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Praetorium Honoris

Sunday, November 5, 2023

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 ...




32 comments:

  1. This Tuesday promises to be interesting!

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  2. "I do not recognize the authority of these proceedings"........heh heh heh...hah hah hah, nicely done Sarge.

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  3. Love, love, love the painting Sarge.

    I wonder how the court came into possession of his memoirs (unless, of course, he was foolish enough to bring them with him).

    As they storm the palace, the inevitable question in my mind is "And then what? What form of government will you create that is better? One of you (regally waving hand around) will set up the government so that they will be the Ruler and The Eminence,"

    Human beings. Even in different worlds, we remain the same.

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    1. What comes next? Something no one ever seems to think about in the heat of the moment.

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    2. Looking at history seems it's never hard to find someone who 'claims to have a better idea'-is willing to run things-'has the charisma to carry it off'-'has a great PR department' and they show up when you have this type of confusion.
      The muse will know....

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    3. Something in history which is often referred to as "the man on horseback." The so-called savior who often does the opposite.

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  4. Another force, maybe three or four days out....no mention of size. In this type of situation size does matter

    Interesting goings on in the capital. As mentioned about, "Then what?" Which faction gets to install it's ruler?

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    1. Yes, that new force. A small band, a large army? It could make the difference in the fighting along the border.

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  5. Excellent! Thank you for yet another wonderful installment from your superb Muse.
    I am waiting with bated breath for a continuation of this story.

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    1. The writing is enjoyable, I'm not sure where it's coming from, but it's flowing for the moment.

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  6. I don't want to impose my ideas on you because your Muse requires complete freedom to develop the story according to your ideas.
    But I have a dream....
    I see the Eminence standing trembling under the gallows, stuttering and stammering as he begs for mercy, having soiled his breeches.
    ("Aber ich liebe doch alle" -- Erich Mielke, head of Stasi, 13 November 1989)

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    1. Hie end may not be as neat as that. The Muse is still pondering his fate.

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    2. Maybe a reprise of Robert the Bruce?

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    3. Mea culpa! I realized there is a monument to Sir Wallace that was funded by Scots and British, and did not think the Brits would do so for someone who was hanged, drawn, quartered and the rest.

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    4. Well, the monument is in Scotland, in London there is a simple plaque, easy to miss, which commemorates the site of Sir William's execution. I mention semantics in a comment down the road a piece, semantically the British encompass the Scots, the English, the Welsh, and those inhabitants of Northern Ireland who don't consider themselves Irish first, British second. (I'm sure there are a few, descendants of the Scots who came over back in the day. My people went the other way.)

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  7. "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!""

    Exactly. If not, how are you any better? That's another problem of so many revolutionary governments and tribunals, to solidify and enforce their rule they often are just as brutal and arbitrary as what they replaced, if not more so.

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    1. Revolutions eat their young. (Ours was seemingly the exception, just don't ask the Loyalists who were forced to leave their homes.)

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    2. Yep. I was trying to think of revolutions that were relatively benign, and ours comes closest. Even some of those who were forced to leave often ended up coming back and picking up their lives. I think it was in one of the Carolinas a gentleman, some short of official, fled to England. His wife stayed and handled the home and business affairs. After the war was over he returned and took up his business, and became a government official again.

      Pretty much once it was over, it was over. No mass show trials, no beheadings, no gulags, no pogroms. Or very few and those mostly local grudges.

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    3. Yep, ours was fairly unique, as far as I can tell.

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  8. Never ever put damning evidence down. Like the Laptop from Hell or emails from servers, the written word lasts long enough to eventually hang the writer. (notice how I said long enough. there are those among us who have long memories of bleach-bitted servers, smashed cell phones and a certain laptop from Hell, which contents will catch child porn charges for those who transmit said contents, but not for the original owner of said laptop. eventually. hopefully.)

    His Eminence has damned himself. Dummy. May his end be as fitting as he deserves. Maybe the short pull (wherein you hang someone by pulling the rope up over something and the feet just barely touch the ground.) Or a stake, short preferred. Or whatever method he used against the populace. Payback is a ()itch after all.

    As to the ruler? Yikes, Pudding Head he is. Again, sounds like someone we all know...

    Now it sounds like the Meridionals are an Arab thingy. You and your muse are really pulling out from all portions of human history. What's next, sea invasion by 'barbarians' (Scandinavian pattern) or by a person with Imperial ties seeking to elevate himself (Norman Conquest pattern)?

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    1. Our history is replete with things I can borrow from. And I will.

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  9. His pepers were probably under armed guard in the Palace, concealed in secret drawers in a sidetable. If he'd been known as an outspoken advocate of the underclass, I could see his secret escape with a dead body hung and burned alive in his place. And I could see him thinking that that was the plan. Muse is doing a great job!

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    1. Oh, pity the fools who insist on recording their deeds and misdeeds. It will come back to haunt them.

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  10. Good, except for the Eminence's guard bearing the name Cletus. All of that denomination I have ever encountered or heard of have been exceptional gentlemen, kind, helpful and courteous. But, I guess there are less nice people with all sorts of names, so this is a minor annoyance. Otherwise, well done Ms. Muse and scribe.
    John Blackshoe

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    1. Cletus is a rough and tumble warrior, not familiar with, nor comfortable with, the niceties of polite society. He is a man of few words, a man of action.

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  11. Reading the comments above relating to our revolution as among the benign without severe repercussions upon the loyalists, I am reminded of my ongoing curiosity as to why ours is considered a revolution and not a secession. Seems to me we strove to break away from King George, not overthrow and replace him. Thus no need for extreme ugliness in the aftermath. Where am I veering off the proper historical path here?

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    1. Semantics. It was referred to as both a revolution and a rebellion. Modern folk tend to look at historical events via the lens of the present. Which is why so many medieval paintings of ancient events has everyone dressed like medieval people. But really, it's just semantics.

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Just be polite... that's all I ask. (For Buck)
Can't be nice, go somewhere else...

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