Chapter 653: East’s Sun Wanes, To West’s Moon Bows
The aftermath of the high-speed chase lay sprawled across the road in a grim tableau. The three loyal guards of Alexios, steadfast in their duty to the very end, had met a violent demise. The scene was one of chaos and destruction, with the wreckage of the carriages strewn haphazardly, a stark reminder of the brutal pursuit.
Yet, the riders, their faces etched with a mix of suspicion and determination, were not easily convinced of the guards’ fate. They dismounted with haste, their movements swift and methodical. They turned over the bodies, examining each face closely, searching for any sign of deceit. Unsatisfied, their blades glinted in the sun as they made sure of their deaths, plunging into the still forms with a cold finality.
Once convinced, they mounted their steeds and set off in the opposite direction, their minds set on catching their elusive quarry, unaware of the futility of their pursuit.
But of course, that is already impossible, not long after, a caravan of merchants from Thessaloniki happened upon the scene. Their eyes widened in horror at the sight of the wreckage. The air was heavy with the scent of tragedy, a silent testament to the violence that had transpired.
...
"Should we initiate a province-wide search, my lord?" inquired the nephew, a note of urgency in his voice. He stood in his suit of armour, his posture rigid with the weight of responsibility.
Elassona, with a weary glance, retorted, "Province-wide? You silly donkey. Do you understand the implications? I am striving to keep this matter discreet, and here you are, suggesting we fan the flames?"
"My lord." The niece, already in his suit of armour, stood upright facing his uncle. "There are no time to delay. We have no luxury of time. Thessaly is not Epirus, for it is full of plains; these men could evade our grasp in mere days. You must see the urgency."
"So?" Elassona raised his eyebrow. "And your point?"
The niece, his resolve unwavering, elaborated, "If they manage to flee Thessaly in two days, reach Athenia, and then send word to Constantinople, it would only be a matter of weeks before the emperor responds and send his troops here for us. The clock is ticking, my lord. Our fate is fast approaching! It is a war against time!"
Elassona, his mind a tempest of thoughts, took a deep breath. The report from his watchmen about the lord treasurer’s curious encounter with a beggar – one eerily resembling the tortured veteran framed as a scapegoat – gnawed at him incessantly. He had been brooding ever since, regretting not having dealt a decisive blow then and there solving the problem all at once. The irony was not lost on him; he was the architect of the veteran’s downfall, stripping away his dignity and reducing him to a crippled shadow of his former self, all to quell the whispers of dissent. The governor’s teeth gritted at the memory, the taste of his own machinations bitter in his mouth.
Breaking the tense silence, his nephew stepped forward, a determined glint in his eye. "We have another option, my lord," he said, his voice steady. His suggestion was met with a palpable shift in the room. The men in armour, with their ranks beneath Elassona, rose as one, a silent show of solidarity. The representatives from Constantinople and Thessaloniki exchanged anxious glances, a clear sign of their growing apprehension.
"We can choose a path less fraught, yet clear, my lord," the nephew spoke, his eyes ablaze with unbridled ambition and greed for the future. "Why heed the words of a foreigner in Genoese guise? We ought to be the true owners of this land! Remember the prophecy, uncle, echoing through the streets in a rhythmic whisper:
’East’s sun wanes, to West’s moon bows,
Darkness reigns, as light allows.
Fields barren lie, horses stumble,
Babes in cradle cry, and rumble.
Yet, when East’s champion stands to rise,
Sun reclaims its throne in skies.
Balance restored, light rekindled,
Lost glory aboard, darkness dwindled.’
This prophecy, my lord, it resonates with the people. It’s our call to act, to take away the leashes on the necks of our people, and restore what is truly called, a Rome for the Romans!"
Elassona’s mouth fell open in disbelief, the weight of his nephew’s words hitting him like a wave.
At that moment, another figure, a high-ranking officer from the governor’s private military, spoke up. "There’s more, my lord. We have intelligence that the Venetians have discreetly amassed a force of five hundred men at the ports of Thessaly. Should we choose to rebel against the tyrant, they are prepared to join forces with us. Their Adriatic League could reinforce our ranks in less than two weeks."
Elassona, seated amidst his men, felt the weight of their gazes, each pair of eyes a mirror reflecting desires unspoken. They yearned for more – wealth, power, prestige. They sought to ascend beyond their current ranks, shackled not by incompetence but by the limitations of their governor’s authority that is way beneath the emperor. The private guards, who lurked in the shadows of Elassona’s governance, were warriors in their own right, yearning for recognition and parity with their more illustrious counterparts.
These men had reached the zenith of what Elassona could legitimately offer, and they were restless. They saw themselves as warriors deserving of honour and glory, yet they remained confined within the boundaries of their current stations. This discontent festered within the ranks, a silent yet potent force.
Collapsing back into his seat, Elassona felt the metaphorical points of their blades pressing against him. Their intentions were starkly clear: either he bends to their will, embracing their insurrectionary plan, or faces the consequence of their disillusionment. They were ready to follow the ancient Roman tradition of electing one from their midst, likely his own nephew, to lead their cause if he faltered.
Elassona was cornered, trapped in a web of his own making and the ambitions of those around him. He realized the gravity of the situation – he had no escape, no alternative path to tread. His role as governor had brought him to this precipice, where the only choices left were fraught with peril and uncertainty.
...
Just as the above conversation is going on, a fleet of men arrived at the grand city of Athenia.
A fleet of men, weary from their exhaustive journey, arrived at the city’s imposing gates. The leading rider, a middle-aged man shrouded in a tattered hood, presented a figure worn by the rigors of their relentless travel.
The team behind him, a group of civil servants and clerks unaccustomed to such physical trials, appeared equally spent. Their faces, once bright and composed, were now etched with fatigue, each wrinkle narrating the hardships endured. Dressed in garments stained with the evidence of their arduous journey, they were a stark contrast to the city’s bustling normalcy. Their eyes, dulled from exhaustion, still flickered with a resolve unyielding to their weary bodies.
"We made it, gentlemen," Alexios managed to utter between heavy breaths. His voice, though weary, carried a note of hard-won triumph. "But let us not forget the dishonour and shame these traitors have forced upon us."
Nikolaos, trailing just behind, offered a faint nod in agreement. The relentless two-day ride, with scarce food and water, had pushed them to their limits. Their horses, too, bore the signs of the gruelling journey, but the safety they now felt upon reaching Athenia was a sliver of solace – they are finally safe.
"What do we do now?" inquired one of Alexios’ subordinates, his expression blank with uncertainty. They were bureaucrats, not soldiers, unversed in dealing with open rebellion and the chaotic upheaval it brought.
Alexios scanned their weary faces. "It’s only been two days," he reminded them, a strategic calm in his tone. "We still have time to act."
One eager aide proposed, "We should immediately inform His Majesty and gather our forces to confront Elassona!" But Alexios dismissed the idea with a swift hand. "No, that would take far too long. Elassona could fortify the city in a week’s time. We cannot afford such a delay."
"Then what are you gonna do?" Asked the man again, in anxiety.
"Go get some sleep." Alexios let out a weary sigh. "I’ll drop by your room tomorrow and we can start sorting this mess out."
With those final words, the group dispersed, each man retreating into the night of Athenia, their thoughts as tumultuous as the journey they had just endured. In the relative safety of the city’s embrace, they sought brief respite, knowing all too well that the morrow would bring the daunting task of unravelling the tangled web of rebellion and treachery that lay before them.
There now exist a race of time, between the two men, as Elassona now no longer need to keep his plans under the carpet as he swiftly sent orders to various troops calling them to strengthen the fortifications, distribute the weapons, and lock down the borders, while sending out men of his own to purge those who dare not obey or be reluctant about his order.
