“You haven’t really gotten out much recently, have you? Been in the streets? Because I can tell you, that attitude will get you nowhere. Especially not if you wish to inherit the throne, oh prince. That’s where I can help,” Minnicus said.
“I sincerely doubt you actually want to offer me the throne. I’d order you executed first thing. For treason to the Empire.”
Minnicus scoffed. “Oh please, what a pathetic attempt at bravado. This disastrous dynasty is at an end. Your father has forgotten where the real power lies. It does not lie in the hands of the Emperor, but in the coin chests of the bankers and the swords of the legions. I have both.”
“The legions will never betray my father.”
“Oh, son, they will. Especially when the men who are being taxed to death by your father side with us. I suppose we could just let nature take its course, what with you suffering such a glorious death in combat here in the north. Sagas and songs will be written! You might even get a tomb or province named after you. Especially after I crush the Nortlanders and annex this pathetic excuse for a nation into our empire.” Minnicus grinned savagely.
“This will lead to a new age of Rome. We shall continue to expand our borders. The Khanates will fall. The Mongols will flee in terror and Axum will retreat to their mountains. And I will go and crush this fledgling revolution over in the Caesarias. Stupid colonials getting uppity. I’ll quash their little provincial senate.” Minnicus grumbled on, his voice too low for Constantine to hear.
There was a momentary distraction as another person entered the room.
“My Lord, you sent for me?”
“Yes, yes.” Minnicus looked at Constantine. “I believe you are acquainted with Quintus Gravus.”
The man’s familiar face entered Constantine’s range of vision. He moved to stand to one side, facing both the general and his prisoner. “All is prepared,” Gravus said, looking straight at Constantine.
The general nodded excitedly. “Excellent! Gravus here has already pledged his allegiance to our cause, and I believe that Julius Caesar himself could not have designed a better plan. I wonder what would have happened, had you been more like him? I think you would have joined us. After all, the man did perform the greatest coup in history.”
Constantine bared his teeth in a grimace.
“What? Do you not like hearing about how your ancestor was a traitor to his own government? And he got that craven Brutus to go along with him. He betrayed the Republic in the name of absolute power. He crushed the Senate and ruled the plebeians ruthlessly. How am I doing anything different?” Minnicus asked.
“He took charge because he had to. Rome was foundering!” Constantine argued.
“Pah! Rome is foundering now! Your emperor does nothing about the Caesarian colonies and spends gobs of public money on technology and education. What a waste!” Minnicus exhorted.
Of course, you benefited from both, hypocrite. Constantine held his tongue, trying to egg the general on with his silence.
The general came closer, examining him like a specimen under a microscope. “Silenced already? No wonder you were shipped off to the legions. Your brother would have been far more malleable. You’re just a mostly empty shell.”
Constantine deliberately spit in Minnicus’ face. The general’s response was immediate; the backhanded slap sent him reeling to the floor, where he curled up, trying to avoid the guards’ boots as they kicked him in the stomach and back.
“Stop,” Minnicus finally ordered.
There was a rustling at the tent opening. Footsteps walked over behind Constantine, then paused.
“General, a message for you from the front,” Gravus said.
The tent was silent for a moment while Minnicus read the message. “You’re sure? That’s very interesting. Seems like our plan is going perfectly.”
The guards hauled Constantine back up on his feet. Minnicus stared at him. “Well, boy, I’m afraid your story ends here.” He glanced beyond Constantine. “Put him back in his uniform.” He grinned wickedly back at Constantine. “You’re about to die heroically, taking the walls of Midgard. Too bad that conniving assassin was able to get to you, even when you were surrounded by your own men.”
Constantine poured every ounce of hate and anger into his glare. Minnicus walked past him, then placed a hand on his shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I hate you and your father. I wish you had both died like we planned it, last year. Your brother was kind enough to croak, why couldn’t you? Then this wouldn’t be necessary at all.”
Constantine felt his jaw open in shock. He was behind that?
“Ah! I see you hadn’t figured it out yet. No bother. Soon it won’t matter. Maximus! Time to leave! Get my things, please.”
The general left the tent, taking the other officers with him. Constantine stood in a stupor for a few moments, trying to digest this new information.
Gravus poured himself a glass of brandy from a glass decanter, then sat down behind the general’s desk. “Would you like a sip? It’s about the last one you’ll ever have, I expect.”
“No, thank you.”
“As you wish. You know, if you had just accepted my offer in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened. He was against killing you in the beginning. But. . others. . got his ear. I’m afraid he no longer listens to me much,” Gravus told him. Was there an edge of sorrow in his voice?
Gravus pulled out his pocket watch. He glanced at it, then tucked it back into his jacket pocket. Gravus had chosen to deck himself in a heavy woolen overcoat, rather than the expensive furs “requisitioned” by the other members of the high command staff. Gravus stood, putting both hands in his pockets as he did.
It seemed an odd gesture to Constantine. The movement looked both awkward and unnecessary. Why is he wearing his overcoat in here at all? It’s rather pleasant in here. I suppose that’s one of the perks of being a general.
Alarm bells suddenly clanged around the castrum. Shouts and cries mingled with the clash of swords.
“What in the name of-” one of the guards blurted, before his voice abruptly cut off.
Constantine craned his head around, trying to see what was happening. He was just in time to see both men collapsing to the floor, short repeater bolts buried in their chests. He turned back to see Gravus quickly tucking two small hand repeaters back into his pockets.
“What is going on?” Constantine asked, pulling at his bonds until his hands finally came free.
“Oh no, you freed yourself and managed to get ahold of a repeater. Too bad those guards couldn’t stop you. Of course, in all the confusion caused by the Nortlander raid, I was preoccupied with defending the castrum from our enemies,” Gravus deadpanned, grinning.
“I’m an Imperial agent, Your Eminence. Now, before I blow my cover, get out of here. Go out the back flap of the tent and you’ll find someone waiting for you,” Gravus ordered.
Constantine looked at the older man. “I owe you my life. Whatever you need later, seek me out-it’s yours.”
Gravus nodded his graying head as he went forward and slipped out of the tent.
Constantine turned and raced toward the back, praying to the gods that someone friendly would be there. He was not disappointed.
“Sir!”
“Gwendyrn! By the gods, man, it’s good to see you!” Constantine cried. He was so happy to see the man that he enveloped him in a bear hug.
The Gallic legionnaire’s eyes widened in surprise. “Good to see you too, sir. Now if ya don’t mind, I’d like to be gettin’ out of here, right quick. Them guards was none too bright, but someone’s going to wonder why the Nortlanders aren’t doing more than fire burning arrows at them pretty soon.”
He was dressed in a brown tunic and darker brown trousers, with a dull iron chest piece replacing the segmented lorica of the legion. “Excellent camouflage. You look just like the guards,” Constantine commented as Gwendyrn threw a long brown cloak over him and handed him a bag full of dirty laundry.