The Long March - No Way Back

(Source)

The chamberlain was moving from the kitchen to the dining area of the palace. Everything seemed in order, but he had a sense of something being "not quite right."

Uneasy, he moved to one of the floor to ceiling windows which faced towards the city. He looked outside, the dawn was breaking, it looked to be another beautiful spring day. Why did he feel so uneasy?

Turning away from the window he paused to check his pocket watch.

"Still early," he mused.

Snapping the watch shut he noticed that the palace guardsman on duty at the passageway to the living quarters had flinched at the sound of his watch. Odd that.

Walking over to the man, the guardsman seemed to have settled himself. The man's eyes looked into the far distance, not focused on any one thing, but noting everything.

"Guardsman, is there anything I should know about?"

The chamberlain, once he had been a sergeant major in the regulars, had used his command voice. He knew that the guardsman would answer, instinctively, as he had been trained.

"Sir!" the man had come to the position of attention, his rifle at the present. "Rumors of fighting in the city, Sir. In the laborers' quarter. We've been told to be ready for anything. Sir!"

"Stand easy, lad. Anything beyond rumors?"

"Gunfire, Sir, late last night. You could hear it clearly from our barracks."

The chamberlain cleared his throat to cover his sudden feeling of deep unease. "Sustained fire? Rifles? Cannon?"

"Sporadic shots, Sir, definitely rifle fire. No cannon, thank God."

"Yes, indeed. Stay alert, I'm going to go wake the Ruler. Or has he been awakened already?"

"Still abed, Sir, my captain thought it best not to wake him."

"Quite. Carry on, guardsman, stay alert."

"Sir!"

The Sergeant was going through the Imperials' bivouac with a squad of troopers. Their orders had been clear, no survivors. Though she understood clearly, and she hated the Imperials as much as the next regular, it still made her sick to her stomach, dispatching the wounded with the bayonet.

"Sarge."

She heard the quiet voice behind her, she turned and saw the man pointing. An Imperial sergeant, she believed that officially they were called a "decanus" was watching the patrol with steely eyes.

The man was sitting with his back to a camp desk, clutching his abdomen which was oozing blood. His trousers and the ground around him were dark with blood. She wondered how he had not bled out by now.

"Decanus, it's a hard place we've come to." She decided to speak to the man, maybe gain some understanding of what had just happened. Nothing in her training had prepared her for these events.

The decanus stirred and looked at her, "You're young for a sergeant."

"Aye, perhaps I am. Why have things gone this far?" She was genuinely curious.

"Ah, the moves and countermoves of those above me are unfathomable. I do as I am told. I tell my soldiers to go and they do, I bid them to come, and they do. I try not to ..."

"Are you in much pain, Decanus?"

"It comes and goes, Sergeant. I am not long for this world, but I am shamed at the fact that brother has fired upon brother," he paused, remembering that he was talking to a woman, "and sister upon sister. Perhaps it is best that I am departing this world. Perhaps the next one will be better."

That startled the Sergeant, "You believe?"

The Decanus closed his eyes for a moment as a wave of pain washed over him, "With every fiber of my being ..."

The man closed his eyes, the Sergeant thought that maybe the man's spirit had already fled. But then he spoke again.

"Do an old soldier a favor?"

One of the men with the Sergeant hissed under his breath, "F**king constable, you're no soldier."

As the Sergeant turned to silence the man, the Decanus raised one hand. "A fair point lad. But I once was as you, a soldier in the regulars. I did my time, got out, got married, got a job. This job. Yes, now there is shame in it, but under the old regime, we were respected, we kept the peace."

The Sergeant was torn, she had her orders, but this decanus seemed a decent sort. Then the Decanus spoke again.

"Sergeant, if I might trouble you to have your men lift me up, and place my sword with the point at my breast ..." he paused, if he waited he might be dead soon anyway.

The Sergeant nodded at two of her men. With that belly wound the man might last hours more, but the pain would be agonizing. She was surprised to see that the man who had insulted the Decanus had pulled his messmate back and went forward himself.

Together he and another soldier lifted the Decanus to his knees. As they placed the sword, being careful not to let the men gain control of it, for neither trusted any of the Imperials, the man who had given the insult whispered, "Please forgive my insult old fellow. I didn't know ..."

The Decanus smiled, "'Tis good to die by a soldier's hand."

With that he fell forward, weakly. The two soldiers pressed the Decanus down onto the blade. The man shuddered once, then was dead.

"Let's get this over with," the Sergeant moved on, followed by her squad.

The Ruler sat next to his bed, still in his pajamas and wearing a heavy robe. He seemed barely cognizant of his surroundings. His wife was directing the people in the room, calling for a meeting in the main office on this floor with the hour. Turning to an Imperial, a man of senatorial rank, she spoke.

"Send at least five cohorts into the city. I want them armed and ready for anything. Send cannon as well."

"Cannon, ma'am?"

The Ruler stirred, "Yes, cannon, with cannon the rebels will be crushed in a day. Go, do as my wife says!"

The man hesitated, then left, he knew that arguing at this point would be a waste of time. He was beginning to wonder who was actually running the government.

"Colonel, the Imperials have been dealt with, none survived. We counted the bodies, perhaps one or two may have escaped into the woods. But they won't get far."

"What makes you say that, Major?"

Then the Colonel heard it, the sound of a hunting horn. He shuddered.

"They're out there, aren't they?"

"Yes Sir. Not in strength, not yet, but the woods are closed to us. It's go back to the capital or press on to the frontier garrison."

"Well, the capital is out of the question, unless you take me prisoner and claim that I ordered you to ..."

"That's not going to happen, Sir."

The Colonel gave the Major a grim smile and nodded. He turned to see what the commotion behind him was.

"Sir!"

"What is it, Sarn't Major?"

"The manservant, he has escaped, into the woods. Shall we pursue?"

"No, the poor man is quite mad. We can't worry about him now. Pass the word, we march for the frontier garrison, immediately."

"It'll be dark soon, Sir."

"Have the men prepare torches. We must move, if we stay here we are dead."

"Sir!"

"I want your battalion in the vanguard, Major. The others hesitated today, you and your troops did not. We must move swiftly."

"At once, Sir!"

The Major left to get the troops ready to march. If he knew the Sergeant, they were probably in marching order already.

The people had created a barricade across the boulevard. Cobblestones, streetlamp poles, wagons, carts, furniture, anything which would slow the Imperials.

"At least five cohorts, Cyrus. A contingent of mounted troops as well. We can slow them, but stop them? They'll lap around us like the incoming tide."

The man called Cyrus, a tradesman from the laborers' quarter nodded.

"We delay here, then we fall back to the next position, then to the next ..."

"There are only the two fallbacks, Cyrus."

"I know Magnus, I know. Perhaps we will have killed enough of them to give them pause, if not ..."

"Then we die on our knees or we fall back to our homes and die on our feet. At any rate, we die. There is no mercy in these people, I fear."

Cyrus nodded, "We fight then."

Magnus clasped his friend's hand, "Together brother, one way or another."

"Aye."