Interregnum

walking into disaster.”

He turned to Balo. “What terms do you offer?”

“No!” Velutio turned and pushed hard, hurling Sabian from his horse and glaring at Tythias. “There will be no terms. I still have the better army and without Caerdin, your own army is nothing but a collection of badly-trained rebels. There will be war here today and I will walk in your blood, all of you. Get back to your lines, ‘general’ Tythias and prepare your men. I will see you in the battle.” Sabian growled and began to rant at his lord, explaining the myriad reasons for withdrawing against a torrent of abuse.

Balo smiled at the argument and leaned close to Darius, motioning the young Emperor to raise his silver mask. As he did so, Balo whispered to him. “Now’s your time.”

“What?” replied Darius.

“Can’t you see? The enemy commanders are arguing. Many of their lords are missing. The Pelasians and the absent lords’ troops won’t be prepared to fight and the rest of the army’s dithering, unsure of what to do. You’ll never get another chance like it.”

“So what do I do? Caerdin never explained his plan.”

“He didn’t need to. He’s cleared the way for you. This army’s in tatters and if you’re strong and you take control, they’ll take the oath; maybe not all of them, but enough to shatter the rest of his army and make them yours. Kiva set everything up for this one moment, but you need to be strong!”

Darius blinked. Caerdin had done so much with only Balo and Cialo’s men? He realised that the world was holding its breath and he was being regarded by more than just the half-dozen men here. A quarter of a mile behind them, the ringing of swords being hammered against shield-edges continued, somewhat muted by the distance. A few hundred yards ahead, Velutio’s army stood in lines, some looking fierce, but many confused or worried, watching their commanders in heated debate. The young Emperor smiled. It could all end here and without a blow, but he had to be every bit the Emperor his men expected of him.

He sat as straight as he could in the saddle and faced the enemy lines.

“This is the Empire! The Empire has always been strong and unified until the lords carved it up. Now, there will be no more lords!” he bellowed at them. “One army, one Emperor and elected governors of the people. You no longer have to owe allegiance to the men you did yesterday! You are either slaves to your lords or free men of the Empire and if you are free, I expect the Oath of allegiance from you.”

A voice from somewhere in the line called out in a nervous voice “Who’ll pay us, though. What’ll we do? I’m a sergeant now but I can’t afford to be a free man!”

Darius smiled. Here all the lessons in political history and rhetoric Sarios had put him through on the island would be of prime use. It was no good being a great rhetorical speaker if you had nothing of substance to say. ‘Always have a point; always have an answer’ his rhetoric tutor had drummed into him. And from the histories: ‘always think of the future before you act for the day.’

“The regional armies must be disbanded,” he announced, “but the Imperial army has already been recommissioned. They stand a quarter of a mile up the valley hoping they won’t have to fight their countrymen. A civil war does good to no one but the barbarians. You will be able to join the Imperial army for regular work and good pay or to retire in peace with a generous settlement to be agreed by your provincial governor. All you have to do is take the oath! Any man who declares himself for me now will be considered a loyal citizen of the Empire and a valued ally. Any man who stands against me stands against the Empire and will be deemed a traitor.”

Some time during this exchange, the enemy commanders had stopped arguing and were paying attention to the young Emperor. Sabian watched Darius high on his horse with something of mixed respect and pride. He turned and glared up at his lord. “It’s over, Velutio. Your men won’t fight for you anymore. I won’t fight for you anymore. There’s a new Emperor and it’s not you. See how your army begins to kneel to your enemy?”

Ignoring the pure malice of the old lord’s gaze, he strode round to where Darius sat on his horse. Turning to face his army, the commander removed his helmet and stood straight as a spear shaft.

“On your knees!” he bellowed with a force that made Darius start and look down at the man beside him. “On your knees for your Emperor!” Darius stared at Sabian, a flood of strangely conflicting emotions running through him.

The commander turned back to the young man and bowed his head. “I should have seen it months ago, highness; in fact I did in truth. Had I not been bound by oath, I should have come to you then.”

Turning once more to Velutio, he smiled. “I hereby resign my commission in the armies of Avitus, formerly lord of Velutio, and make my peace with my Emperor. Long may he reign.”

With a sad note in his voice, he looked back up at Darius and spoke again quietly. “Highness, I beg for nothing. I’ve led armies against you and committed treason to the throne. I submit myself for your sentencing, be it death or exile.”

“I also,” called Lord Dio, stepping out from the front lines of the army. “I wasn’t sure whether I would fight today or not. Sabian told me a lot about you, young Emperor, but I wasn’t sure how accurate he was. Seeing you now I think that, on reflection, he may have been spot on. I have been your enemy, but no more.” He plunged his sword point down into the turf and bowed his head to the young man.

Around them, men continued to sink to their knees in small groups, gradually building into a wave. Velutio was staring, wild-eyed, at the men around him. Everything in this last minute was falling apart. Here, where Caerdin had beaten him twenty years ago, the man had done it again without even being here, and this time without a blow being struck. Still, while his army was led by a collection of lords and had fallen apart without them, Darius’ army was reliant on their one symbol. He leaned in his saddle and called over to his flag bearers.

“Kill the boy!”

The small unit carried standards and flags, yet were curiously well armed and armoured for ceremonial soldiers. Clearly drawn from another unit, the tips of bows were visible beneath their cloaks and they had not kneeled to the young horseman. The flags and eagles they bore were hurled to the floor as they lifted short bows from under their crimson cloaks and drew arrows from hidden quivers.

Sabian ran back past his former lord to the unit and, with a great heave, pushed the first man in the line to the floor.

“Belay that order!” he bellowed, drawing his sword. “No one fires a shot or I gut them!”

Behind him, Velutio glared with hatred down at his commander and then back at the archers. “I am still your lord. You will kill that boy now!”

Sabian turned and, with his spare hand, grasped Velutio’s shin and pushed upwards, tipping the old lord gracelessly from his horse. He stared down at the old, grey-haired lord floundering around on the floor in a fury and growled.

“I have had enough of your bitter, petty, pointless commands. You’re not their lord any more. Look around you, Avitus ! Your army kneels to their new Emperor, ready to take the oath. No more lords, he said. You don’t exist any more. You’re not Lord Velutio; you’re not even Marshal Avitus. You’re just plain old Avitus, lord of nowhere and commander of no one, just like I’m plain old Sabianus, not a man of power or land. You deserve to be nothing now. I’ve known for a long time that you were treacherous and wicked, but you would bring assassins to a parlay under the guise of heralds ? If I were still their commander I’d have every man in that unit executed for dishonouring the standards. They threw your flags to the ground as though they were worth nothing and you don’t even care. You’ve less honour than a weasel.”

Velutio struggled to his feet, keenly aware of the fact that nine tenths of his army knelt to his enemy and the few who remained standing looked decidedly unsure. Sabian glared at them and flung his helmet at the archers standing among a pile of discarded flags and standards.

“Kneel you bastards! Kneel to your Emperor!”

Sabian was aware of the danger only at the last moment as Avitus fell on him, wielding a small knife that had hitherto been secreted in his belt. Before he could turn to face the old man, he felt the blade plunging down between his scarf and breastplate and deep, vertically into the point between his neck and shoulder. With a growl, he reached up and grasped Avitus’ left wrist where it held the knife, turning it until the knife slipped back out, sawing through muscle and bone as it exited; until he heard the bones in the old man’s wrist cracking and splintering.

He winced at the pain in his severed muscle and, clutching his neck, Sabian turned, his sword still in his