Generic empire
07-07-2005, 04:51
“Four things greater than all things are,
women and horses and power and war”
-Rudyard Kipling
Part One: The Lord and his Citadel
Lord Varus Tiberius Alexei was most trusted among men, at least among the only men that mattered: those with the ear of the Emperor. He was by birth the Emperor’s nephew, being the son of Antonius’s brother, the Emperor Tiberius who perished at the hands of an honorless assassin, who in turn met his own demise at the hands of the noble and wise Antonius, a man revered for his strength of leadership, his personal charisma, and his wisdom. To be the nephew of such a man put one in a spot of some influence, and Varus was not without this knowledge. However, where some men would find themselves easily swayed and corrupted by the trust of one of the most powerful men in the east, the loyalty of the Lord Varus to his uncle was unshakeable. Antonius had taken him into his home, and into his family following the murder of his own father, and from that moment on, Antonius was as much his father as Tiberius had been, if not more so. Thus, when the Emperor’s health had begun to decline and much of the power needed to run the day to day affairs of the state had been delegated to him, Varus had performed his duty for Antonius, and not another soul, his own included.
The responsibility had been and still was a great one. This man of 28 years had only in the past two seemingly grown much older. Lines creased his brow where before it was smooth, and his thick long mane of brown hair occasionally showed a strand turned dove white. He rarely slept these days, both for lack of time and a developed habit. His mind had always been wracked with nightmares when sleep befell him, and he had learned that it was better to simply sleep as little as possible and avoid the visions of terror that befell his midnight eyes when they closed under sleep’s embrace.
Now those eyes were ringed with dark circles, seemingly permanent additions to the man’s strong features, as they stared out the window of the bright sitting chamber on the high corner of the Imperial palace in the White Citadel, gazing out over clear blue winter skies, and a range of green grass dusted with light snow. It was a land of beauty, racked by the same sleeplessness that he endured, for in her moments of peace she would always be woken by disturbance. Brutal clashes of sword and armor played before him on those fields as fireballs engulfed the banners of the warrior kings of old. Great bands of trumpet and string sounded out songs of patriotism and then songs of deep mourning, the tunes that swelled the heart and brought wet tears to the eyes, the poetry and music that captured a land though rise and fall, glory and dishonor, peace and war. This was Generia. For him, this was home.
The great oak double doors paneled with thick glass to allow light in and out swung inward to interrupt his musings and reflection, and a towering man in dark armor strode proudly in, a look of permanent triumph on his features, callous grace in his stride. His face betrayed features of both his delicate and beautiful mother, the Lady Anja, daughter of the Emperor Antonius, and of his father, the ferocious Emperor Helldawg V of Doomingsland, a monster among men and a force of humanity to be reckoned with. His physique was pure Doomingslandian, raw power and toned muscle covered by battle armor to be worn at all times, a glinting gladius hanging at his waist. This man was through his birth a Generian prince as well as the heir to Helldawg’s fiery throne. Needless to say, many Generian courtiers were unnerved by him, both due to his fearsome appearance and his close proximity to the Generian throne, however, unlike some of his counterparts, Varus held both a concealed admiration and open liking for his half-Generian second cousin (once removed) Maximus.
Not feeling the urge to stand and greet this proud warrior prince formally, Varus simply smiled and beckoned that he have a seat by the large open viewing window. He had, after all, asked him here, and Maximus might as well make himself comfortable. Maximus, when not at Helldawg’s court or leading warriors on some distant battlefield, was often at the White Citadel, mingling with the rest of his mother’s family, and more often than not reveling in his ability to unnerve the other courtiers and Generian nobles, either of which, Varus, as he would often confide to him, did not particularly care for.
The gruff Doomingslander swaggered over, and took an uncomfortable perch on the end of a leather chair, his sword and armor preventing him rather obviously from taking a more relaxed position, though he did his best to hide the fact. He fixed his usual stare on Varus, his face not smiling, not scowling. Varus was used to it by now, and was not unnerved. Set on the table in front of him was a small tray, a decanter filled with blood red southern Generian wine standing in the center. Varus leaned forward and casually poured a glass, speaking as he did so:
“How have you fared, Maximus? I haven’t seen you about court in months.”
He offered the glass of wine, and Maximus took it, Varus pouring a second glass for himself. The Doomingslander replied, his voice rough and deep, betraying and reinforcing the power of the man’s spirit.
“Training. I was alone in the desert, hunting beasts and surviving for three months on nothing but mud rain and the gum in the bottom of dry wells.”
For all the man’s external rawness, he sipped the wine with class, momentarily betraying his nobility. He looked up from the glass and turned his eyes once again on Varus.
“Wine before noon, cousin? You seem to be picking up Antonius’s bad habits.”
With this the man’s iron face broke into a broad, toothy grin, a rare sight only known to the prince’s most trusted friends, of which there were very few. He always referred to Varus as cousin, despite the fact that their blood ties were more distant, but Varus was more than content to allow it, and now he too smiled slightly.
“I hear it’s good for the heart.”
Maximus waved his hand in a wide dismissive gesture.
“Bah! You don’t need an excuse to drink wine! I jest at your expense. Besides, vodka is Antonius’s drink.”
He drained the glass and helped himself to another. Varus leaned back against the comfortable leather, and let his gaze trail out the large window to the world outside.
“It seems God has granted you his insight and his strength, my friend. You touch on the right subjects without my having to bring them up.”
Maximus nodded knowingly, his expression now one of complete seriousness.
“So that is what we are here to discuss.”
“I fear so. You know as I do my uncle is not well.”
“Aye. His fondness for the bottle seems to be taking a toll on his health.”
“It causes me great grief to see the man in this state. He has been absent from both his throne and his desk for months.”
“It’s a sad thing when you know it’s the same man who beat Alexius’s traitors at the River Slobozia, avenged his brother’s death, and drove that foolish usurper out of his capital who’s now been made a slave to the liquor.”
“Maximus, you have always been loyal to him, and this has taught me to be loyal to you, and I have gained a great friend from it, but I must tell you something now that you and I both will not want to hear said once or ever again, but which if I did not tell you would be a great dishonor to you and to my uncle. The Emperor’s health is waning fast, and I fear and believe, as much as it pains me, that he is not long for this world. I have spoken with his doctors. His heart has been weak for upwards of two years now, though it has only caught up to him in the past month. Upon hearing this, he has given the bottle away freely, though I fear he knows that it is too late. Apart from my uncle, his doctors, and myself, on account of his taking me into his confidence, you are the only other living soul who knows the extent of Antonius’s illness. I trust you as my brother to hold this secret as close to your breast one of your own deepest trusts, until it’s revelation has come from the mouth of the Emperor.”
Maximus listened solemnly to this, his eyes fixed on Varus’s. Now he spoke quietly.
“And if he passes before he lets it be known?”
Varus was silent for a few moments.
“Then we must keep it forever, for it would be a dishonor to the deceased to have it revealed by his closest servants.”
Maximus nodded.
“Maximus, when Antonius took me into his confidence, he revealed that he had decided on the heir to his throne.”
“Did he name him?”
“He said no more than what I have just spoken to you, but now I must ask you to do something.”
Maximus’s gaze told Varus he was listening. Varus stared straight into his eyes as he spoke.
“I have felt the devastation of the Alexian Wars in my own house. My father was one of many victims. I have since felt many things, and made many vows, but only recently have made it my promise to both heaven and my people that I will not let such a conflict brew in this house ever again. I know the great scars civil war leaves on nation and man, and I could not bear to see another such war splinter this land. Now you must promise me, no matter who Antonius chooses his heir, that you will obey his will as your last service to his memory, for the protection of our land, our people, and our families. Will you swear this to me under God?”
Maximus was silent as he watched Varus’s gaze, the piercing light in his blue eyes something he had long suspected present, but never seen. Now he leaned forward, not breaking his gaze, and spoke thus:
“I swear it under God, in the name of my father, and on the will of my people, all of their houses, that I will not break the will of Antonius, my uncle, my Emperor. I swear it to you with everything there is left in my heart, and should I break this oath, may the devil himself snap up my soul and torch it before my eyes, that I may see the horror of my perjury. Varus, you have my word.”
Varus nodded solemnly.
“I know, my cousin. I know.”
---------------
Prince Aleksander was a lanky fellow, tall but with thin limbs, pale to the point of appearing sickly, the usual tan complexion of the Alexians replaced in him with something almost green. He now sat idly in a large stuffed chair in the spacious viewing room of his palace in the White Citadel, a structure slightly smaller than the Imperial palace, but still a luxurious expanse. He had ordered the structure constructed a few years ago, bulldozing a palace reserved for the guests of the emperor, and paying for the construction with funds taken directly from the Imperial treasury. He had received no objection, being the eldest son of the Emperor and the assumed crown prince, but whisperings about the man’s extravagance had circulated in greater force ever since.
His ill fitting robes draped over his skinny figure and flowed over the sides of the chair as he puffed lazily on a thin cigar. In his twenty-four years of existence, he had accomplished little. He had managed to weasel his way out of the military training expected of the sons of the Emperor, deciding on diplomatic and financial training instead. However, much of this had been a charade, Aleksander bribing his tutors into informing his father that his progress was far superior to what it was. His first diplomatic test had come a year ago, when he accompanied his father’s nephew, Lord Varus, as an emissary to the Khalifah al Muslimeen. In the process he had managed to insult nearly every member of the Ottoman court.
Sitting there now, none of this seemed to enter into his mind as he wondered what was taking his chef so long in preparing the rack of lamb he had demanded twenty minutes ago. However, his train of thought would be interrupted as a faint knocking came on the chamber door.
“What is it now!”
The doors slowly cracked open, and the face of a young woman appeared.
“Aleksander? Am I disturbing you?”
Recognizing his sister, he beckoned for her to come in, not bothering to leave his seat. The third of Antonius’s daughters, Alexia was often professed to be the most beautiful. A shy girl of seventeen, she was one of few of Aleksander’s siblings that still made attempts to engage him in conversation.
Now she walked cross the room, her dress flowing behind her, dark hair hanging over her shoulders. Aleksander bade her to sit, and she took a seat on a sofa across from him. Aleksander watched her, a look of slight impatience in his eyes. The girl looked around, seeming slightly nervous.
“Well?”
“Aleksander,” she began. “Our father has been bedridden for weeks. I thought that-“
“Your point?”
“I thought that you would do well to see him.”
Aleksander waved his hand dismissively, cradling the cigar between his spindly fingers.
“If he wants to speak with me, he will send for me.”
“He is very ill, brother. I am certain he longs to see your face.”
“He had 23 years to see my face. He never made much use of the time. It seems he preferred the bottle to the well being of his eldest son,” Aleksander said mockingly.
Alexia looked shocked at this.
“Father was always good to you! You had more than ample opportunities to prove yourself to him.”
“Prove myself? I didn’t need to prove anything to him. If he could not see the greatness in me, then it was his own fault.”
“But he did see great things in you. You know you made him proud.”
“Lies. He always had little taste for me. Delegating his authority to Varus, the stuffy bastard. But it matters not. He will name me his heir shortly and will begin his slide into obscurity, along with Varus and his brutish friend.”
“How do you talk that way? Varus is a good man. He cares for our father like he was his own. He has his trust.”
“I should have his trust!”
The outburst was unexpected, and Alexia started back in her seat. Her face hardened.
“There is nothing in you but greed, Aleksander. If our father does not find you suitable as his heir, I will have no sympathy for you.”
She stood and walked briskly out of the room. Aleksander sat back and puffed on his cigar, brooding. A waiter entered carrying a large silver tray with the rack of lamb on it. Aleksander shouted at him to set it down and leave.
“Can’t you see I’m busy? You fool!”
The frightened waiter placed the tray down and scurried off.
------------------
Varus entered the dark room, a single beam of light extending over the floor and onto the bed before him, illuminating a face. Antonius had aged greatly in the past year. His great black locks were full of silver, and his cheeks were empty and sunken. His eyes had grown pale, as if their dark fire had seeped into the rings below them. Those eyes were covered by heavy eyelids now as Varus stepped into the room, gently shutting the door behind him. Varus was startled by a strong voice coming from behind him.
“Welcome, my son. Forgive me, I was not expecting company so early in the day.”
Varus turned around to see that his uncle propped up against the headboard, watching him. Varus walked over to the side of the bed. Antonius looked over at the heavy curtains covering his windows, and frowned.
“Varus, if you would open those, I would be eternally grateful. It’s ridiculously stuffy in here.”
Varus walked over and drew the curtains, letting the late morning sun stream in, Illuminating the luxurious bedchamber. Varus walked back over to the bed and sat down.
“How have you been faring lately, uncle?”
Antonius’s voice boomed from deep in his chest.
“Bah! I’m barely fifty-three and they treat me like an old man.”
He sat up further, and kicked away the bed clothes, oppressive in the warm air. Despite his apparent ill health, the Emperor was still an imposing figure, the scars from the battles of his youth still clearly visible on his bare arms and chest. His black beard covered a square chin and strong jaw, teeth yellowed from tobacco and liquor, but still perfectly set.
Antonius reached over for a small cup that sat on the table beside him, tea from the look of the contents.
“They have me drinking this sludge twenty-four seven. This stuff and sleep is all the damned doctors prescribe these days.”
They were silent for a few moments while Antonius finished the contents of the cup and set it down. He fixed a look on Varus, who had trained his own gaze on the floor.
“So, Varus, what are you doing here so early, keeping this old, sick man from his rest?”
Antonius smirked as Varus looked up. Varus regarded him contemplatively for several seconds before he spoke.
“Your doctors have informed me that there are procedures they can do to alleviate some of the problems with your circulatory system. They also tell me you will hear nothing of it.”
The Emperor smiled knowingly now, recognizing the reason for Varus’s visit.
“I’m not going to let them come near me if their intention is to cut me up. Listen to me Varus, I know it sounds good from the way they tell it, but surgery to extend a man’s life is a foul, foul thing. I hear them tell me what they want to do to me, and then I can’t help but think of my soldiers lying on battlefields in Buchiana those years ago, crying out for someone to put their legs back on or shove their guts back in. How can I let them do a procedure to give me ten more years so I can die warm in bed with my family around me when there are people who bleed to death from bullet wounds, fighting for Generia.”
He looked up thoughtfully for a moment.
“You know, sometimes I wish I was back with them, fighting. It’s easier to be the man firing the gun then it is to be the one signing the papers to send the gunmen to battle.”
He fixed his gaze back on Varus.
“I won’t bore you with my rhetoric. The truth is, Varus, when a man’s clock is about ready to be punched, it’s better he just adjust to the fact than look for a way out. Sooner or later we all die. I’ve had a good life, I’ve done many things for my family, and for Generia, if the history books will have it that way. I’ve seen enough to say I’m full, but not too much to make my head too heavy to rest on. I’ve led good men, served beside good kings, and fought in good battles. I’ve drunk enough wine to drown a drunk, I’ve had enough women to satisfy the lustiest of men, and finally found one to have my family with. I won’t say I’m clocking out just yet, just that when my time comes, I can say I’ve experienced life as it was meant.”
Varus watched Antonius’s eyes, and thought that he could detect a trace of the old fire still present. The Emperor was right. His time may be coming, but had not arrived yet. The man had some fight left in him. Again, silence reigned for a long time, both men lost in their own thoughts. At last, Antonius spoke again, this time his voice quieter, serious, but still strong.
“Varus, I told you last time we met that I had decided what would become of my kingdom after I passed, who would lead Generia. I did not reveal a name so that you would have time to prepare yourself. I believe now that you will be ready to hear of my decision.”
Varus was silent, listening.
“Aleksander, my eldest son, will not take my place.”
The words fell heavily over the room.
“I have given this much thought, and grieved at my own conclusions, but you know as I that he is not a king. He will be provided for, as is my will, but I cannot let him take the reigns of our Empire. His motivations are not towards his people, but rather sating his own lusts, and I fear his guidance would work to unravel that which I and my father before me have worked to create. Disaster would be the rule of the day if he wore the crown. I reiterate my pain in this decision, as, though he has flaws, he remains my son and I cannot help but attribute some of his flaws to my own influence. However, it remains my wish that the one who follows in my path be a better man than I.”
If Varus was surprised to hear this, his face did not show it, solemn, watching his uncle. Antonius turned his eyes down, brooding.
“I know of only two men who could fulfill that requirement.”
He looked up now, fixing his eyes and a softened expression on Varus.
“I have long thought of you as my son, Varus. Your father’s murder struck me as deeply as I know it struck you. Tiberius was a great man, a great king, however brief his rule. He loved this land, and he died protecting it. Though it was not the warrior’s death I know he always pictured, he looked his killer in the eyes as the blood seeped from his wound. When I struck the assassin down, I felt as though it was him wielding the sword, his spirit in me. I knew then that it was his vengeance, not mine, enacted that day. Even now, when I sit at the head of this great land, this noble union our ancestors forged with iron and blood those thousand years ago, I feel the presence of Tiberius, his will guiding my own.”
Antonius’s eyes flashed as he spoke, and Varus could almost see the moment when he assumed the crown on the same floor where his father had fallen. He had been there, watching as it happened, but too young to remember the details.
“My nephew, you have proven to be one of a very rare breed, those with a truly selfless nature. Your dedication is to your country and your cause, nothing more, and your service to my reign reflects this. It is because of this that I know you will be able to accept my decision on the fate of Generia. If the laws of Generia were to allow recognition of you as an heir, a crown prince, knowing that I see you as nothing less than that, then you would wear the crown after my passing, but as the charter put down by my father dictates, this cannot be so, and I fear that I am nothing if I do not support the will of Alexei, the founder of this dynasty. As I said, I know of two men capable of fulfilling the requirements necessary to be named the heir to my throne, yourself, and my Laszlo, my youngest son.”
Varus listened intently to all that was said. He felt no pang of disappointment, as he had not expected to even be recognized as having the slightest potential for becoming emperor. His life was dedication to Antonius, and the Alexian dynasty, and he would obey without questioning the Emperor’s decision on how his nephew would better serve Generia. Antonius continued.
“I base my decision knowing that Laszlo is the last of my son’s untouched by the corruption that is rampant in my court. He has little knowledge of the power plays and the struggles of greed and lust that make up the business of the nobles and the courtiers, and thus his ideals are pure to those of Generia. He has shown me that his loyalty and faith in me and the decisions of his grandfather do not waver, and when he inherits the crown and the sword of the Emperor, his guidance shall be true. But he is young, and his inexperience is both a blessing and a curse. He has yet to finish his military training and the diplomatic schools, and should I pass before that time, he will need guidance. So it is that I am appointing you, Varus, as his advisor after my time passes, that you may properly mentor him until the time he comes ready to take over on his own. Will you accept this as my decision, Varus?”
Varus took the Emperor’s hand, and knelt before him.
“Whatever you will, my Emperor, I shall accept without question.”
Antonius nodded.
“I feat though that it will not be so among some of my other sons. Aleksander will feel cheated. I have seen firsthand what the prospect of power can do to brothers, and I cannot allow what befell Tiberius, Alexia, and Alexius to befall my own sons and daughters. I ask you now to keep this information as closely guarded as if it were your own treasured truth, and when the time comes that it is revealed, it will be your duty to ensure peace among the brothers is maintained. You have great sway over them as they hold you in high regard. Convince them that my decision is for the best interests of the Empire.”
“I will do as you command, my lord.”
Antonius smiled warmly now as he looked down on Varus.
“Good. Then go and leave an old man to his rest.”
Varus rose and slipped out through the door.
women and horses and power and war”
-Rudyard Kipling
Part One: The Lord and his Citadel
Lord Varus Tiberius Alexei was most trusted among men, at least among the only men that mattered: those with the ear of the Emperor. He was by birth the Emperor’s nephew, being the son of Antonius’s brother, the Emperor Tiberius who perished at the hands of an honorless assassin, who in turn met his own demise at the hands of the noble and wise Antonius, a man revered for his strength of leadership, his personal charisma, and his wisdom. To be the nephew of such a man put one in a spot of some influence, and Varus was not without this knowledge. However, where some men would find themselves easily swayed and corrupted by the trust of one of the most powerful men in the east, the loyalty of the Lord Varus to his uncle was unshakeable. Antonius had taken him into his home, and into his family following the murder of his own father, and from that moment on, Antonius was as much his father as Tiberius had been, if not more so. Thus, when the Emperor’s health had begun to decline and much of the power needed to run the day to day affairs of the state had been delegated to him, Varus had performed his duty for Antonius, and not another soul, his own included.
The responsibility had been and still was a great one. This man of 28 years had only in the past two seemingly grown much older. Lines creased his brow where before it was smooth, and his thick long mane of brown hair occasionally showed a strand turned dove white. He rarely slept these days, both for lack of time and a developed habit. His mind had always been wracked with nightmares when sleep befell him, and he had learned that it was better to simply sleep as little as possible and avoid the visions of terror that befell his midnight eyes when they closed under sleep’s embrace.
Now those eyes were ringed with dark circles, seemingly permanent additions to the man’s strong features, as they stared out the window of the bright sitting chamber on the high corner of the Imperial palace in the White Citadel, gazing out over clear blue winter skies, and a range of green grass dusted with light snow. It was a land of beauty, racked by the same sleeplessness that he endured, for in her moments of peace she would always be woken by disturbance. Brutal clashes of sword and armor played before him on those fields as fireballs engulfed the banners of the warrior kings of old. Great bands of trumpet and string sounded out songs of patriotism and then songs of deep mourning, the tunes that swelled the heart and brought wet tears to the eyes, the poetry and music that captured a land though rise and fall, glory and dishonor, peace and war. This was Generia. For him, this was home.
The great oak double doors paneled with thick glass to allow light in and out swung inward to interrupt his musings and reflection, and a towering man in dark armor strode proudly in, a look of permanent triumph on his features, callous grace in his stride. His face betrayed features of both his delicate and beautiful mother, the Lady Anja, daughter of the Emperor Antonius, and of his father, the ferocious Emperor Helldawg V of Doomingsland, a monster among men and a force of humanity to be reckoned with. His physique was pure Doomingslandian, raw power and toned muscle covered by battle armor to be worn at all times, a glinting gladius hanging at his waist. This man was through his birth a Generian prince as well as the heir to Helldawg’s fiery throne. Needless to say, many Generian courtiers were unnerved by him, both due to his fearsome appearance and his close proximity to the Generian throne, however, unlike some of his counterparts, Varus held both a concealed admiration and open liking for his half-Generian second cousin (once removed) Maximus.
Not feeling the urge to stand and greet this proud warrior prince formally, Varus simply smiled and beckoned that he have a seat by the large open viewing window. He had, after all, asked him here, and Maximus might as well make himself comfortable. Maximus, when not at Helldawg’s court or leading warriors on some distant battlefield, was often at the White Citadel, mingling with the rest of his mother’s family, and more often than not reveling in his ability to unnerve the other courtiers and Generian nobles, either of which, Varus, as he would often confide to him, did not particularly care for.
The gruff Doomingslander swaggered over, and took an uncomfortable perch on the end of a leather chair, his sword and armor preventing him rather obviously from taking a more relaxed position, though he did his best to hide the fact. He fixed his usual stare on Varus, his face not smiling, not scowling. Varus was used to it by now, and was not unnerved. Set on the table in front of him was a small tray, a decanter filled with blood red southern Generian wine standing in the center. Varus leaned forward and casually poured a glass, speaking as he did so:
“How have you fared, Maximus? I haven’t seen you about court in months.”
He offered the glass of wine, and Maximus took it, Varus pouring a second glass for himself. The Doomingslander replied, his voice rough and deep, betraying and reinforcing the power of the man’s spirit.
“Training. I was alone in the desert, hunting beasts and surviving for three months on nothing but mud rain and the gum in the bottom of dry wells.”
For all the man’s external rawness, he sipped the wine with class, momentarily betraying his nobility. He looked up from the glass and turned his eyes once again on Varus.
“Wine before noon, cousin? You seem to be picking up Antonius’s bad habits.”
With this the man’s iron face broke into a broad, toothy grin, a rare sight only known to the prince’s most trusted friends, of which there were very few. He always referred to Varus as cousin, despite the fact that their blood ties were more distant, but Varus was more than content to allow it, and now he too smiled slightly.
“I hear it’s good for the heart.”
Maximus waved his hand in a wide dismissive gesture.
“Bah! You don’t need an excuse to drink wine! I jest at your expense. Besides, vodka is Antonius’s drink.”
He drained the glass and helped himself to another. Varus leaned back against the comfortable leather, and let his gaze trail out the large window to the world outside.
“It seems God has granted you his insight and his strength, my friend. You touch on the right subjects without my having to bring them up.”
Maximus nodded knowingly, his expression now one of complete seriousness.
“So that is what we are here to discuss.”
“I fear so. You know as I do my uncle is not well.”
“Aye. His fondness for the bottle seems to be taking a toll on his health.”
“It causes me great grief to see the man in this state. He has been absent from both his throne and his desk for months.”
“It’s a sad thing when you know it’s the same man who beat Alexius’s traitors at the River Slobozia, avenged his brother’s death, and drove that foolish usurper out of his capital who’s now been made a slave to the liquor.”
“Maximus, you have always been loyal to him, and this has taught me to be loyal to you, and I have gained a great friend from it, but I must tell you something now that you and I both will not want to hear said once or ever again, but which if I did not tell you would be a great dishonor to you and to my uncle. The Emperor’s health is waning fast, and I fear and believe, as much as it pains me, that he is not long for this world. I have spoken with his doctors. His heart has been weak for upwards of two years now, though it has only caught up to him in the past month. Upon hearing this, he has given the bottle away freely, though I fear he knows that it is too late. Apart from my uncle, his doctors, and myself, on account of his taking me into his confidence, you are the only other living soul who knows the extent of Antonius’s illness. I trust you as my brother to hold this secret as close to your breast one of your own deepest trusts, until it’s revelation has come from the mouth of the Emperor.”
Maximus listened solemnly to this, his eyes fixed on Varus’s. Now he spoke quietly.
“And if he passes before he lets it be known?”
Varus was silent for a few moments.
“Then we must keep it forever, for it would be a dishonor to the deceased to have it revealed by his closest servants.”
Maximus nodded.
“Maximus, when Antonius took me into his confidence, he revealed that he had decided on the heir to his throne.”
“Did he name him?”
“He said no more than what I have just spoken to you, but now I must ask you to do something.”
Maximus’s gaze told Varus he was listening. Varus stared straight into his eyes as he spoke.
“I have felt the devastation of the Alexian Wars in my own house. My father was one of many victims. I have since felt many things, and made many vows, but only recently have made it my promise to both heaven and my people that I will not let such a conflict brew in this house ever again. I know the great scars civil war leaves on nation and man, and I could not bear to see another such war splinter this land. Now you must promise me, no matter who Antonius chooses his heir, that you will obey his will as your last service to his memory, for the protection of our land, our people, and our families. Will you swear this to me under God?”
Maximus was silent as he watched Varus’s gaze, the piercing light in his blue eyes something he had long suspected present, but never seen. Now he leaned forward, not breaking his gaze, and spoke thus:
“I swear it under God, in the name of my father, and on the will of my people, all of their houses, that I will not break the will of Antonius, my uncle, my Emperor. I swear it to you with everything there is left in my heart, and should I break this oath, may the devil himself snap up my soul and torch it before my eyes, that I may see the horror of my perjury. Varus, you have my word.”
Varus nodded solemnly.
“I know, my cousin. I know.”
---------------
Prince Aleksander was a lanky fellow, tall but with thin limbs, pale to the point of appearing sickly, the usual tan complexion of the Alexians replaced in him with something almost green. He now sat idly in a large stuffed chair in the spacious viewing room of his palace in the White Citadel, a structure slightly smaller than the Imperial palace, but still a luxurious expanse. He had ordered the structure constructed a few years ago, bulldozing a palace reserved for the guests of the emperor, and paying for the construction with funds taken directly from the Imperial treasury. He had received no objection, being the eldest son of the Emperor and the assumed crown prince, but whisperings about the man’s extravagance had circulated in greater force ever since.
His ill fitting robes draped over his skinny figure and flowed over the sides of the chair as he puffed lazily on a thin cigar. In his twenty-four years of existence, he had accomplished little. He had managed to weasel his way out of the military training expected of the sons of the Emperor, deciding on diplomatic and financial training instead. However, much of this had been a charade, Aleksander bribing his tutors into informing his father that his progress was far superior to what it was. His first diplomatic test had come a year ago, when he accompanied his father’s nephew, Lord Varus, as an emissary to the Khalifah al Muslimeen. In the process he had managed to insult nearly every member of the Ottoman court.
Sitting there now, none of this seemed to enter into his mind as he wondered what was taking his chef so long in preparing the rack of lamb he had demanded twenty minutes ago. However, his train of thought would be interrupted as a faint knocking came on the chamber door.
“What is it now!”
The doors slowly cracked open, and the face of a young woman appeared.
“Aleksander? Am I disturbing you?”
Recognizing his sister, he beckoned for her to come in, not bothering to leave his seat. The third of Antonius’s daughters, Alexia was often professed to be the most beautiful. A shy girl of seventeen, she was one of few of Aleksander’s siblings that still made attempts to engage him in conversation.
Now she walked cross the room, her dress flowing behind her, dark hair hanging over her shoulders. Aleksander bade her to sit, and she took a seat on a sofa across from him. Aleksander watched her, a look of slight impatience in his eyes. The girl looked around, seeming slightly nervous.
“Well?”
“Aleksander,” she began. “Our father has been bedridden for weeks. I thought that-“
“Your point?”
“I thought that you would do well to see him.”
Aleksander waved his hand dismissively, cradling the cigar between his spindly fingers.
“If he wants to speak with me, he will send for me.”
“He is very ill, brother. I am certain he longs to see your face.”
“He had 23 years to see my face. He never made much use of the time. It seems he preferred the bottle to the well being of his eldest son,” Aleksander said mockingly.
Alexia looked shocked at this.
“Father was always good to you! You had more than ample opportunities to prove yourself to him.”
“Prove myself? I didn’t need to prove anything to him. If he could not see the greatness in me, then it was his own fault.”
“But he did see great things in you. You know you made him proud.”
“Lies. He always had little taste for me. Delegating his authority to Varus, the stuffy bastard. But it matters not. He will name me his heir shortly and will begin his slide into obscurity, along with Varus and his brutish friend.”
“How do you talk that way? Varus is a good man. He cares for our father like he was his own. He has his trust.”
“I should have his trust!”
The outburst was unexpected, and Alexia started back in her seat. Her face hardened.
“There is nothing in you but greed, Aleksander. If our father does not find you suitable as his heir, I will have no sympathy for you.”
She stood and walked briskly out of the room. Aleksander sat back and puffed on his cigar, brooding. A waiter entered carrying a large silver tray with the rack of lamb on it. Aleksander shouted at him to set it down and leave.
“Can’t you see I’m busy? You fool!”
The frightened waiter placed the tray down and scurried off.
------------------
Varus entered the dark room, a single beam of light extending over the floor and onto the bed before him, illuminating a face. Antonius had aged greatly in the past year. His great black locks were full of silver, and his cheeks were empty and sunken. His eyes had grown pale, as if their dark fire had seeped into the rings below them. Those eyes were covered by heavy eyelids now as Varus stepped into the room, gently shutting the door behind him. Varus was startled by a strong voice coming from behind him.
“Welcome, my son. Forgive me, I was not expecting company so early in the day.”
Varus turned around to see that his uncle propped up against the headboard, watching him. Varus walked over to the side of the bed. Antonius looked over at the heavy curtains covering his windows, and frowned.
“Varus, if you would open those, I would be eternally grateful. It’s ridiculously stuffy in here.”
Varus walked over and drew the curtains, letting the late morning sun stream in, Illuminating the luxurious bedchamber. Varus walked back over to the bed and sat down.
“How have you been faring lately, uncle?”
Antonius’s voice boomed from deep in his chest.
“Bah! I’m barely fifty-three and they treat me like an old man.”
He sat up further, and kicked away the bed clothes, oppressive in the warm air. Despite his apparent ill health, the Emperor was still an imposing figure, the scars from the battles of his youth still clearly visible on his bare arms and chest. His black beard covered a square chin and strong jaw, teeth yellowed from tobacco and liquor, but still perfectly set.
Antonius reached over for a small cup that sat on the table beside him, tea from the look of the contents.
“They have me drinking this sludge twenty-four seven. This stuff and sleep is all the damned doctors prescribe these days.”
They were silent for a few moments while Antonius finished the contents of the cup and set it down. He fixed a look on Varus, who had trained his own gaze on the floor.
“So, Varus, what are you doing here so early, keeping this old, sick man from his rest?”
Antonius smirked as Varus looked up. Varus regarded him contemplatively for several seconds before he spoke.
“Your doctors have informed me that there are procedures they can do to alleviate some of the problems with your circulatory system. They also tell me you will hear nothing of it.”
The Emperor smiled knowingly now, recognizing the reason for Varus’s visit.
“I’m not going to let them come near me if their intention is to cut me up. Listen to me Varus, I know it sounds good from the way they tell it, but surgery to extend a man’s life is a foul, foul thing. I hear them tell me what they want to do to me, and then I can’t help but think of my soldiers lying on battlefields in Buchiana those years ago, crying out for someone to put their legs back on or shove their guts back in. How can I let them do a procedure to give me ten more years so I can die warm in bed with my family around me when there are people who bleed to death from bullet wounds, fighting for Generia.”
He looked up thoughtfully for a moment.
“You know, sometimes I wish I was back with them, fighting. It’s easier to be the man firing the gun then it is to be the one signing the papers to send the gunmen to battle.”
He fixed his gaze back on Varus.
“I won’t bore you with my rhetoric. The truth is, Varus, when a man’s clock is about ready to be punched, it’s better he just adjust to the fact than look for a way out. Sooner or later we all die. I’ve had a good life, I’ve done many things for my family, and for Generia, if the history books will have it that way. I’ve seen enough to say I’m full, but not too much to make my head too heavy to rest on. I’ve led good men, served beside good kings, and fought in good battles. I’ve drunk enough wine to drown a drunk, I’ve had enough women to satisfy the lustiest of men, and finally found one to have my family with. I won’t say I’m clocking out just yet, just that when my time comes, I can say I’ve experienced life as it was meant.”
Varus watched Antonius’s eyes, and thought that he could detect a trace of the old fire still present. The Emperor was right. His time may be coming, but had not arrived yet. The man had some fight left in him. Again, silence reigned for a long time, both men lost in their own thoughts. At last, Antonius spoke again, this time his voice quieter, serious, but still strong.
“Varus, I told you last time we met that I had decided what would become of my kingdom after I passed, who would lead Generia. I did not reveal a name so that you would have time to prepare yourself. I believe now that you will be ready to hear of my decision.”
Varus was silent, listening.
“Aleksander, my eldest son, will not take my place.”
The words fell heavily over the room.
“I have given this much thought, and grieved at my own conclusions, but you know as I that he is not a king. He will be provided for, as is my will, but I cannot let him take the reigns of our Empire. His motivations are not towards his people, but rather sating his own lusts, and I fear his guidance would work to unravel that which I and my father before me have worked to create. Disaster would be the rule of the day if he wore the crown. I reiterate my pain in this decision, as, though he has flaws, he remains my son and I cannot help but attribute some of his flaws to my own influence. However, it remains my wish that the one who follows in my path be a better man than I.”
If Varus was surprised to hear this, his face did not show it, solemn, watching his uncle. Antonius turned his eyes down, brooding.
“I know of only two men who could fulfill that requirement.”
He looked up now, fixing his eyes and a softened expression on Varus.
“I have long thought of you as my son, Varus. Your father’s murder struck me as deeply as I know it struck you. Tiberius was a great man, a great king, however brief his rule. He loved this land, and he died protecting it. Though it was not the warrior’s death I know he always pictured, he looked his killer in the eyes as the blood seeped from his wound. When I struck the assassin down, I felt as though it was him wielding the sword, his spirit in me. I knew then that it was his vengeance, not mine, enacted that day. Even now, when I sit at the head of this great land, this noble union our ancestors forged with iron and blood those thousand years ago, I feel the presence of Tiberius, his will guiding my own.”
Antonius’s eyes flashed as he spoke, and Varus could almost see the moment when he assumed the crown on the same floor where his father had fallen. He had been there, watching as it happened, but too young to remember the details.
“My nephew, you have proven to be one of a very rare breed, those with a truly selfless nature. Your dedication is to your country and your cause, nothing more, and your service to my reign reflects this. It is because of this that I know you will be able to accept my decision on the fate of Generia. If the laws of Generia were to allow recognition of you as an heir, a crown prince, knowing that I see you as nothing less than that, then you would wear the crown after my passing, but as the charter put down by my father dictates, this cannot be so, and I fear that I am nothing if I do not support the will of Alexei, the founder of this dynasty. As I said, I know of two men capable of fulfilling the requirements necessary to be named the heir to my throne, yourself, and my Laszlo, my youngest son.”
Varus listened intently to all that was said. He felt no pang of disappointment, as he had not expected to even be recognized as having the slightest potential for becoming emperor. His life was dedication to Antonius, and the Alexian dynasty, and he would obey without questioning the Emperor’s decision on how his nephew would better serve Generia. Antonius continued.
“I base my decision knowing that Laszlo is the last of my son’s untouched by the corruption that is rampant in my court. He has little knowledge of the power plays and the struggles of greed and lust that make up the business of the nobles and the courtiers, and thus his ideals are pure to those of Generia. He has shown me that his loyalty and faith in me and the decisions of his grandfather do not waver, and when he inherits the crown and the sword of the Emperor, his guidance shall be true. But he is young, and his inexperience is both a blessing and a curse. He has yet to finish his military training and the diplomatic schools, and should I pass before that time, he will need guidance. So it is that I am appointing you, Varus, as his advisor after my time passes, that you may properly mentor him until the time he comes ready to take over on his own. Will you accept this as my decision, Varus?”
Varus took the Emperor’s hand, and knelt before him.
“Whatever you will, my Emperor, I shall accept without question.”
Antonius nodded.
“I feat though that it will not be so among some of my other sons. Aleksander will feel cheated. I have seen firsthand what the prospect of power can do to brothers, and I cannot allow what befell Tiberius, Alexia, and Alexius to befall my own sons and daughters. I ask you now to keep this information as closely guarded as if it were your own treasured truth, and when the time comes that it is revealed, it will be your duty to ensure peace among the brothers is maintained. You have great sway over them as they hold you in high regard. Convince them that my decision is for the best interests of the Empire.”
“I will do as you command, my lord.”
Antonius smiled warmly now as he looked down on Varus.
“Good. Then go and leave an old man to his rest.”
Varus rose and slipped out through the door.