Yarleth the Elder slammed his staff on the ground of the senate chamber, and stared in fury at this intransigent warrior, standing in his battle grime and gore, daring to lecture them with his arrogant presumptions.
“These men raised arms against their kin. They have no honour. This esteemed body has never acquiesced to demands in the field.”
“Tell me, Master Yarleth,” Grimbauld began calmly. “How many campaigns have you seen?”
The old man blustered and huffed. “That matters not. They are our enemy.”
Stretching his aching back from days in the saddle, the general sighed. He should have known better, but had to keep trying.
“Enemies? Are they not our countrymen? Are they not our brothers? Do they not bleed like we do? They stood by our side when the barbarians invaded our lands and how do we reward them? Not by giving them the protection and grace of our capital city, but by casting them back to their barren hills to scratch out a living whilst we grow fat and prosper on trade made possible by their labours. I brought our mightiest army against them and they fought us to a standstill. They have proved their honour. At least to me. Maybe not to you cowards.”
A cacophony of angry voices erupted around him. Grimbauld cursed. He was never very good at this. How he ended up general of the city army was still a mystery to him. The fighting part he could understand. This was all tedious nonsense.
He looked around at these flapping, clucking wastrels and a fire rose him that wanted nothing more than to ring their scrawny necks. Take what he desired by the sword and go on to rule by the sword. It was the only way to show these fools the true meaning of power.
Grimbauld drew his weapon from its scabbard, noting, as he did so, that the shouts of fury and rage began to dwindle to murmurs of consternation and disbelief. With a scream of frustration he crashed the blade against a pillar cleaving chunks of marble that flew through the air causing men to duck and cower in their seats. A fearful silence fell across the august body.
“Men who have come before me thought this was the answer,” he said, holding aloft his sword that glittered coldly in the morning light as if it was thirsty for blood once more. Yet now his rage had gone and a memory was stirring.
“However, I do not hold to that ideal. Cowards I called you, and cowards you are if you don’t take the path of the wise. I ask you esteemed men to at least find the courage, at this most important moment in our lands history, to make the right choice.”
“I …” Yarleth began again haughtily but another voice cut across him.
“Maybe let other voices be heard, Yarleth my old friend.”
The tone was enough to suggest that there was no friendship between this new speaker and the leader of the chamber, but the elder stepped aside as a man dressed in dark robes stepped onto the senate floor.
Lucius Tavares was an unremarkable man, but only if unremarkable meant being able to control a room as soon as you entered. His medium build and plain features may have deceived, but his granite grey eyes left no room for doubt. They shone out with resolute determination and unshakable faith. Not in any deity or king, but in his own iron clad will. As he swept his gaze around the chamber, it fell into respectful silence.
“Fellow elders,” he began and then paused, seemingly deep in thought.
The seconds stretched out, the crowd of men looked at each other in confusion, and even Grimbauld began to shift uncomfortably.
“Elders?” he began again quietly almost with a question to himself, yet his voice carried all round the room. “We are tasked with leading our people but is being old the only skill we need for that? If so, then old man Sura who stands in the city square and shouts at the clouds would be a great senate leader.”
There were a few chuckles at this, but Yarleth just continued to glare balefully at the speaker.
“I do not feel so old, but maybe we have forgotten what it is to be young and full of hope. These men we call enemies fight for a better future for themselves and their families. Just like the fathers, mothers and children who walk miles in this war torn land to find peaceful shelter in our wondrous city. They all have hope and yet we seem determined to take it from them, and bar our gates like misers hoarding gold and jewels. Should we not at least try to do better for them? Do I speak truth, general?”
Grimbauld cleared his throat. He had actually hoped his time for talking was done, but he imagined Kaicadmus chuckling at his discomfort and gave it one last effort, if for nothing else because he knew his mumbling would have amused his old friend no end.
“War is a horror. For the people who fight it, and for the ones who suffer through it. I have seen too many things that cannot be unseen. If we can stop the suffering then we should by any means possible.” Grimbauld felt his chest tighten but he went on.
“I learned from someone a long time ago that you need strength to win a war, but courage to keep the peace. This is the courage I ask from you now. Let me stop the suffering.”
The senate hall where voices had raged only moments before was stunned into silence.
Grimbauld walked to the doorway through which bright morning light shone and children’s laughter carried on the air. There was nothing more he could do.
A hand fell gently on his shoulder.
“Well said, general,” Tavares said solemnly. “It was a certainly a learned man who taught you in the ways of diplomacy and wisdom.”
But when the great warrior turned, even the normally unflappable elder took a step back. Tears stood in Grimbauld’s eyes and his voice was hoarse.
“He was no man. He was great wyrm from the northern wastes and his name was Kaicadmus. His lore and knowledge would have put this hallowed hall to shame and yet he had no pride. His desire to teach was as mighty as his kindness. He was my friend.”
The giant man heaved a sob through his great barrel chest and grimly looked down at his sword.
“And I killed him.”
So, another little philosophical tale this week. However, this story is based on real events that happened to the Roman Republic in 91 BC when the Samnites, along with other Italians, rose up against the city of Rome. The great general Gaius Marius had been sympathetic to their pleas for citizenship and equality, but wasn’t allowed to discuss peace in the field as it wasn’t how things were done. Much to his annoyance. Thought it would make a little contrast to the usual heroics and adventures.
Anyway, in case anyone wants a catch up on Grimbauld’s adventure here are some links so you can see what he gets up to.
Hope you enjoy!
Thanks for reading. Until next time.
Somehow missed this in my inbox before, Dan. But I saw it just now and have read it and enjoyed it very much. There be power in the words by Grimbauld, and it's a moving moment at the end. A really moving moment, especially with the pacing of the lines.
“I learned from someone a long time ago that you need strength to win a war, but courage to keep the peace. This is the courage I ask from you now. Let me stop the suffering.” <--love this!
A bit of Shylock (Merchant of Venice) coming through here in this bit, at least I was reminded of it. "Do they not bleed like we do?"