The Long March - Cat's Paw

Éminence Grise
Jean-Léon Gérôme
(Source)

The Ruler was awake, though barely aware of the situation outside of the palace, he knew that things were not going well. He had been escorted from his bedchamber to eat his breakfast, he sat, eating slowly, all the while staring at the nearest window. His wife sat beside him.

"What's happening out there? Where are my guardsmen?" he asked in a trembling tone of voice.

His wife looked around the room, there was a single guardsman just outside the door, the only other person in the room was the Chamberlain. She looked at him, for once in her life at a loss for words.

"There has been trouble in the streets, Your Majesty. I believe your guardsmen have gone to assist the Imperials in calming the situation."

"Calming ... But, uh, why do I hear ... Oh what is that called? Oh, yes, why do I hear gunfire, that is gunfire isn't it?" He sounded confused, as if unaware of his surroundings.

"It's nothing dear, nothing to worry about. Eat your breakfast, we're going to the lake after you eat. Wouldn't you like that?" The Ruler's wife couldn't wait to be away from the palace, she knew just how bad things were getting out there.

Magnus was growing impatient, Antonius and his people had left hours ago. It would be light soon, he wanted the cannon, if there were any, in place at dawn. Let those in the palace wake up to that unpleasant reality, he thought.

He turned as he heard the sound of iron-shod wheels on the ancient cobblestones of the government district. Supply wagons?

"Magnus! I bring you gifts!"

Magnus breathed a sigh of relief, it was Antonius and he brought cannon. From the looks of it, six cannon, nearly a full battery.

Antonius dismounted after directing his people where to place the guns, out of range of accurate rifle fire, but close enough to bring the full weight of the battery upon the gates of the palace.

"We lucked out, we found most of a battery, only the howitzers were missing. Ample ammunition and limbers, hell, as you can see, the horses to draw the pieces were stabled nearby." Antonius was ecstatic, he'd fulfilled his mission in spades.

Magnus saw that not all of the people emplacing the guns were Antonius' people, "Where did the extra people ..."

Then he realized, they were wearing the uniforms of the regular artillery.

"Regulars?" he asked incredulously.

Antonius nodded, "Seems we're not the only ones looking for regime change."

"Sir!" The Sergeant had seen her first, a woman on horseback carrying a white flag. She wasn't in a uniform, but she was wearing the armband of the militia.

"Now what?"

The Major was growing frustrated, another message from the main column had arrived, they were delayed yet again. He was starting to wonder if the column commander was having second thoughts. After all, if he was still laboring under the misapprehension of the Meridional invasion force strength of 35,000, then his hesitation might be understandable, they would be outnumbered by more than 3 to 1 if that were the case.

"Damn it! Does the colonel know of the revised strength? It's not 35,000, more like 5,000, we have them outnumbered!" The major realized that barking at the messenger did no good, but he couldn't help himself.

"Revised strength? We have heard nothing of this," the messenger's facial expression reinforced his point.

Another message was dispatched, this time with two people carrying it, ordered to take separate routes. It had been apparent to the Major that his earlier message hadn't gotten through. Now the rebels want a parley? Perhaps they had waylaid the messenger and knew of the regulars' weakness. Had they thrown in with the Meridionals?

The woman on horseback was now on foot, blindfolded as she was led to the Major's command post. The Major cocked an eyebrow at his Sergeant, she shook her head, she hadn't been told of what the woman had come into their camp for. He nodded at the Sergeant to remove the blindfold.

The woman blinked a few times, trying to get her bearings, her eyes settled on the Major.

"Sir, I bring you greetings from my commander. He wishes a parley, at a time and place of your choosing. But he recommends that it happen soon. Apparently another Meridional force has been sighted two days south of the border, heading in this direction."

It was daylight, the walls of the palace grounds seemed deserted. Whereas the evening before, the figures of guardsmen could be seen along the ramparts, in the early light of dawn, those ramparts were empty.

"Staying under cover?" Magnus asked, looking at Cyrus, who shrugged.

"Who knows what's going on in there? They know that the hour of reckoning is upon them. The smart ones have already fled."

"I have heard no reports of anyone fleeing, there have been no sightings ..." Magnus was interrupted.

"There are secret passages leading in and out of the palace grounds. Legend has it that one tunnel is over two leagues in length, probably a myth, but you never know. That palace has stood for over two centuries and has seen its share of war."

Antonius gestured at the cannon, "Let's give those inside the impression that we mean business."

Magnus nodded, "You may commence firing."

The Eminence was bound and gagged. He wasn't blindfolded, which worried him, if his captors didn't care if he knew where he was ...

Enough of that, he admonished himself. His hands were numb, so he shifted in the chair he was tied to, it helped a little.

He looked around, it looked like he was in a tavern, one frequented by the working class no doubt. It was dingy, the floor was covered in straw, hiding God-knows-what underneath. There was a table to his front, with three chairs. He shuddered, it looked like a tribunal.

He shifted again, and was cuffed by someone behind him.

"Quit bouncin' around you scoundrel, your days are fast approaching an end. Stand to like a man."

When that man had stopped talking, three people came into the room. One carried a book, which he set upon the table with some reverence. That man stood behind the center chair, he was flanked on both sides, to his left, a woman, to his right, a younger man.

The Eminence began to sweat.

Three more men came into the room, one stood to his right, near the table, the second stood immediately to his left, the third posted himself by the door, obviously a guard. The Eminence presumed that the first two would act as prosecutor and defender. This was a tribunal.

The presiding judge, for such he presumed it was, spoke, "A moment of prayer, if you please."

The Eminence expected someone to say something, all simply bowed their heads. His own head was pushed forward on his chest and held there. His guard apparently wanted to have things "look right."

"Very well, we are here to judge and pass sentence on the individual who once ruled us in this very city. He now is a figure behind the scenes, hovering in the shadows as a puppet master, pulling the strings of our current cat's paw."

"Mr. Prosecutor, you may begin ..."

At that moment, the dull thud of cannon fire could be heard in the near distance. Everyone in the room paused, the gunfire was in the direction of the palace. The judge knew what it meant, few of the others did. The Eminence had a brief moment of hope.

The judge spoke, "What you hear are cannon, opening the siege of the palace. The resistance seized a battery of guns last night, this is the beginning of the end for those who suppressed the people."

There were satisfied looks all around the room. Then the Defender spoke.

"Your Honor, now that the end is in sight, I move that these proceedings be brought to a close and my charge be remanded to custody until such time as he can be brought in front of ..."

"In front of what, Your Honor?" The Prosecutor's voice dripped with disdain.

"Give him the benefit denied so many of our citizens in the brouhaha after the last election? Give him the protection of the law he and his handlers spat on for over a decade? No, I object, most strenuously, I object!"

The Defender spoke again, or tried to, "Your Honor ..."

"Objection sustained, this proceeding will continue. What have you to say in your defence, prisoner?"

"My charge is gagged, how can he ..."

"Remove his gag."

The Eminence worked his jaw, the gag had been unpleasantly tight. "Might I have a glass of ..."

He was cuffed again, "Speak proper to the magistrate, you scum!" His guard bellowed at him.

"That will be enough Cletus, bring the prisoner a glass of water."

The Eminence drank and decided to try and overawe these peasants, for so he saw them. "Now look here, I do not recognize the authority of these proceedings. They are clearly illegal and I am being illegally detained, I demand that I be released at once!"

No one said a word, the Prosecutor simply nodded to a guard by the door, who went out. That man came back in an instant carrying a thick, bound sheaf of papers. The Eminence's heart sank.

How could he not recognize the work upon which he'd labored since leaving office? His memoirs, complete and thorough they were. They also contained enough evidence to find him guilty in this drum head court.

He was doomed.

The Colonel shook his head, "Only five thousand you say?"

"Might be as few as three thousand of their regulars. A number of tribesmen came with them." The messenger, the only one who had made it back to the column, answered the Colonel's question.

"Was there no earlier attempt to contact us?"

"Yes Sir, but the Major only sent a single messenger, whose body I found nailed to a tree beside the road. The Meridional tribesmen have sent scouts in your direction, it looked like their work."

The Colonel shuddered. The tribesmen came from the deep south of Meridia. They were a nomadic people, roaming the vast steppes in the south of that country. They knew no law save their own, paying lip service to the regular government of Meridia. They came north for the promise of loot.

And slaves.

"Sound the advance, we march through the night. Skirmishers out, we advance as if into combat!"

As the staff ran to put the Colonel's commands into action, the Colonel turned to the messenger. "Will you march with us? I can't ask you to go back alone, it is far too dangerous."

The messenger smiled, "Begging the Colonel's pardon, but there isn't a steppe rat out there who can match me in my own country. I'll be fine. I will let the Major know you're coming. When can we expect you?"

The Colonel pulled his watch out of his waistcoat, pondered for a moment, then snapped the time piece shut, slipping it back into its pocket. "Tomorrow, before noon, if this weather holds and we meet no resistance. Can I at least offer you a fresh horse?"

The messenger smiled again, "My horse knows this country as well as I, perhaps better. No, but thank you, Sir. I am away!"

With that the messenger turned his steed and trotted off.

The drums began to sound, the trumpets blared, the troops stepped off. The Colonel noticed that the troops advanced with bayonets fixed. He almost felt pity for any who stood in there way.

Almost ...