to distinguish between the original Houses, those who came later, and those who were granted citizenship via the proposed law? The more it was considered, the more it became clear to all and sundry that the Lex Ferrata Aucta was a treacherous and twisted skein indeed.
&nbs
p; In the end, it became apparent to everyone, even Fulvius Paetinas, that there would be no need for a vote. Based on those who had spoken out and the general demeanor of those who had not, Corvus estimated that Severus Patronus still held the loyalties of perhaps one-third of the senators, but most of them were either too stunned or too demoralized by the unexpected turn of events to do much more than mouth a few vague platitudes in support of the proposed law. Finally, no one rose to speak. The Senate appeared to have exhausted itself, and silence filled the vast chamber. Fulvius Paetinas glanced over toward Torquatus. Torquatus, in turn, looked to Corvus, who shrugged. When Torquatus nodded, Paetinas wearily pushed himself up from his throne and cleared his voice.
“City fathers, the wisdom of your advice concerning the proposed Lex Ferrata Aucta has been received by your consuls in the spirit it was given. It is in our considered opinion that the tide of this august body is against the measure, and unless Pompilius Ferratus, its sponsor, objects, we shall not hold a vote upon it but shall deem the matter closed. Do you object, Pompilius Ferratus?”
Ferratus was sitting in near isolation, in stark contrast to his position earlier in the day. His face was ashen, and Corvus wondered if it should be Ferratus, not him, who would be in need of an escort tonight. But his voice was clear and strong as he replied to the consul provincae.
“I have no objection, my Lord Consul. I should like to thank the consuls and the members of this Senate for the time they have devoted to contemplating my proposal.”
It was well said, Corvus had to admit, especially in light of Patronus’s churlish departure. Ferratus would bear watching in the future, indeed, it might be very interesting to learn if the eloquent man had any ideas of his own, or if he was willing to play puppet for other hands than those belonging to House Severus. To win him over to the traditionalists would be very useful indeed. Corvus laughed silently at himself as the celestine who had opened the session now closed it with the traditional benediction. Politics must be dreadfully infectious if he was catching the disease already.