Chapter 56: I Made My Declaration (3)
Cladius had suffered a crushing defeat in the previous battle. The Briton peasants and northern barbarians who had supported him scattered in all directions, fleeing for their lives.
I roughly dispersed the routed remnants and had Cladius, captured alive on the battlefield, dragged before me.
Cladius was small and scrawny—hardly the image of a man who had rallied a massive rebel force. I'd imagined a charismatic leader, so his appearance left me a bit deflated. Of course, looks were just packaging.
I watched Cladius as he was hauled into my tent, then gave a nod.
"Kneel!"
The soldiers kicked him from behind, and Cladius crumpled to his knees without resistance. He glared up at me, his face twisted in rage.
"I am Ain, Governor of Bellgorod. I crossed to this land personally to crush the commotion you stirred in Briton. What are your thoughts now that you've seen the man who swept away your kin?"
Ptoo.
Cladius spat at my sandals.
I clicked my tongue in disapproval. At once, the soldiers unleashed a merciless barrage of kicks on him.
"Guhk."
"Enough."
I raised my hand, and the soldiers stepped back. Cladius spat out a broken tooth, grinding his remaining ones.
"Just kill me."
"Oh, I'll grant you death as you wish. A public burning in front of every Briton in Londinium."
"You think that'll scare us Britons?"
"No, I don't expect fear. That's not what I want. I just need to set an example. Challenge the empire's order, and a horrific price follows."
Crunch.
"No matter how you thrash, the empire is senile. Its fall is inevitable. Briton will be free!"
Cladius bellowed.
"I won't deny it—the empire is decaying. But as long as I live, the day you dream of won't come."
"Kuhk."
"Why waste time on empty talk? Let's have something constructive. Like, who arranged your coordination with the Hiberia barbarians?"
"You think I'll tell you?"
"I'd have spilled it in your shoes. For the empire's safety, we can be as ruthless as needed. Where was your hometown again? Glaston? Shall we start by razing Glaston to the ground?"
"You bastard."
"I don't make idle threats. Keep your mouth shut, and I'll trample every last brat in Glaston under hooves, sell the women to brothels, and the men to the mines. Is that what you want?"
Cladius clenched his jaw.
I already knew Brikin was involved, even without his answer. No other explanation for how flawlessly they'd lured us into that trap.
Still seated, I raised my hand. The soldiers resumed their kicks.
"I already suspect who aided you. I just need confirmation. Brikin, right?"
Cladius's body jerked mid-beating at my words.
Gotcha.
I halted the soldiers.
"Fine, no answer needed. Another question: Do you have contacts among the Hiberia barbarians?"
"What if I do?"
The soldiers kicked him immediately. I stopped them.
"Enough. A traitor's rudeness is expected. If you do, write them a letter. Tell them to pack up and withdraw from Briton."
"Why the hell should I?"
I crossed my arms.
"Because if you don't, the war in Briton drags on. You know better than anyone that a prolonged fight changes nothing—you still lose. Want your hometown turned to rubble?"
Cladius's fists balled tight.
"Two choices: Drag this war out another two months in Briton, or end it here. Choose."
I leaned down to meet his eyes.
Still defiant.
I smirked and snapped my fingers at the soldiers.
"Take him away."
"Yes, sir."
Cladius was dragged out of the tent by his heels.
As he vanished, Rikius approached.
"If the Hiberians learn we've won, won't they just pull back?"
"If it were just them, maybe. But with Brikin involved, it's different."
"Brikin."
Rikius bit his lip at the name.
"That's why we make them retreat with words if possible. Once the Hiberians withdraw, Brikin has no choice but to play the loyal ally, regardless of his past moves. For now."
"Sounds like you're right, sir."
"So we proceed with caution."
I clapped Rikius on the shoulder and stepped out of the tent. We'd won the battle, but our army was still walking a tightrope over the abyss. No room for complacency.
The Hiberia army had encamped fifteen kilometers north of Londinium.
Their original plan must have been to block our hasty retreat and hit us alongside Cladius. But that had fallen apart.
They might still be taking it easy, unaware—but once they learned of our victory, panic would set in like a fire on their feet.
Speaking of which, those Hiberians packed a punch.
Mounted on my warhorse, I eyed their camp. About ten thousand strong—not overwhelming numbers.
But these were no rabble; real warriors, unlike the motley crew. With Brikin joining, a pitched battle would be brutal.
I had Cladius hauled out while observing their lines. Words hadn't swayed him, so unpleasant measures were necessary.
Cladius was paraded before us half-naked, a laurel wreath of leaves on his head, and—most humiliating—upside down on a small goat's back. A ridiculous sight.
I issued the order coldly.
"Show the barbarians."
Amid the soldiers' laughter, the goat plodded slowly along our front lines. The enemy camp stared, baffled.
I made Cladius parade back and forth a few times, gauging their reaction.
The rank-and-file gawked in confusion, but their commanders sensed something had shifted.
Soon, a white-flag envoy galloped toward us.
"Great Chieftain Gelitus of Hiberia wishes to know who you just displayed."
"Didn't you recognize him? It's Cladius."
I replied calmly.
The envoy faltered.
"Cladius? You mean Great Chieftain Cladius of Briton?"
"Correct. And correct your title. He's no chieftain—he's an imperial traitor."
"But Great Chieftain Cladius—"
"He lost to the legions. Forty thousand or fifty thousand, rabble like that doesn't last a day against our eagles."
The envoy ground his teeth.
"So think carefully. I'm not attacking you now because I worry beheading you Hiberia scum would just stir your whelps along Briton's coast. Pack up quietly while you have the chance. Dealing with fewer than ten thousand is hardly worth drawing my sword."
"I'll relay to His Highness."
The envoy turned without anger—a fellow who knew his place.
Capturing Cladius and shattering a forty-thousand-strong host? They'd see no path to victory.
Brikin changes the equation, but no guarantee that sly barbarian prince would aid them.
From his view, the best hand was wiping us out without spilling his own blood.
As the envoy departed, I personally took up the legion standard and stepped before the ranks.
"The empire's eagles have triumphed! Yesterday! Today! And tomorrow! For a thousand years, we've guarded the empire.
And we believe we shall for the next thousand! We are the eternal symbol of the everlasting empire!"
"Ain! Ain! Ain!"
Amid the soldiers' roars, I carried the standard across the lines. Each time I passed, they thrust their weapons skyward.
The imperial army is not weak.
With this simple ritual, I showcased our morale to the Hiberians. I could guess their response, but momentum mattered in these clashes.
At the lines' end, I raised the standard high.
The Hiberians weren't fools. With their ally Cladius defeated, they chose retreat over gamble. Our options forced their hand: fight for full control of Briton or withdraw cleanly. Our record made the former suicidal.
They might suspect a ruse, but retreat was still the smart play militarily.
Cladius's army had vanished without trace—why bleed alone? Bad business.
As the Hiberians slowly withdrew westward, a distant herald approached. I crossed my arms at the sight. The banner was Brikin's.
Sly, cunning prince.
He'd pushed us to the brink, cast doubt on himself, and secured a spectator's seat without a drop of blood.
Come to think of it, his earlier mentions of Hiberia and northern barbarians might have been groundwork to deflect suspicion faster and claim that vantage.
Impressive.
And now he prepared to join us nonchalantly. Officially, he'd done nothing wrong.
I felt I'd learned a lesson from Heigirt and Brikin. Without witnessing their subtlety, I might never have grasped such manipulative strategies.
But they hadn't gotten everything they wanted.
We'd escaped the fatal trap, rising like a phoenix from the empire's legions.
I greeted the herald with a neutral face.
"Sir. The prince sent me upon hearing the news. He's disappointed you didn't notify him of such a crucial engagement."
"My regrets. Where's Prince Brikin?"
"His Highness is encamped twenty kilometers from here."
Close enough to watch the battle. If we'd lost, he'd have charged with blade reversed.
Flawless positioning.
"Then relay that it's time to join up. After seeing off our Hiberia friends, we enter Londinium."
"Yes, sir."
The herald saluted imperial-style, arm to chest.
As he rode off, I let out a deep sigh. Waging war against superiors in cunning was exhausting.
But pausing to think meant the legion paid in blood and lives.
I called for Cogol as the herald vanished.
"Commander. Prepare for entry. Keep the 16th Legion in formation to watch the Hiberians—let the 18th enter first."
"Yes, sir."
I granted the 18th Legion, garrisoned in Londinium, the honor of first entry. Being sidelined in their own city could breed resentment. Overlook such trifles, and unrest festers.
As the 18th's standard-bearer passed at the front, eagle high, I raised a hand in light salute.
The eagle standard caught the setting sun, gleaming brilliantly.
(To be continued next episode)