Chapter 619: End of Fabrizio
"For bread, honey, hot soup and a brighter future!"
Soldiers in all ranks from the army of Thessaloniki cheered as they rushed into the city, coming to a direct confrontation with the guards of Fabrizio right on the main street of Constantinople.
"Your Majesty." Maximus bowed before the Caesar. "Please allow my men..."
"Take a rest, my friend." Antonius interrupted. "And besides... I want to do a test, an experiment, with those lives as a cost, and besides, you mentioned that they are nothing but a bunch of rogues and hooligans right?"
"...Yes? Your Majesty?" Maximus is confused, but soon he will get what Antonius is trying to mean.
A few field officers gave the command to march, and then the infantries holding the weird cylinder weapons in their hands began moving forward in a thin formation, with only four men in a column. The men on the first row have their cylinders pointing towards the enemies, while the other three have their weapons pointing towards the sky.
The opposition responded, launching into a charge so fierce it seemed driven by sheer desperation. A charge of death they call it, trying to struggle for the slightest chance of survival in a grim situation like this.
Maximus, eyes trained on Antonius’s troops, felt his heart race, practically pounding against his throat. How could this unit, devoid of traditional blades and shields, hope to withstand the impending onslaught? Their vulnerability seemed apparent; surely they’d crumble upon impact.
Or is it?
With precision, the rotund field commander calculated the narrowing gap between his unit and the charging foes. As the enemies neared a predetermined point, he swung his blade with gusto, signalling his command. "Fire!"
In the mere blink of an eye, Maximus was met with a rapid succession of blinding flashes. A thick plume of grey smoke soon blanketed the scene, punctuated by deafening explosions. The concussive force nearly burst Maximus’s eardrums, leaving him disoriented and bewildered. As the smoke cleared, he noticed Antonius and the Roman knights, seemingly prepared, with their ears shielded. Antonius, spotting Maximus’s evident shock, leaned in and murmured reassurances. But Maximus, ears still ringing, could hardly discern the Caesar’s comforting words.
Smoke engulfed the battlefield, obscuring the chaos from view. The sounds of men and metal, once loud and overwhelming, now blended with the agonising screams and shocked exclamations.
Maximus stumbled back, still gripping his steed, his ears ringing from the explosions. As the smoke cleared, a grim scene unravelled before him. The advancing enemy troops, once in a furious charge, now lay scattered. Some were prone on the ground, casualties of the unexpected assault, while some others were disoriented, desperately trying to regroup, the majority of the enemies stood there like scarecrows, like their souls have been drawn away by the explosion and smoke, totally unable to react.
But there is no time for them to get their souls back, for the infantries of Antonius followed exactly to the standard of procedures prepared before hand according to the tactics of crossbow, as the infantries on the second and third row began firing as well in a disorganised manner, while the first row stood there reloading. However, this time these infantries achieved a minimal effect bringing down only a handful of opponents, instead many poor folks on the front have their ears blown off by friendly fires, or have to kneel down and cover their ears, but stopped reloading, and in the end the fourth row has totally nothing to do for the whole time.
"Cerberus... never mind, Khalid!"
"Yes, your Majesty."
"Note down what you have seen and observed for this battle, file it, write a report and send it straight to Master Orban, tell him that I am not satisfied with this weapon, it cause more damage to friends than foes, deals less damage than archers, accurate lower than throwing rocks at opponents, and one must stand up to reload."
"Aye, your Majesty."
"My sons! My brothers! My fellow warriors!" Antonius’s voice rang clear as he raised his blade aloft. "The tide of this battle still rests on our shoulders, the cavalries! Ride with me, side by side, into destiny!"
With burning conviction, Antonius spurred his steed forward, leading the charge. The glint from his golden laurel crown shone like a beacon, urging his men on, guiding them into the fray. Sometimes actions speak louder than words, and watching their Caesar plunge fearlessly into the heart of battle undoubtedly steeled their resolve. Within moments, hundreds of cavalry joined him, galloping past their infantry comrades, plunging into the smoke and chaos wrought by the devastating ’hand canons’.
The opponents seems like they are still very much absorbed in the moods of shock when the cavalries came towards them, failing to perform any actions as they watched with their very own eyes as the blades came wielding towards them, taking their lives away elegantly with just a slight slash, and leaving the scene with nothing but a body without a soul.
Fabrizio’s defence crumbled under the might of this singular charge. As the dust settled, Maximus’s remaining forces, bolstered by brave local veterans, took to the streets. They apprehended those who tried to flee, their anger palpable as they meted out justice with the weight of stones.
The headquarters of the guards was a scene of disarray. The two chief commanders, Germanicus and Fabrizio, were conspicuously absent.
For Antonius’s forces, the tasks that lay ahead were straightforward: capture Fabrizio’s associates and senate members, secure the city’s gates and ports, and halt all transportation in or out. All the while, they awaited reinforcements led by Julian, Helios, and Mauro.
The city’s fate, once hanging in the balance, had once again shifted.
...
A distance away from the battlefield.
"Run! General! Run! We can still slip out of the city at this time!"
The remaining faithful guard of Fabrizio is there in the crop lands (yes inside the city) running towards the nearest port with his commander on his back, with his souls lost, and his pupils empty, just like the rest of his men just a while ago.
"Run... Run..." Fabrizio seemingly murmured both to himself and his faithful guard. "Where can I run to? Where do I truly belong? Does God, Does the world, still has a place for me?"
"What are you talking about your Highness! It is a gigantic world out there, we can always form a mercenary band and live by ransacking Antonius’ ships on the Black Sea, or we can seek a title surrendering to that Zaganos man of Anatolia!"
Fabrizio made a laugh. "So, I can now only live on the lands of infidel, as a slave, away from home and civilisation?... Put me down."
"Your Highness..."
Fabrizio stood tall with his boots in the mud within the crops, watching as the wheat field swing in the air with the breeze from the Black Sea, with the Theodosian wall still visible in sight, and the height of the hagia Sophia, everything seemed to be so calm and peaceful, same like usual, just like how it should have been.
"I knew it... I knew it... Once I walked onto a path of betrayal, I have no other options of living other than continuing to go down this path, I knew that I would eventually sink into making decision like this, into this pathetic state..."
"... It is all because of that Anton..."
"There is no one to blame apart from me, my brother, let me confess to you, it is indeed true that the senate took Sir Giovanni’s life, but it is me... It is me... who betrayed on the general, and sold him to the senate, worked with Germanicus, in return for my wealth and noble title today. It can be said that if it is not for my betrayal, there won’t be the plans by the senate, and there won’t be the death of George Sphrantzes and Giovanni Giustinianni, I am a sinner."
The guard gulped, in a state of disbelief, he had never expected his command, a man who seemed so right and just, to confess to him info like this, overloading his thoughts.
Fabrizio continued, determination setting in, "I refuse to live beneath the heel of another, and I won’t face Antonius De ’Ricci’s judgment, I, Fabrizio, shall not be judged by anyone! Only I can judge my deeds! And I sentence myself to an immediate death! But you, however, are innocent, and ignorant. Flee while you can, shed this armour throw it somewhere, hide your identities and live peacefully in the city, do not come into Constantinople again, for this city is dirty, dirty to the bones."
Drawing a dagger from his side, Fabrizio locked eyes with it for a moment, then, with swift resolve, thrust it into his throat. He crumpled; his gaze fixed on the vast sky above.
Clear as ever.
Blue as ever.
Untouched by the world’s chaos.
Tears of rage and grief filled the guard’s eyes. After a moment of hesitation, he snatched up Fabrizio’s commanding sword, closed his eye lids, recited a short script from the Bible, and fled into the distance. It wouldn’t be long before Antonius’ soldiers guided by the surrendered hounds arrived, hunting for the fallen general.
