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643. Imperium
🕑 Added 2024-04-23 07:00:05 +0000 UTCThe camp did not have space for the entire legion to stand together in ranks. Thus, as morning came, every cohort marched out, crossed the bridge, and went through Esmouth to finally arraign themselves on the plain north of the town walls. Martel, Eleanor, Lara, and a standard bearer ascended the gatehouse to stand atop, allowing the legionaries to see them. On the inside of the defences, the townspeople gathered to likewise watch.
"Soldiers of the Tenth Legion! We stand without legate. It is the will of your prefects that Sir Fontaine assumes this rank and responsibility!" Lara shouted. The clamour of voices from the legionaries declared their satisfaction.
The standard bearer lowered the eagle banner of the legion that Eleanor might place her hand upon it. "I, Eleanor Fontaine, swear this by Sol," she began. "I shall faithfully uphold the office and title as legate of the Tenth Legion. I will fight as the first and retreat as the last. I swear this by Sol. I shall let justice guide me in all decisions pertaining to the soldiers under my command and the lands where I hold imperium. Thrice bound, I swear this by Sol."
The soldiers cheered, shouted, and slammed spears against shields. Lara waited a while and finally raised her hands to gain silence. "Our cause needs a leader. The only man worthy of the title to lead us to peace. We must have Sir Martel as our captain prefect!"
The crowd shouted their agreement, and many yelled his epithet. As Eleanor stepped aside, Martel took her place and touched the fabric with its stitched eagle.
"I, Martel of Engby, swear this by Sol. I shall faithfully uphold the office and title as captain prefect of the Tenth Legion and all others that would follow me. I will fight as the first and retreat as the last. I swear this by Sol. I shall let justice guide me in all decisions pertaining to the soldiers under my command and the lands where I hold imperium. Thrice bound, I swear this by Sol." He let out his breath; it was quite a mouthful, which he had memorised only this morning, but he had gotten through it.
Down below, on the plain, about five thousand soldiers saluted him. He looked at Lara and Eleanor, now his subordinates. All of them, from legionary to prefect, were bound to obey his commands; yet Martel remembered how he had reacted when Varus demanded too much from him. He turned towards the host of soldiers and gave a salute in return.
***
The brief ceremony at an end, the soldiers began filing through the gate to return to camp. From their vantage point, the three commanders watched. "What happens now?" Martel asked, looking at the other two. "Do I have duties that require my attention?"
"Sir Fontaine and I will handle most tasks, along with the camp prefect and quartermaster," Lara explained. "We have been doing so for a while now, anyway. I do require your signature on the messages we shall send to Morcaster and the other legions."
"Is it urgent?" he asked. "Can it wait an hour?"
"I suppose. No courier is getting through that gate anytime soon," she considered, looking down at where the soldiers marched through. "But not much longer than that, sir, preferably."
"What do you intend?" Eleanor asked.
"I have a few visits I wish to make here in Esmouth," Martel explained. "Especially to Starkad, who helped you save my life. I owe him thanks if nothing else."
"Very well, sir. I shall have the couriers ready in an hour," Lara declared. She saluted, and Eleanor did the same, which Martel felt uncomfortable with, and the two women descended the gatehouse.
***
It was a short walk to Henry's house, and the stonemage stood outside, watching the soldiers march by. "Captain prefect," he greeted Martel with a wry smile.
"That's weird. Besides, you're a civilian," the battlemage replied.
"I am attached to a legion. Would the captain prefect care for a drink?"
"Only if you drop the title."
Henry laughed as they walked inside, and he dug up two cups along with a jar of wine. "How do you want it? This is a day for celebration."
"I'll take it strong, but just the one serving," Martel replied, declining the offer of water. "I won't be here long."
"The duties of a captain are many, I'm sure." Henry poured for him, and they let their cups touch. "Welcome home."
"Thanks. I guess this is home, of sorts. I know you haven't been asked about any of this, but if you're uncomfortable staying here…" Martel cleared his throat. "Nobody would hold it against you if you left."
"I'm sure some would, but that's not what's keeping me," Henry replied with a half-smile. "I've got nowhere in particular to be. I'll watch how this unfolds."
"Alright. That's good. A skilled stonemage is not easy to replace." While Martel did not know of any immediate need the legion might have of Henry's enchantment, it was bound to happen eventually.
The green-clad wizard took a deep breath. "Also, I wanted to tell you I'm sorry. I didn't help you when you were imprisoned here. It all happened so fast – your return from campaign, imprisonment, and escape."
"I wouldn't have expected you to risk life and freedom. Especially as you say, it all happened in less than a day. You weren't to know."
"Well, if this goes south and you find yourself jailed in a cell with stone walls, I'll do my best to crack them open," Henry promised.
"I'll hold you to that." They let their cups touch again before emptying them.
***
The legionaries still marched through Esmouth when Martel left Henry's home. He took the smaller backstreets just to avoid the crowd and the potential of being saluted a thousand times before he reached the other end of town.
A few confused townspeople saw him and hurried out of the way, although Martel gave no indication that such was needed. He walked at a normal pace, glancing around at the town he had not expected to see again. It was a thought that had occurred to him a dozen times since yesterday, and it probably would come to him again.
He reached the small Tyrian enclave. Unlike the Asterians, they seemed almost indifferent to his arrival. They glanced up from their labours before resuming them. Inquiring after Starkad sent Martel to their longhouse; before he could step inside, the berserker emerged from within.
"Mage of fire." He slapped a heavy hand onto Martel's shoulder, who did the same gesture in return.
"Angry warrior."
"Hah, you can do better than that! But I am pleased to see you hale and restored. How fate has tossed you around!"
"That's one way to put it. Listen, I came to thank you. You helped Eleanor get inside to talk to me, so I could warn her, and you had horses ready for us. I'll always be grateful," Martel said sincerely. He had not imagined that out of the entire legion and population of Esmouth, it would be a Tyrian berserker he owed his life to.
"The risk was small and the reward great," Starkad smiled. "I never liked your old legate, so playing a trick on him suited me fine. I didn't expect it would end with his body in the ground!" He roared with laughter.
"Well, you have my gratitude. I don't know what you and yours intend to do – what arrangements you have with the legion. But I won't stop you from leaving."
"Our ship is beyond repair, alas, and your prefects will not allow any Asterian ships to leave the harbour. Travelling by land seem doubtful – too many legions north of here who might not be as friendly as you. We have been paid for the next two months," Starkad grinned, "so I think we'll stay for now."
"Your work as scouts will be invaluable to us, I'm sure." Martel had been impressed by the Tyrian trackers every time he had seen them in the field.
"I already like you better than your predecessor." The berserker winked. "Me and my companions are at your service."
***
The last of the soldiers made their way back into camp when Martel joined them. He felt all their eyes on him, and he did not know what to think of it, so he simply ignored it. Progressing up the main dirt road between the tents, he saw horses and messengers ready and waiting outside the tent where they had held council yesterday.
"Captain prefect." Eleanor's voice reached him as she came from the other direction, and she saluted, her other hand holding a stack of parchment.
Martel winced in response. "That's just too weird for me. Any chance I can convince you to stop?"
"It is a matter of discipline," she replied, but she looked coy about it. "You salute any superior rank when addressing them. I must set a good example for the soldiers."
"I'm sure they can understand why the legate of the legion is an exception."
"Is the captain giving me an order?"
"Sure, if that'll make you stop."
She smiled. "As you command."
"Still weird."
"Sir Lara is inside. She uses this tent now, as do I sometimes." Eleanor nodded towards the structure, and together, they walked inside.
The chairs had been removed, making room for desks, drawers, and other administrative furniture. Lara sat surrounded by ledgers, and she looked up seeing them. "Sir." She inclined her head at Martel. "Sir Fontaine, did the quartermaster give you the lists?"
Eleanor handed them over. "We're taking inventory of certain supplies," she explained to Martel.
"Tedious and longwinded work, but needed. Not your headache, sir, but I do need your signature on all of these." Lara dug out a stack of parchment and spread them out before pushing a writing set towards Martel.
He grabbed the quill, dipped it in ink, and looked over the messages. One was a declaration of their intentions and demands, meant for Morcaster. The others were identical, expressing the same sentiment but in more direct language, to be sent to the other legions. Martel signed them all swiftly, remembering the last time he had written his name on a document; it had been on his first day at the Lyceum. "That's all?"
"It is. Thank you, sir." As the ink dried, Lara stepped outside and began instructing the awaiting couriers.
Eleanor, meanwhile, took a seat behind a desk. "This is not why I became a mageknight," she sighed, looking at the pile of parchment in front of her.
"I'll help," Martel declared. He had nothing better to do.
"This does require a certain – affinity for arithmetic."
"Right. I'll leave you to it." Martel turned towards the entrance but stopped himself. "Wait, something I wanted to ask."
"Yes?" She looked up at him.
"The oath we swore today – it mentioned a sentence, something about holding imperium. I'll be honest, I don't quite know what that means. I feel like I should," he said, feeling sheepish.
"It is an old Asterian term, from the days of the Senate. You know provinces like Nordmark, still under military administration?"
Martel nodded; although the region had been added a century ago to the Empire, it remained a wild and untamed land, under direct military rule rather than magistrates or nobility.
"A commander granted imperium means he acts as highest judge and magistrate in all regions controlled by the legions under his command. Your decisions are law, Martel, as long as they do not explicitly contravene actual law," she explained. "We used to call such commanders imperator, though that title has been replaced by your current one, captain prefect."
"Huh. I wonder why they changed it?"
"It is reserved for the one man who holds imperium over all Asterian lands. In daily speech, we call him the emperor," Eleanor elaborated. She lowered her gaze, giving her attention to the columns written before her. Feeling stranger and stranger about all the recent developments, Martel left.
~
Martel's character sheet (no change).
Comments
BubblyGhost
I mean, probably not. But if you always blow up your problems the world starts looking like various barrels of gunpowder
Matthew Flowers
No way Martel is gunning for emperor. This isn’t foreshadowing but a ruse
