Matthew
Ryan Fischer
The
rumors ran rampant. Anxiety swelled in
the streets, no one sure what was really happening. The worst fears were taking over. Uncertainty ruled the day and chaos and then
anarchy were sure to follow.
The
capitol building had fallen silent. No
word, no news, no speeches. The rumors
ran rampant and the people didn’t know what to believe.
They
began in hushed and broken sentences, no one wanted to finish the thoughts or
believe what had happened. “An
assassination attempt…” “Conspiracy…” “Traitors…”
Then came the questions. “Who had
led the assault?” “Was it a military
coup?”
“The
Senate had been disbanded,” said a faceless man in the crowd.
“Is
it part of an invasion?” asked another.
They
all had different questions. But what they all seemed to be asking was ‘are we
safe?’ or more accurately ‘am I
safe?’
The
doors were well guarded. Men and women
paced the street. Fear and paranoia
crept everywhere. What had
happened? Who would be accused of being
a conspirator? Who among us would soon
be put to death?
Formerly trusted advisers stood about, waiting
and wondering. Most said nothing to each
other. Most of the words went out into
space to no one in particular – muttered self-professed hyperbole or whispered
admonishments, chastising unknown forces and foreign enemies. A few spoke back and forth, no longer sure
who was a friend. Fewer still tried
speaking to the well armed guards.
“Is
he–“
A
stern look from the sentry told him not to speak.
One
daring man made the absurd demand to be let inside the building. Unsettled by this boisterous determination,
one guard sent a second guard inside.
Clearly any man confident enough to speak up on a day like today just
might possibly be a man who should be let inside. Nearly twenty minutes expired before the
second guard returned. Twenty minutes passed. The internal mechanisms of this suddenly new
government were slow moving. Twenty
minutes or more just to get permission to walk through a door.
Inside,
the man of interest sat. Healthy. Alive.
Alive and healthy. No one outside
knew this yet. A small entourage sat
with him. They were looking at maps and
lists of names. They were making plans.
To make a future you always had to make plans.
Finally
the man at the door was let in. Finally
he made his way to the inner chambers.
He was momentarily stunned when he entered. He knew in his heart that the worst had not
happened, and here was the self-evident proof, still alive, sitting before him,
thus confirming that the worst had not indeed happened. And yet, and yet there was always that shadow
of a doubt. He caught himself. He knew he must seem a bit of the fool, and
yet he still had to say what he was about to say.
“God,
you… You’re alive…”
“Of
course I’m alive.”
“You
must speak.”
“Must
I?”
“The
people need to know… the streets… the streets are full of fear and bedlam.”
The
man himself was annoyed, even if he did agree that the people’s fears must be
quelled. A failed assassination was no
small matter, but there were other plans on his mind. After all, the assassination had failed. The conspirators had turned on each other
like rats. Rats were not to be feared. Their plans had been averted, and most all of
them had been killed earlier this morning.
Any remaining traitors could be rooted out in due time. Certainly if any remained within the city,
they were soon to flee. And all of them
would be dealt with, and dealt with harshly.
Caesar
had a campaign against Parthia to plan. If the Macedonian had done it, so could he. Caesar would allow no legend to outlive his
own. The known and unknown world was to
be his domain. Here now was his chance
to establish himself and all of Rome above any other in history. He would go further; create his future, a
future unparalleled.
Who
had time to worry about speeches when there was a world to be won?
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