by Vox Day
“Not at all. Only that to commit the sin following the confession is to render it void, as if the confession had never happened. Repentance must come after the fact if it is to be considered even potentially genuine. Is there a particular sin you are contemplating, my son?”
“I’m not even sure if it is a sin, Father. Or rather, it strikes me as a sin, but then, it also strikes me as my duty, and shirking my duty would also be a sin. So, it would appear I’m damned either way.”
“In a manner of speaking,” the priest said with a faint smile. “But let us not resort to cheap theatrics. It is my duty to see that you are not damned at all, Marcus Valerius. So tell me your dilemma, if you can.”
Marcus laid out the facts for the priest. It came as a relief to honestly admit his concerns without the need to fear if doing so would cause Father Gennadius to think less of him as a man or a commander. The priest was technically under Marcus’s orders so long as he was attached to the legion, but Marcus couldn’t imagine actually trying to give him one, and he had no doubt that the little man wouldn’t hesitate to disobey him if he saw fit to do so.
“If I have understood you correctly,” the priest began when Marcus had finished, “you feel that your duty as the general of the legion conflicts with your duty as one who attempts to walk in the sanctified footsteps of the Immaculate. Neither Oxonus nor Tullius can help you here, as both the Larinii and the Solactae have given you sufficient jus ad bellum with their abrogation of the alliance and the murder of your men.
“The real question is one of jus in bello, but I agree with you that the Tullian dictate concerning the imperative to spare those who have not been bloodthirsty and barbarous in their warfare is a collective one. He refers to tribes, cities, and peoples, not individuals. As to whether this is a war for survival or supremacy, I should say that while it is too soon to say, I incline toward the latter. The Larinii and the Cynothii may wish to throw off the Amorran yoke, but they have shown no sign they wish to march on Amorr, much less destroy it.”
“This is all beside the point,” Marcus complained. “My concern is for my officers and my men. How can I lead them if they do not respect me as their general?”
“I wonder how you can think to lead them if you are determined to follow their opinion? But no, that is unfair. My son, there is no conflict. There is no dilemma at all, except in your own mind. That is the essential problem you face. Nor is this chiefly a military matter, or even a moral issue, at least not the one you wrongly believe it to be.”
“What are you talking about? Of course it’s neither one nor the other—it is both!”
“I fear you have not properly considered the logic, Clericus. Let us assume that your officers are correct and it is to the genuine military advantage of Amorr to slaughter the young Larinii who have neither killed your men nor taken up arms. This dispite your feeling that it would be more in accordance with God’s will to spare them. This puts you in a difficult situation because you have a solemn and sworn duty to serve Amorr to the best of your abilities and yet you are also a child of the Immaculate and are sworn in your soul to obey Him.”
“That is so,” Marcus allowed, unsure where the priest was going with this.
“Is whatever is of military advantage to Amorr the sole factor that one who serves the Senate and People must take into account?”
“No, of course not. It’s one of a number of factors.”
“Therefore it is not intrinsically dispositive. Military victories are to be desired, certainly, and they may even be absolutely vital in certain circumstances, as one cannot serve that which is nonexistent. But that is not the case now. Amorr will not be destroyed regardless of what you do here. Its survival is not currently hanging in the balance. Now, are the Senate and People dedicated to any purpose beyond the continued survival and prosperity of the city?”
“To serve God as their true king….”
“Precisely. It seems to me then that your choice is between serving God as a follower of the Immaculate or serving God as a tribune elected by the tribes and sworn to the service of the Senate and People. Your concerns about what your men and your officers might think is merely a matter of pride, Marcus Valerius, which I have observed that the members of your House tend to possess in some quantity. You already know what to do, but you simply wish to find a way to rationalize your natural desire so as to have your men think well of you.”
Marcus stared at Father Gennadius in shock. He felt as if one of his family’s loyal dogs had turned on him and bitten him to the bone. Here he was asking the seemingly inoffensive little man to give him counsel about a difficult situation, and somehow the priest had turned it into an accusation of his personal failings! He felt his temper rising, and it was only with the utmost difficulty that he managed to prevent himself from shouting at the man.
“You are wrong,” he stated calmly. “I would take no pride in killing the young ones.”
Father Gennadius smiled. “Of course not, Clericus. Their deaths would be merely the means, not the end. The pride that blinds you to your duty to God and Amorr alike is rooted in your desire to be seen as a general worthy of the traditions of your house, victorious and beloved by his loyal men. Fortunately, you are either too sensible or too well-schooled in strategy to be entirely ruled by your pride, or I have no doubt you would attempt to besiege Solacte while fighting off all the rebel legions that come to break the siege.”
The justice of the priest’s statement forced Marcus to swallow the first two or three retorts that occurred to him. He had, in fact, spent some time flirting with the idea of feigning a march south, then doubling back and storming the city at night, gambling that any significant rebel forces would either be committed elsewhere or too slow to respond to the city’s original summons. He’d even discovered a more outrageous idea in Longinus, when Sextus Gaerus described the way Antiochus had taken Suenda by intercepting a supply train, killing its teamsters, and replacing them with his soldiers to get them inside the gates. Intercepting an entire legion or two, however, struck him as overly ambitious.
“So your advice is to simply march on and leave the Solactae unmolested?” He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice and was not entirely successful.
“My advice is for you to pray and be honest with yourself.” Father Gennadius rose from his chair and took one of Marcus’s hands in his own. “You find yourself facing pressures that no young man your age is expected to face, Marcus Valerius. Have courage and give more credence to the still small voice you hear in your heart than to the roaring of your centurions or the whispers of your soldiers. And whatever you decide, know that God is not only watching—He is with you.”
Marcus nodded. “Thank you for the counsel, Father.”
“At your service, General.” The priest smiled, bowed, and departed.
Well, that was rather less than helpful, Marcus thought. He was unimpressed by the priestly logic. During his time preparing for the priesthood, he had known men who could utilize the dialectic as if it were a musical instrument, blowing whatever tune they chose. Cassius Clodius, in particular, could probably find a way to prove that burning the Larinii youth as a sacrifice to the devil was a divine mandate and make it sound not only convincing, but conclusive. And yet, Father Gennadius had reminded him of one thing that he had failed to consider.
No man, still less a general, could ever hope to lead by following.
The cathedral tower was ringing out terce as the First Cavalry and the first and third cohorts emerged from the morning fog and approached the gates of Solacte. The prisoners marched alongside the two centuries assigned to guard duty, many of them stumbling and crying from fear and a lack of sleep the night before. The centurion commanding the century from the fourth assigned to watch the gates over the night saluted Marcus wearily as he and his men were dismissed and began the trek toward the warmth and safety of the castra.
Trebonius was back at the camp making preparations for their planned departure t
he following day, but Father Gennadius had insisted upon accompanying them, though it was unclear what he hoped to accomplish in the morning after their conversation the previous evening.
But to Marcus’s surprise, the priest did not say anything upon being greeted by the sight of the young men and women standing with their wrists bound, each of them held leashed by a legionary. He simply nodded calmly to Proculus, Arvandus, and Marcus before clumsily mounting his mule and falling in at the end of the line of march. And if the father wondered about the empty mule-drawn cart or the twelve sheep that followed behind, driven by two legionaries from the sixth and a dog, he kept his questions to himself.
They were greeted by the grim sight of the twelve heads still protruding from the gate towers. Marcus nodded to Proculus, and at a gesture from the centurion, a pair of drums began to boom with a slow, ominous beat that would be heard throughout the city before them.
Once more, Marcus rode out in the company of a centurion and a decurion. But this time they were followed by the two centuries accompanying the prisoners. Before he reached his intended mark, signs of activity could be seen all along the walls and in the battlements as well.
Proculus held up a fist, and the drums picked up their pace, then fell silent when he dropped his arm. That was Marcus’s cue.
“People of Solacte, I have returned as promised. With me, I have brought one hundred and twenty young men and women from the villages and farms that surround this city, ten for each of my men whose bodies you have defiled. By the laws of war and the laws of the Senate of Amorr, your rightful rulers, I declare their lives forfeit. However, as Tullius writes, ‘It is sufficient that the aggressor should be brought to repent of his wrongdoing, in order that he may not repeat the offence and that others may be deterred from doing wrong.’ I therefore summon your senator-in-chief, Opiter Florus Siculo, to answer for the crimes of your city.”
He counted to one hundred. Meanwhile there were no shortage of jeers and insults shouted from the walls. But Siculo did not appear.
Marcus sighed and raised his hand. As the drums again began to thunder, a legionary frog-marched a struggling young man to the fore and forced him to his knees and placed his gladius at the man’s naked throat. After taking a deep breath, Marcus lowered his arm, the drums stopped, and the legionary drove his sword into the kneeling man’s throat, then jerked it left and right before drawing it forth again, bloody with the now-dying man’s lifesblood.
Angry cries rained down upon him, but Marcus only nodded to acknowledge the killer’s salute before the legionary withdrew. He waited a little while, listening to their rage and their hate, before he raised his voice again.
“I summon your senator-in-chief, Opiter Florus Siculo, to answer for the crimes of your city.”
But still, Siculo refused to show himself. Marcus counted to one hundred again, praying now for the soul of the young man killed and for the next ones in line. Then he raised his hand again. The grim play was reenacted, and soon there were two lifeless bodies lying face down in pools of bright crimson blood on the snow-dusted brown grass of the field.
“I summon your senator-in-chief, Opiter Florus Siculo, to answer for the crimes of your city,” he shouted again.
Still nothing. The sequence repeated itself. There were four bodies on the ground before the gates parted and began to slowly separate. They opened enough to permit a party of three men to emerge before closing again as Siculo and two elderly companions, both shorter and fatter than the consul, approached the three Amorrans.
“Butchering our neighbors’ children isn’t going to cause us to bend the knee again, boy,” Siculo, who up close was younger than his white hair had seemed to suggest from afar, fairly spat at Marcus.
“I didn’t imagine it would,” Marcus agreed. “I am requesting your repentance and your submission, but I don’t expect to receive it…yet. All that I am demanding today is the return of my men’s remains so that they may receive proper burial.”
The Solactean frowned and pursed his lips in what looked like suspicion, but Marcus suspected it masked relief.
“Just their bodies?”
“And their heads, of course.”
“Yes, yes, naturally. And then you will release your prisoners, alive and unharmed, and agree to leave our lands?”
Marcus smiled coldly. “I will release my prisoners, alive and unharmed. I will not agree to anything else. As it happens, I do not mind telling you that I still intend to depart the castra in two days regardless of your decision.”
“And yet you won’t agree to something you say you intend to do? You can’t murder all of these men and women over such a small matter, Tribune. You know perfectly well that your men were soldiers. These are innocent people taken from their homes!”
“I would have to agree…if you had killed them in battle, Consul. But they would not have laid down their arms had they imagined they would be butchered and their bodies defiled.”
The Solactean looked down at the bloody ground for a moment. “Tribune, you cannot know what it is like for a people to have been under the Amorran heel for centuries. Yesterday, when you were at the gates with your siege engines, well, emotions ran high. Killing your soldiers may have been a mistake. It was not necessary.”
“No, it was not. In fact, it was a foolish provocation, and it will not be forgotten. Let us be honest with one another, Consul. If I had the time, I would sack your city, raze its walls, and sell your people into slavery as an example to the other cities across Utrucca. But I do not. I do, however, have the time to kill every last one of these young rebels, and you know I am perfectly within my rights to do so. If you value dead men’s bones more than the lives of your neighbors’ children, you have only to say the word, and I will supply you all the bones you could ever desire.”
“I see.” The older man seemed to squint a little as he peered closely into Marcus’s eyes. “You understand I cannot promise you anything, Tribune. Only the Council has the authority to make this decision. I am but one of twelve. I will take them your offer, and I will advise them to accept it. Will you consent to wait until tomorrow for our answer?”
Marcus shook his head. “I will give you until sext. Before the bells stop ringing, the next will die.”
The older man nodded slowly. “Very well, Tribune. You will have our answer before then.” Without another word, he turned and began walking quickly back toward the gates, which opened just wide enough to receive him and his two companions.
“Ten silvers they take it,” Proculus said as soon as the Solactae were out of earshot.
“Five against your ten they don’t,” Arvandus answered. “These people were dumb enough to capture Dardanus and his men in the first place, then kill them with an entire legion on their doorstep. What did they think would happen, that we’d run away scared?”
“Done,” Proculus accepted the odds. “Tribune, they could be a while yammering at each other. Do we really have to wait out here like this? This horse is giving me a right pain in my arse.”
“No, we don’t. Tell the men to stand at ease. Let their prisoners sit if they want. If the Solactae have come to their senses, they’ll accept our offer. If they’re determined to be unreasonable, it doesn’t matter what we do, they’ll turn down whatever we offer simply because we’re offering it.”
As they cantered back toward the warmth of the fires the centurions had ordered built near the wagon, Marcus saw Father Gennadius blessing a kneeling legionary, and he wondered how many penances he would have to accept before again receiving one himself. But there was nothing to do now but wait and see if his strategy had been effective. So instead of staring impotently at the city’s walls, he urged his horse in the direction of the priest.
“Greetings, Father,” he said respectfully.
“Tribune,” the priest said in a conspicuously neutral tone. “I see you reached your decision, although I have to admit I am a little disappointed. I hope you will be moved to discuss it with me one
day in the future.”
Marcus smiled. He was aware that the priest was referring, circumspectly, to an eventual confession. He also knew he had nothing to confess, although Father Gennadius had no way of knowing that. The priest had seen what everyone else saw—a soldier, a blade, and the death of an innocent man. But eyes can be deceived, and no one but God can truly see whether a soul is innocent or not!
“That seems unlikely, Father. You appear to be operating under a misapprehension.”
The priest looked up at him with a skeptical expression and pointed toward the field, where the two centuries were still standing with their captives, at the bodies of the two fallen Larinii. “Sin is not a question of quantity, Marcus Valerius. A man is a murderer whether he kills one innocent or one thousand.”
“And I have killed none.” An impromptu cheer went up around him, and Marcus looked over his left shoulder to see what had provoked such an enthusiastic response from his men. Nothing seemed to be happening, and he squinted at the distant walls in bewilderment. Then the slight motion caught his eye, and he realized that the pikes upon which rested the heads of his men were disappearing one by one into the tower. He smiled with satisfaction.
“I don’t understand,” Father Gennadius said, looking from Marcus to the city walls, then back again.
“Last night, the night patrol encountered scouts from the first Larinii army that’s coming this way from Fescennium, Father. The decurion managed to capture a few of them for interrogation, and when Arvandus reported to me this morning, I realized I might have an additional use for them.”
“So the two men that were killed….”
“Were not the young Larinii that Julianus rounded up. They were enemy combatants captured in war. Now, I know their blood is on my hands, but it is legitimate, and I suspect there will be a lot more of it by the time this is over and done. I prayed about it, as you suggested, and not an hour after that, Arvandus came to tell me that his men had captured the six scouts.”