​Forgotten sword

Page 1 I woke with weak sunlight drifting through the window. But there was only the sound of autumn wind and distant Birds. No changing of the guards, no morning weapons training. Immediately throwing myself from bed were we under attack? (No, I would have woken with a slit throat). Were they told to evacuate? (God it be good to be given orders again), no somebody would have informed me. Grabbing my sword, I moved slowly down stopping to hear out for any disturbances below, nothing. Opening the door revealing the courtyard. It took me a moment to register what the objects lying down on the cobblestones were. With the wet morning mist clinging to them making them shine. I pulled together the facts that were glaring at me. My men had deserted me. They had dropped their swords the most valuable objects that most of them owned and just left. Pulling out my own identical to the ones laying on the ground. “You ratchet cowards!” but in the pit of my stomach, I understood why, and would I really find all of them? alone? “Because I would be alone”. Looking down at the iron blade. “We conquered the world with this”. Why? Why have it? no answer. The glory of the emperor? Such a thing stopped existing decades ago. I don’t even know who the emperor is. By the time you hear of a new one being proclaimed he had probably been already usurped. To protect the empire? That time was over. The Hibernians come from the west and take us as slaves, The Pics come from the north and take our heads as trophies, and the Anglos come from the west and take our land as their own. I gazed up to the countryside the fields went on tended, the roads run down and overgrown and beyond that lay cities and towns left to ruin. My eyes lingered upon one distant half-collapsed white marbled villa. Remembering Pompous Maximus, the last landlord of the valley. A perverted, slovenly old man, he had

Page 2 bought out all the other landowners for a pittance offering false protection and an opportunity to maintain their decadence in return. His holdings got larger and larger until he alone stood. Or laying down in his many layers of fat as was more often the case. Hearing the drunken orgys occurring from that little insular palace up above. Many new recruits mostly ignorant village boys heard it as well and deserted to join his so called “praetorian guard”. Eventually “His Majesty” manage to waddle away from his feasting table and unwashed but well-perfumed whores, rolling his way down to the Fort, with a large procession of hangers-on. Even from afar, it was a strange sight, a large flock of colourful men and women with old flags and standards poking above them. By then I had my full contingent at battle-ready with a shield wall directly behind the thick oak doors with myself at the head. Eventually that sweaty pig squealed over the walls demanding that we pledge allegiance to him as the new emperor of the empire, as our proud fellows in arms have already done. Giving the order the Oaken doors creaked open. Peeping above my shield I saw a mixed group in the extreme for both the people within it and the things they bared. The men and women were mostly former members of the provincial elite. First Maximus himself a revolting old man lying upon a well-cushioned litter bed. I looked away from the disgust above to the horror below, to the half-naked skeletal slaves holding the full weight of their master. Observing the others and the bizarre variety of their weapons and armour, some looked like antiques from Caesar’s conquests or even before. There were newer “arms”, jewel-encrusted with fine gold inlay weapons far too innate to be used in actual combat, and yes, I could swear even seeing a few actual theatre prompts, wooden swords and colourfully painted thatch Shields. Then there were those deserters of mine who left to go join the never-ending excesses of the hilltop. Most of them didn’t dare look me in the eye, but some looked over my head

Page 3 into the distance to give the appearance of strength at least. I’m sure they thought they would never have to look at me again or face any consequences for their actions. There were older soldiers there as well, they were only for show no actual warriors ever made it to old age these days. They were clearly not over last night’s binge and didn’t seem quite aware of what was happening. There were some in the mix that did give me some concern. These were not true barbarians but were undoubtedly savage. I could tell they were native Britons from their accents. The type of low-born cutthroats that would have filled the gladiator pits if such entertainment still existed. Men that would have been found crawling around the darkest parts of the cities we founded. But now that their hunting grounds are deserted and falling to decay. They needed a new home, and they found it. One of them a tall, skinny, thin greasy haired fellow looked me up and down he smiled the way a lizard would if it could. That one is perfectly aware and far more confident than he should be. The mutual man-to-man surveying was broken when “the emperor” Screeched down at us. “I am here to have your loyalty or your surrender!!”. Trying hard to keep the grin off my face “And what would you do with our loyalty”. “Oh, this is only the beginning! I’d kill the rampaging foreigners then march on Rome, reunite the empire and bring it into a new golden age”. The bitter absurdity of what he was saying was so immense. That several of us started laughing. “How dare you insolent whelps!!” he growled spitting with rage. Cut these…bastards down right Now!! Barely getting the words out in his frantic anger. Slapping his hands up and down in fury to better convey the message. One of my traitorous youths launched himself at me. I stepped back and to the side, from the shield wall at the last moment. As he fell through empty air. Collapsing face first into the cobblestones a streak of blood and snot marking the space where his nose hit. Whimpering and frantically scrabbling for

Page 4 his weapon I pulled him by the scruff of the neck and threw him back through the void now left between two very bemused Legionnaires. It was time to put an end to this. “That’s enough! Maximus if you care about these people or even just for yourself then leave here, we will not pursue you. You can’t beat us and if you can’t defeat one fort, how will you match against an Anglo hoard? He looked at me with glazed eyes there was no recognition of reason there (he was mad). I walked out slowly conveying no threat in front of Maximus’s human-powered throne. He looked down his eyes widening with a wild hope. I looked in front of me at the poor souls holding up the full weight of their oppressor, barely clothed men and women their sweaty skin straining over taut muscles. Going to the older man in the front. “What’s your name?” his eyes squeezed shut with pain his lips quivered, he whispered “Peter”. “What the hell are you doing? …stop, stop talking to it!” He screamed down but I had stopped listening. I stretched out my hand placing it on Peter’s shoulder “It’s over now Peter, just put it down” His whole body began quivering, “I can’t” he croaked “Yes, yes you can just go let it go” letting his arms full to his side and stepping forward. The slaves beside and behind him followed the old man’s example. Maximus tumbled down with a thump his devotees desperately clucking around him trying to protect, pick up their master and awkwardly failing at both. Maximus with his mud-stained face looked up at me “Kill them! Kill them all!! Repeating himself over and over slapping his large girth up and down. His most fanatical followers desperately pestered around him. The rest of them, there was a nervous moment where they looked at us and each other unsure of what to do. Attacking us would be suicide. Retreating would go directly against Maximus’s wishes, he would probably have anyone fleeing very slowly killed, and reaching a compromise or surrender would be the least likely outcome. The greasy-haired man slicked his way forward,

Page 5 stopping behind a still screaming Maximus. He leaned down as if to whisper something then unshaved a thin blade striking behind his ear. The fanatics screamed in anger attempting to swarm the fiend, he quickly slipped under and away from a woman’s outstretched arms giving her a quick stab as he did so. The rest of the herd broke apart and began to flee as the criminal contingent among them started attacking. Following their true leaders’ example, quickly singling out and cutting down the few that could actually fight back, that bloody-nosed boy was struck in the back of the scalp with a spiked club. They had clearly pre-planned to do this at some point, whenever they no longer had use for Maximus or him for them. Ordering a lockstep march out we drove through to bring order to the chaos. The greasy long hair saw us while trying to remove chunky golden rings from Maximus’s plump blue fingers, giving me a sickening smile, he caught off a handful in a rush before quickly fleeing. Peter, the slaves, and a few other lost souls managed to find their way to us, but most fled wildly in terror and shock. After thoroughly sacking the villa, the scum burnt it to a husk. Peter and the other slaves stayed for a while, but they eventually decided to find refuge elsewhere in Hibernia of all places to join the Christians there. When they left, we fell back into our regular routine. Contact with the outside got less and less, people got fewer and fewer, as the world turned dark. Some regretted not joining Maximus in his madman’s quest, to live in his dream world and then take over the real one. More thought we should try and leave Britannia, link up with the legions on the mainland. Others said we should find some surviving settlement, install ourselves as leaders. But none of these ideas could come to pass. No invading barbarian horde or newly emerged native king would come near us. Leaving our hidden sanctuary into the great unknown, having no idea of who or where to go. I had sent scouts of course but non returned. If we left as one, we would easily be

Page 6 overwhelmed and stamped out. We were something of the past, but of no use in this… dark age. Finally grasping the realisation that my men had, (probably for a while now). We were clinging on to what was familiar, trying to drown our fear. It would have made no difference if we had gone with Maximus that day if we had killed him and his followers it would not change our eventual demise. The world didn’t belong to us anymore and it wouldn’t again for a long time. It belonged to those like Peter with his god and the greasy-haired man with his handful of fingers. Looking at my sword, the long iron blade polished to a Sheen. My name punched on it “Tiberius Lucius Cardea” I stopped holding on and it just… clambered to the ground and the relief of it, feeling of acceptance, starting anew. Taking a look around the place that I had spent so long. Walking away with a sense of freedom through those old Oaken doors and past that half-collapsed villa. Yet still striving to be better with the remainder of my days.

The end