Chapter 618: For Bread, Honey, And Hot Soup
"Citizens of Rome! I, Antonius De Ricci, the rightful Caesar of the Imperium Romanum, have returned to this eternal city! I bring you peace, protection, and prosperity!"
"Soldiers! Defenders of Rome! If there be any among you who wish to kill their Caesar, here I am!"
The battlefield, a chaotic vortex of clashing swords and shouted commands only moments before, suddenly fell into an eerie silence. A hushed stillness settled over the embattled city of Constantinople, as if time itself held its breath. Every eye was transfixed on the imposing force that had just arrived—the knights led by the unmistakable figure of the Caesar, Antonius De Ricci. Known by an array of titles, including stratēgos of multiple provinces and mégas droungarios, he was the most eminent Roman noble, the beacon of authority following the death of the two regents.
In a moment stretched long by tension, the first archer atop the walls lowered his bow. He had received no command, yet the weight of his action tugged at the attention of his comrades. With this single act of insubordination—or perhaps it was fidelity to a greater cause—bows and crossbows were gradually lowered, one after another. No one was willing to take aim at their Caesar, the very embodiment of their ancient empire’s glory.
Then, like the first drop of rain before a deluge, one soldier’s voice pierced the silence, his arms thrown wide as if to embrace the heavens. "Long live the Caesar! Long live the Imperium Romanum!"
The cry ignited a wildfire of voices. "Long live the Caesar! Long live Antonius De Ricci! Long live the Roman Empire!" The chorus reverberated, swelling into a thunderous anthem that echoed through the very bones of the city, shaking its ancient foundations.
Inside the command post, Fabrizio and Germanicus heard the resounding cries that signalled their undoing. Their faces blanched, and with a mixture of disbelief and dread, they rushed out of their tent for a clearer view. But all they saw was a battlefield now frozen in time and the soldiers on the walls—either joining in the jubilant cheers or standing as if hollowed out, their souls lost in the winds of change.
Victory, once so tantalizingly close for the two commanders, had in an instant receded into the realm of the unattainable. It was as if fate itself had intervened, turning the tides of war and rewriting the pages of history right before their eyes.
"No! It is not over yet!" Germanicus argued, biting his lips hard, with his pupils popping out of the sockets filled with capillaries. "Fabrizio! You hear me! Order our men to launch one final assault! Take control of the Golden Gate! I do not care about the cost; I want the Golden Gate! Right here and now!"
However, Fabrizio seemed lost in his own world, his hands trembling and his face a ghastly white. He murmured in disbelief, "How? Why? How is this even possible?" Clearly rattled by the dramatic turn of events, he stood immobilized.
Germanicus could stand it no longer. Stepping forward, he delivered two sharp slaps to Fabrizio’s face. "Snap out of it, Fabrizio! Do you hear me? Go! Open the gate now!"
Fabrizio remained frozen there, as if he has not heard the words of the senator.
Fury boiling over, Germanicus reached for Fabrizio’s blade, which hung at his waist. He intended to draw it and raise it high and directly command the troopers himself, but with an acute instinct as a warrior, Fabrizio suddenly sprang to life, twisting Germanicus’s hand, reclaiming his sword, and shoving the rotund senator to the ground. Mud splattered across Germanicus’s once-pristine face.
"You insolent fool," Germanicus spat, wiping grime from his mouth. But Fabrizio seemed unfazed. He sighed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Lord Germanicus, flee, run away, run to somewhere far away, probably overseas, flee wherever you can. The Caesar is here. Our fight is futile. He will enter the city within minutes, fuelled by his thirst of revenge for the death of Giovanni Giustinianni. If you leave now, you might still save your own skin.
"Germanicus is appalled, as he sat on the muds, allowing dirts to get onto his elegant robe.
His eyes followed Fabrizio as the general turned and walked away, his soul seemingly drained from him.
He walked back to his post in a residential building, the entire command post is already in a mess, with some commanders arguing that they ought to flee from this scence, hide their troops among the residential areas and engage in an urban warfare with Antonius’ infantries, while some suggested that they should run away with their wealth.
No one here had the sense to go out and check the composition of troops of Antonius, none of them realised that the opponent they feared so much only had infantries, including Fabrizio.
Guilt had haunted Fabrizio since the day he had been instrumental in the demise of Giovanni. Night after night, his sleep was tormented by visions of retribution catching up with him. Now, that fateful moment seemed to have arrived. If these commanders still had a chance at survival, Fabrizio knew he had none. Antonius would hunt him down relentlessly, whether he fled to Ireland or to the far reaches of Khitan. For Fabrizio, there was no escape from the reckoning that had finally come.
The city gate swung open, unveiling the power lurking behind it—a formidable cavalry of five hundred strong, fresh and ready for battle. Their banners filled the sky like a flock of predatory birds, and they wore the finest armour the empire could forge. Lances held high and swords unsheathed, their horses pawed at the ground, eager to charge.
To the side, an additional hundred infantrymen stood armed with crossbows and peculiar cylindrical weapons. None on Fabrizio’s side could identify these mysterious objects, but instinct told them that they were no trifles.
"No time to argue!" Fabrizio concluded the boring quarrels between commanders of different ranks. "Gather our men! Form a defensive formation! We must reduce the charging distance of those heavy cavalries!"
The commanders, as professional soldiers, too understood the situation and the harm that a full fledged five hundred heavy cavalries can do to them galloping down the broad road hunting them done. Thus, they too sprung into actions, gathering all the men they can find for now, and getting them into positions by cursing, kicking and whipping. The entire army plunged into a chaotic state as commanders try to find their lower parts in the command chain, while the cavalries on the opposite side have already elegantly gathered up, ready to strike.
Fabrizio went back to his command post, Germanicus is no where to be seen, obviously, probably already ran away.
Returning to his command post, Fabrizio noticed Germanicus was missing—likely having fled. He peered into the distance, his gaze settling on the figure of the Caesar, resplendent in a golden laurel crown. Standing beside him was Maximus, the enemy they’d clashed with for two long days. But they appeared to be waiting for something. The Caesar had yet to give the signal for his troops to charge. It was as if they were waiting for their opponents, poised for some grand revelation or dramatic twist.
A chill ran down Fabrizio’s spine. What were they waiting for? And could his makeshift defence withstand the storm that was surely about to break?
...
"Have you cleaned rats before, Maximus?"
"No, your Majesty."
"I have, when I was young." Antonius said, looking at the enemies attempting to form up their line of defence a distance with mercy in his eyes. "It would take way too much time and effort to hunt them down one by one, but it would be so much more efficient if you make them gather up, chase them into a room, probably filled with haystacks, and burn the room down killing them off all at one go."
"I see what you mean, your Majesty."
"..."
"Ah, it seems they are finally prepared, Your Majesty," Maximus noted, squinting at Fabrizio’s hasty formations.
"I see it," Antonius affirmed, lifting his gleaming blade toward the sky. "My sons, my brothers! The hour has come to cleanse this city of the corruption that has plagued it for decades! I will march beside you, and together we will bring light back to our empire! I know you’re weary from our long journey, and our horse companion are too. But I promise you, after this battle, a better future awaits us—a future with wholesome bread, sweet honey, hot soup, and restful sleep!"
His troops responded, brandishing their weapons high. "For bread! For honey! For hot soup! For rest!"
With a decisive motion, Antonius pointed his blade forward. "Execute the plan!"
From his vantage point, Fabrizio, who had been anxiously scrutinising the Caesar’s every move, felt a surge of dread. "Brace yourselves! Enemy cavalry is coming!"
But what emerged first from the opposing lines weren’t the thundering hooves of a cavalry charge. Instead, those mysterious soldiers holding cylindrical rods stepped forward. What were they doing? And what were those strange weapons they carried?
A sense of unease spread through Fabrizio’s ranks. They had prepared for a cavalry onslaught, but this new development added an unknown factor, fuelling their apprehensions.
