The Reluctant Emperor

Jonah was dreaming of the sea again, when a kick in the back caught him by surprise. He went sprawling on the packed earth floor of the corridor, his precious slate flying out ahead of him, the scrolls he was holding crushed against his body. He lay tense on the floor for a moment, waiting for another blow. When none came, he hopped to his feet and went after his slate, smoothing out the scrolls as best he could. He didn’t bother turning to see who had kicked him. There was only one person who picked on Jonah so relentlessly – Fabricius. He heard the laughter of the black-haired bully and his friends, but he scurried away round the corner. He paused for a moment to catch his breath and then hurried on. He wouldn’t allow himself to be late for old Grammaticus’ class, the man was a stickler for punctuality and manners.
Jonah paused again outside the door to the classroom. It wouldn’t do to rush in looking out of breath and dusty. He brushed ineffectually at the grey smears that marked his white student’s toga. Wishing he had a better excuse for his condition, Jonah ran his fingers through his tousled straw thatch of hair and prepared to enter. He glanced down at the slate in his hands and groaned aloud – there was a huge crack running across it. This would cost him dearly, both in money for a replacement and a harsh telling off for not looking after his property. A hand dropped onto his shoulder and he whirled, ready to dodge past Fabricius and run again, but it was only Finch.
“Here” Finch was grinning all over his urchin face and pressing something into Jonah’s hand. It was a replacement slate, one that looked almost brand new. Jonah gasped.
“Where did you get this?”
“I found it in Fabricius’ pack while he was kicking some poor student to the floor a minute ago. I saw the fellow had flung his slate away and thought he might need a new one.”
“Thanks, Finch. Mine broke when it landed and…”
Finch waved away the thanks and pointed to the door.
“You’d better get to class and so had I. See you at lunch, shipmate!”
Late as he was, Jonah watched his friend run lightly down the corridor to his own lessons and thanked the gods that he had such bold companion. Then he took a deep breath and entered the classroom at last.
Grammaticus looked up as Jonah arrived. Jonah knew from the position of the shadows in the class that he wasn’t late for the lesson, but he was the last student to arrive. He bowed formally to his teacher.
“My apologies teacher, for keeping you and the class waiting. My own clumsiness has made me late. I fell in the corridor.”
“More haste, less speed.” intoned Grammaticus and indicated that Jonah should take his seat.
Jonah sank down onto his bench, weak with relief that he had been spared a harsher dressing-down. Grammaticus turned to the board on which he had outlined the day’s lesson.
“Today we resume our studies of the early military career of Emperor Virinius…”
Grammaticus droned on and Jonah let the images form in the back of his mind He was there, on the battlefield on that cold, wet afternoon, with the proud legions of Tessus. They were now tired, mud-soiled and bloodied after the first part of the battle. It seemed that the enemy would be routed and the exhausted legions roused themselves for a final assault, when suddenly they were under attack. Allies of the Fordae had come upon the legions from the rear and there was pandemonium. Generals, gathered behind the troops for the best view over the field, were slaughtered in the initial rush. Command fell to the company commanders, but with no one giving them orders they were slow to react. The Legions fell back in the face of the savage attack, and the Fordae took heart from their enemy’s turn in fortune. In moments the legions would be fighting a chaotic battle on two fronts and all would be lost.
Virinius called his own company to order, and such was his commanding presence that two other companies joined his. He formed the three into an arrowhead formation and drove against the attackers. The savages fought as individuals and had succeeded against demoralised, fleeing foes. Against a solid shield wall and flickering short swords they fell back or fell dead. Virinius drove his men so far into the enemy that the attacking force was divided in half. The remaining legions turned on the men caught between them and Virinius and the other half fled for their lives. Few escaped. Down the battlefield, the Fordae came charging to meet the enemy they thought surprised and on the retreat, only to find enraged and victorious legions who tore them to pieces. It was said that the men carried Virinius all the way back to Tessun on their shoulders and never stopped crying his name.
On his return to the capitol he was honoured for his victory and found himself to be a person of influence in city society. When the grain tax was raised for the fourth time that year, the people cried out for Justice and approached Virinius as a man of honour and courage. He took the floor of the Populix, denouncing it for the corrupt, self-serving body that it was, and even went as far as to denounce the Emperor himself. He called for a return to the origins of the Populix, when representatives of each area were chosen to speak for their fellows, not elected with bought votes. To speak in such a way was treason and the Imperial Guard stepped forward to arrest Virinius. His soldiers flooded into the Populix, killing the whole Imperial Guard and the Emperor himself. To prevent the collapse of the Empire, Virinius took control, vowing that one day soon the people would rule themselves again.
Grammaticus’s cane crashed down on Jonah’s desk, jerking him out of his reverie.
“Jonah! Pay attention boy! What was I saying just now?”
Jonah stood with his head down.
“Sir, forgive me, I was inattentive. I was remembering the words of Virinius as he stood, sword in hand on the floor of the Populix.”
Grammaticus stood back, eyeing Jonah shrewdly.
“What were his words boy?”
“ ‘No country’s freedom should be bought with blood, even the blood of a tyrant. There will be no more Emperors, no more succession. The Populix will be reformed when the corruption has been cut away, and I promise the people will once again govern their own destiny through the voice of the Populix. I give you my word.’ Then he flung down his sword, and there it has stayed, bloodstained to this day, point down in the floor of the Populix chamber. A symbol of Virinius’s promise to the people.”