Chapter Two
"Sire?"
Tiberius sat against the far wall of the grand curia in a large marble-carved seat that overlooked the stately room. Outside, the sounds of a riotous crowd echoed up through the alabaster windows and into the quiet, nearly empty chamber.
"Sire?" Lycania's chief advisor, Lucan, repeated his query a second time to the Emperor but received only a continuing silence as his reply.
The advisor, short balding and overweight with a perpetually guilty-looking pair of eyes that constantly darted around the room, nervously cleared his throat and cast a desperate glance towards Timonus at the Emperor's silence. The Legate, in turn, inhaled sharply but remained hushed in a vain attempt to tamp down the turmoil he felt within himself over their current predicament.
The sound of the crowd outside, made up of the inhabitants of Odalia's poorest area known as the Ala District, suddenly swelled into an overwhelming cacophony of discontentment. The people were demanding answers over the mysterious death of their court representative, Lord Heron, as well as those of his family - for the White Palace had given them none.
Lucan asked for the third time, "Sire? Did you hear what I said?"
Tiberius stared, unblinking, at a spot upon the colorful blue and scarlet mosaic floor before him as he twisted Lady Catherine's ring between his forefinger and thumb. "Yes," he answered, then in an exasperated mocking tone added, "‘the people in Feronia are starving.'" He glanced at Lucan, "And if you say 'sire' one more time, I'll have your tongue pulled out from your head and fed to my pigs."
The advisor, slightly flustered by the Emperor's sentiments, continued, "Eh, uh, yes, well, Your Highness, there has been evidence of a root blight-"
Tiberius shrugged, gesturing to his Legate, "Well, that's very simple then: Timonus, you go to the Eastern Shore, seek out one of the veneficas and take her to Feronia to investigate this 'root blight'. It is my suspicion that we've been poisoned by outside forces-"
"My liege," Timonus face flushed as he struggled to speak rationally despite the panic that was rising up within, "there is unease in the Empire at the moment," his eyes flickered in the direction of the crowd, "I really can't be-"
"Do you think I do not know that?" The Emperor stood abruptly and stalked towards his Second-in-command, "Two weeks Lord Heron's blood has stained my roof, two weeks!" He frowned, adding as an aside, "And I've tried everything to get it off."
Tiberius then wandered over to the windows, deep in thought. He examined the pattern within it and began to trace it with the finger of the hand that still held Lady Catherine's ring. He stopped after awhile, then pressed his ear against the alabaster and listened for a moment, "Do you hear them... out there... chanting my name?" He screwed his face up as he spoke sardonically, "They love me, don't they? Even now they cheer for me." He started to laugh, then stopped as his face fell immediately into a scowl, "I don't understand these fools." He rubbed his temples and squeezed his eyes shut tightly, "My head hurts."
"Eh, yes, well, you have to understand, they saw Lord Heron as a kind and innocent man," Lucan spoke up.
"Innocent?" Tiberius turned from the window and eyed his advisor. "His whore-daughter of a traitor stood right here before me in this very spot," his fist raised as it closed around her ring, "with a bastard half-Bestial growing in her belly! In my court!" He seethed, "How is he innocent? He spawned nothing but traitors and law-breakers. Traitors, might I remind you, my good Lucan, who claimed to be from Thera - a land that doesn't even exist!" Tiberius eyes glowed with an eerie light.
Lucan spoke carefully, his fingers forming a steeple as he did, "Sire, I mean, Your Highness, my apologies, but whether they are right or whether they are wrong, they are angry. And, in the last weeks, we have become very nearly prisoners here in the White Palace because of that anger. Most of your other advisors and members of court have all returned to their homelands, afraid of the... atmosphere... that has currently settled upon Odalia's streets. Even as we speak, the Legate's legionaries have been putting down riots in the Ala District-"
"They are worthless." Tiberius glanced at Timonus as he paced with his hands behind his back, "I wish you'd massacre the whole lot of them. I should've never given him charge over a district in Odalia, the lying scum."
Lucan gently chided, "Yes, well, but they do out number us by quite a bit-"
"It matters not - a simple flick of the wrist and they will love me again."
"How, may I ask?" Lucan put forth.
Tiberius smile was unsettling, "We hold a gladiatorial munus."
The long-suffering Timonus could no longer hide his agitation, "A munus, Your Majesty? Celebrating what, precisely?"
His face lit up in eagerness, "Why, Lord Heron, of course!"
The other two men in the room fell into an apprehensive silence as the Emperor continued, gesturing wildly with his hands as he spoke, "We remove the heads from Lord Heron's dead traitor family and set them all on pikes, which we'll then put around the circuit of the Amphitheater."
"To what purpose?" Lucan asked, confused.
"To remind everyone in the Ala District what happens to traitors should they wish to continue in their treacherous ways."
"I doubt very much that will cause them to love you, Your Highness."
"Yes, well, forget about love, then!" he snapped. "Besides," he then began to grin slowly, "who wants love when you can have fear?" The light in the Emperor's eyes grew stranger.
"Sire," Timonus ignored the voice in his head telling him to stop speaking, "this is madness."
"Oh no, not madness, my dear Legate - just self-preservation. For too long those Bestial pests in the Ala District have leached from Lycania. And, it's true, Lucan, they do outnumber us because they continuously breed and multiply like animals but we have the power and the ammunition to suppress even the most violent uprising."
Timonus stepped forward, shocked by the monarch's words, "Sire, you would murder your own people?"
"Those... things... out there are not my 'own people.' Their deaths will not affect the Empire one way or another."
Timonus grew bolder with his anger, "I will not be a part of any massacre that-"
"You will do as I command or you will die with them." Tiberius stalked closer to the Legate, "Or is that what you wish? To leave your wife a widow and your sons fatherless?"
Timonus eyes fell to the ground, defeated before he'd even begun to fight, "No, sire, no it is not."
"Good, then. Whatever may happen in the next while, you will do as I command and take the venefica with you to Feronia. Meanwhile, Lucan, you get with that worthless Vandal at the Amphitheater and arrange the grandest munus of all time! Food, wine, song - I want it to flow for everyone! We will honor the great Lord Heron and, by the end of the day, they will either praise my name or be too afraid to speak it!" He sat back down upon the great chair and began to roll the ring between his fingers again as an otherworldly smile spread across his face.
Timonus nodded, adding, "Thank you, my liege," before leaving the curia. His panic unabated, his thoughts became a race against his feet as he quickly walked the path back to his quarters.
His servant, Jason, met him at the door to his room. The adolescent's eyes were fearful as he asked, "How goes the Empire?"
The Legate forced a smile, not wanting to further alarm the boy, "It goes as it always has. This moment will pass and all will be well. For now, bring me some vellum and pen and ink. I wish to write to my wife."
Jason disappeared as Timonus sat himself down at the small writing desk before the fireplace that heated the cramped quarters. He had never felt so much unease in his life, not even on the battlefield, and he was very unsure of what the future held as the tension rose in the Ala District. The only thing that he was sure of was that he wanted his family protected from whatever was brewing over the coming weeks.
Within a few moments, Jason had returned with the aforementioned writing supplies and handed them to his master. Timonus informed the young man that he wanted him to pack quickly as he had an important duty for him to fulfill. Jason, sensing what was going to be asked of him, heaved a gargantuan sigh of relief as he left the room.
Timonus gathered his thoughts, then dipped the copper nib of his pen into the dark ink and began to write upon the yellowed vellum in his elegant script, "My love, my life - I know not what the current tide of unrest will bring upon Lycania and our family. The Emperor has requested that I ride to Feronia to inspect the root blight that seems to have destroyed a great many of their crops. I know not how long my task will keep me away from hearth and home and, as I will not be around to protect you and the boys, I have asked Jason to escort you three to our homeland of Caninia. Remain there until you see me again but in case you do not and these are my final words, know that I love you, and our children, with all of my heart. Please raise our sons to be strong fighters for Lycania, for I love her and the Mother Wolf almost as much as you. Your husband, M. Timonus Canus"
He rolled the parchment into a scroll and then sealed it by pressing his family ring into a dollop of melted wax, leaving behind the image of hound. He then handed it to Jason and ordered him to go immediately to his home, which was located within the walls of the city, and escort his family away from Odalia and the White Palace as soon as was possible.
After making sure that the young servant was safely away, a relieved but weary Timonus removed his armor and laid it atop his nearby bed. He stared at the shiny metal sections before him and wondered what his life would have been like had he never donned them all those years ago. He had been so young, in retrospect. So young but so willing to die for the country that he so loved dearly.
Timonus' thoughts drifted to the Emperor, the man and friend that he had served for the last decade, who was growing more and more outlandish in his demands by the day. Timonus wondered briefly if he should continue to serve him, knowing that innocent men, women and children were dying on a nearly daily basis.
But, what choice did he have? He would never be able to dissuade the Emperor, nor would he be left alive if he even dared make an attempt. How would his family survive if he were not there to protect them? Timonus brushed his fingers across the feathers of the helm that marked him as Legate of Lycania. No, he would never abandon his post, not only for the safety of his family, but also for the fear that someone very different from he, someone without a conscience, would replace him. He couldn't do that to the country, or the people, that he served.
Clad only in his tunic, Timonus walked over to the hearth to warm his legs, the fire within it burning golden in the small room. He held his hands out to the flames and lifted his eyes towards the prayer statue that rested upon the small mantle above. It was of the Mother Wolf giving succor to the Two Brothers.
Timonus reached up and touched it gingerly, closing his eyes as he did. He had never felt such confusion, such guilt, in his lifetime. He felt as if he had been cast adrift into the ocean, alone, with no way to return to the safety and security of the shore.
He slowly knelt before the Mother Wolf and clasped his hands together, something he had not done since he was a child. They began to shake slightly as he prayed, “Dear Mother, who guides her children, what is it that I must do?" His eyes searched the statue's lupine features, "I have served you and my Emperor well... but the things he asks of me now..." Timonus swallowed deeply, "I... I don't know which path to take. If I no longer follow my Emperor, am I not betraying my country and Your Grace?" He shook his head, "But what of her people? And the innocents that have already been slain?" He grimaced and fell forward onto his palms while a new wave of shame washed over him as the memories of Lord Heron's lifeless body being removed from the palace under the cover of darkness filled his mind.
His chest began to constrict as he confessed from the deepest parts of his soul, "He was an innocent man." Timonus lowered his forehead to the floor, his lips nearly brushing against the cold tiled floor as he continued to speak, "...an innocent man and I let him die... He did nothing wrong and I-I walked away... I left him there, even when I knew that death was awaiting him!" He lifted his head and looked up towards the statue, tears and desperation shining in his eyes, "I did nothing! I... I was too afraid! Dear Mother, what must I do now to absolve myself of these sins? How do I right these wrongs? How do I get that face, so full of hope for his daughter's return, out of my mind? Please... Dear Lady... answer me in my time of need. Please..." He stayed upon his knees for a little while longer, hunched over in benediction, even as the only reply he received was silence.
Timonus was unsure of how long he had knelt there when a knock had come upon his door. He stood quickly and rinsed his hands and face in the nearby washbasin and as he patted them dry with a cloth, he temporarily wiped away any evidence of his previous anguish.
Timonus then opened the door and was surprised to see that it was Lucan standing before him.
"May I enter?" the nervous man asked.
The Legate glowered for a brief moment before relenting, "Yes, come in." He shut the door behind the Advisor.
Lucan's balding gray head shone in the low firelight, "I came here at the behest of several others."
"Yes, and you were probably followed."
The man's normally tiny eyes widened as he looked around the room in terror, "I... I never thought-"
Timonus was short with him, "It doesn't matter now. What do you want?"
"It isn't just me. As I said, I've come at the behest of several others who fear our Emperor is no longer able to rule-"
Timonus shook his head angrily, quickly cutting off anything else that the other man had to say, "How dare you come here! You know that I cannot speak against-"
"Yes, yes, I do know, which is why I don't want you to speak. I only want you to listen." Lucan steepled his fingers again as he had done earlier in the curia when he stood before the Emperor, "As you well know, I have served His Majesty for just as long as you and-and I, too, like you, have served his father." He bit his lip nervously, then continued, "But, the Peacebringer, he was very different from Tiberius. The Peacebringer, while ambitious and self-serving, also knew that it was only by the will of the people that he and his family were allowed to remain on the throne."
Timonus kept silent.
Lucan continued, "So, he knew to keep the people fed, clothed and working. If he did that, the people would leave him to do as he pleased. But, Tiberius," he shook his head, "he isn't like his father and though he won't acknowledge it, the will of the people has changed. And it isn't just the Ala District, the fervor is spreading throughout all of Odalia and soon our very lives are going to be at risk of being caught up in the violence as well!" Lucan wiped his sweating forehead, "I-I know that you cannot say anything, Legate, but I also know that you sense it as I do. As we all do!" He met the Legate's eyes, "Something must be done!"
Timonus still did not speak.
Lucan persevered, despite being decidedly uncomfortable with the Legate's continued silence, "Look, I am not asking you to do anything at the moment. It's too early and a misstep now would cause our immediate demise by the Emperor's own hand." He shook his head at the thought, "No, no. You do what you must for now, Legate. Go to Feronia with the venefica but when you return, Odalia, and thus, Lycania, may be a very different place from the one you know now. If such a thing should occur, those that have sent me wish to know if we would be able to count you among our numbers?"
The Legate's gaze moved towards the statue of the Mother Wolf on the mantle just past Lucan's shoulder. Could he risk his life to betray that which he loved the most? Would he be strong enough? Should he?
In answer to the Advisor's question, as well as his own, Timonus, ever so slowly and almost imperceptibly, nodded his head in agreement.
* * *
"1... 2... 3, again! 1... 2... 3, again!" The gladiatorial lanista, Euric the Vandal, paced from one end of the wooden dais to the other, casually eating olives from his hand as he shouted out commands to the less than able recruits. His two trainers, Felix and Castor, weaved throughout their ranks, forcefully correcting any mistakes they saw with their giant leather whips.
Euric shouted indignantly at the recruits in his dark, raspy voice, "Shape up, you pigs, or I swear I'll work you until your legs rot off! 1... 2... 3, again! You will learn to fight my way or die your own! 1... 2... 3, again!"
At the end of the dais was Juko, naked and tied to a post with his arms stretched straight up above his head. He had been that way for a little over twenty-four hours as he was being used as an example for the other fighters to show them the consequence of disobedience. His punishment had come quickly and without hesitation after his adamant refusal to take to the training arena when commanded to, despite being told what would happen if he did not.
Euric shouted down to Castor, "Take over for me before I do something to these worthless vermin that I'll regret!" The lanista walked over to the exhausted and sore N’bari and quipped, "Do you think that you impress me by not crying out?"
"I... don't care... what... impresses you," Juko looked upon the other man with fire in his dark eyes, despite the pain that burned within his shoulders.
Euric nonchalantly tossed another olive into his mouth, "And I don't understand why you refuse to fight. Your brother certainly never did."
"I don't... refuse to fight," Juko answered the Vandal. "I refuse... to fight... for you."
Euric seemed unbothered by the N'bari's response and replied simply, "Well, if you don't, you will die in the arena. Suna knew this-"
"Stop speaking of him!" Juko shouted at the Vandal with the last reserves of his energy.
Euric frowned, "I have told you before that I was genuinely sorry for your loss but I cannot change the rules. If you'd rather die than fight, that's your decision but it won't bring your brother back nor will it help you find out what really happened to him."
"You do not... understand. I don't care if I die... I cannot return to my father... a failure."
Euric snapped, "It's not your fault your brother is dead!"
"It won't matter... to my father..."
Euric stared at the stubborn young man before him and, despite himself, began to chuckle whilst shaking his head, "I won't be able to break you, will I?"
"You can... try...," Juko looked up at him with hooded brown eyes.
Euric leaned in again, whispering, "Listen to me, son, I know who killed your brother and if you want to avenge him, dying in the arena will do you no good."
Juko swallowed, though it did nothing to alleviate his dry throat, "You know... who killed him?"
"Yes, and I also know why," Euric stepped back to face the N'bari warrior. "You fight for me and I'll tell you everything." He popped the last olive that was in his hand into his mouth. "What do you say?"
Juko studied the Vandal's broad face and deep-set eyes to see if he was lying. After a few moments, he stated simply, "I think... I do not like you."
Euric laughed a deep, throaty chortle, "Your brother said the same thing when we first met and just as I told him then, I will tell you now: you do not have to like me, just fight for me."
"Do you... really know who killed him?"
The Vandal nodded once, "I am a great many things, my son, but a liar, I am not."
"Then... cut me free."
With a swift and graceful motion, Euric produced a hidden dagger from beneath his robes. He reached around the post and began to slice through the ropes that bound the N'bari's wrists to it. As he did, he moved in closer and whispered, "There are rumors that the woman escaped."
Juko angrily whispered back, "I care not for this... 'woman'."
"Well, your brother seemingly did. Very deeply. So deeply, in fact, that he married her - a highly illegal act in this fair city, in case you are unaware."
Juko fell to the ground just as the ropes dropped beside him.
The Vandal bent down and wrapped a firm arm around the young man's ribs to help him stand. As they rose, his voice took on an unexpected tone of concern, "Go and wash in the baths, Juko. Get plenty of water and I will give you a day of rest before you train. You have a long battle ahead of you, my son. A very long battle."
Juko was silent as he limped towards the gladiators' bathhouse, which stood just past the practice field in a squat, bricked building that was built atop their quarters. His mind was overwhelmed with all that had happened to him in the last twenty-four hours and he wondered if he should trust such a person as Euric, then very quickly concluded that it did not matter, as he had no longer had any choice.
The lanista watched Juko disappear into the bathhouse and thought of Suna, amazed at how different two men from the same family could be. Felix stepped onto the dais beside him and, breaking through his thoughts, announced, "Sir, there is an emissary from the White Palace here to see you."
"Hm, an emissary, you say? Well," he scoffed, "that's always good news, isn't it?" He looked past Felix and saw a young man with a parchment roll in his hands speaking to his servant, Posides. He beckoned the messenger towards him.
"My lord-," the young man stepped forward.
"Ah, no, no, no, boy, I am no lord," Euric corrected him, "lanista will do just fine."
"Lanista, then, the Emperor's advisor, Lucan, requests that you tend to this matter on behalf of the Emperor, urgently." He handed the parchment to Euric and, after a bow, dismissed himself from the training area without further prompt.
Euric broke the wax seal of the parchment, the peacock upon it denoting that it had indeed come from Lucan's own hand, and unfurled the paper. As he read the words of the message, his wide face slowly took on a glowing crimson pallor and a snarl began to cross his lips. Euric suddenly balled up the note and threw it to the ground, "Complete madness! How can the Emperor expect such a production in a fortnight? Is he mad?"
"I'm sorry, sir?" Felix asked, surprised by his employer's behavior.
The lanista didn't answer right away. Instead, he paced slightly, his hands on his hips as he tried to compose himself and control his anger. He opened and closed his mouth several times before he finally spoke, putting a large-ringed finger in the trainer's face, "Just know that we have our work cut out for us, Felix. How far along are these men? Will they be worth their salt in a fortnight?"
The trainer shook his head, laughing in disbelief at the question, "They're some of the weakest fighters we've ever recruited. I don't know that they'll be ready to fight in six months, let alone two weeks!"
"That was my fear," he nodded. "How many do we have left from our previous batch?"
"Three, sir, not counting Castor and myself."
Euric thought for a moment, pondering his next move, then spoke as he scratched at his chin, "I know what we'll do, then. I want you to personally train that new N’bari recruit. His brother was phenomenal - there has to be some of that talent in him as well. We'll parade some hero story around town and turn that boy into a star. It's the only way. We'll bluff the audience - give them an underdog for a hero. They'll be so excited over him and the spectacle we've created that they'll never even notice how short we are on actual talent! Do you understand?"
Felix nodded, even though he didn't, "Yes, sir."
Euric laughed to himself, muttering beneath his breath, "That boy may be getting his revenge a whole lot sooner than he thought."
Further afield, a fatigued and aching Juko was unimpressed with his surroundings. The inner walls of the bathhouse were covered in brightly colored mosaics depicting the past triumphs of some of Odalia's greatest gladiators but, even as he washed in its heated waters, Juko felt it was all too plain and he missed the mountains of his village.
His mind, meanwhile, was fractured and adrift from not only the lanista's punishment, nor the still fresh news of his brother's death but also because Juko had never intended to fight in the dust of the arena. In fact, he had never even wanted to step foot in Lycania and it was only out of love for his father and brother and loyalty to his family that he had even ever made the journey to her shores.
Juko's heart ached with renewed grief as he thought of his brother again. He had always looked up to Suna, who had been older by nearly three full years. He was handsome, strong and quick-witted and while Suna had been well loved by all the members of their clan, their father loved him most of all.
Growing up, almost everything that Suna did brought a smile as bright as the rising sun to their father's face. For the Chieftain, his eldest son could do no wrong - not even when, as a mischievous child of eight years old, he had added the oil of the itching plant to the Healer's muscle rub.
But, despite bearing the inability to anger their father, Suna could break his heart like no other. Juko thought back to the night that Suna, who was next in line to be Chieftain of their clan, publicly rejected his birthright during the Inheritance Rite. The act had all but shattered their father, although the rejection had come as no surprise to anyone else in the clan - for Suna had stated time and again that he had never had any desire to lead. He had always been adventurous and restless, with a wanderlust that would never be sated in the Mountains of Selene.
Juko remembered the last time he had seen his brother alive: the day that Suna had left Noba for Lycania. His brother's engaging smile lit up his face even as he said his farewells. "This isn't goodbye, little brother. We'll see each other again! Maybe you'll even join me in Lycania one day?"
"No," Juko shook his head firmly. "I don't have the same desire for danger as you do. My place is here, by father's side, and nowhere else."
Suna's face fell slightly, "I know he is angry with me right now-"
"He's not angry, he's hurt. You've disappointed him, Suna-"
"I know, but... I cannot live my life for him. God forgive me but I have my own path to follow - as do you, little brother."
Juko frowned slightly, "He will never choose me as his heir."
"Then he is a fool. You are a good son; you do what is expected of you. I," he laughed, "I, on the other hand, am a horrible son!"
A bell clanged in the distance, signaling the last call for passengers to board the Lycanian trading ship, Minerva.
"Goodbye, Juko," Suna hugged his smaller brother tightly, lifting him up off the ground for a brief moment. "Come and see me fight in the arena! I will give you a good show!" Then, with a last wave, Suna turned away and quickly disappeared into the trading vessel that would carry him off to adventures in faraway lands, leaving behind a hurt and angry Juko.
For the next year and a half, Juko tried everything within his power to relieve his father's broken heart but it was of no use. The Chieftain very nearly became a recluse, shutting himself off from his wife, children and the rest of the clan, leaving Juko to act as Chieftain in his stead. But, despite his best efforts, Juko's father steadfastly refused to pass the Birthright to his younger son, holding onto it for the day that Suna would return home.
Back in the bathhouse, Juko stepped from the water. He dried himself off, then picked up a brown training tunic from the pile of clean ones and put it on along with a pair of sandals. He silently cursed his brother, a tear forming in his eye as he laced the training sandals upwards along his calves. He resented his brother's leaving, his father's lack of favor but more than anything he resented that, even from beyond the grave, Suna was forcing him into a fight he did not want - just as he had when they were children.
Juko gritted his teeth and stood. But, he would fight because he had given his word and a man was only as good, as honorable, as th