Arthur Imperator Read Online Free Page B

what you get is just, not revenge. Now, know this: throughout your empire, you will be reviled as a traitor. I am telling the world that you acted against the orders of the Augustus and invaded Britain to make yourself emperor.
    “The Augusti, both Maximian and his countryman Diocletian will publicly agree because they cannot be seen to ignore my liberation of Britain from them, but they are powerless to act. However, by declaring you a traitor, they will save their face, and hail me as their brother emperor who put down the treacherous Chlorus while they defended the empire from the Alemanni hordes in the east. Your family will be disgraced, your name expunged.” 
    I considered how satisfying it would be to beat his white face to a pulp, but restrained the boiling urge. He should not appear to have been mistreated when he was executed. I turned away. “Just get him out of my sight.” I heard the slight scuffle as his guards hauled him around and pushed him out, but I did not look. I’d see him dead, soon enough.

 
    VI Execution
     
    Two days later, the Caesar Constantius Chlorus was led out to a crude scaffold outside the camp that guarded the Thames bridge. It was usual for military executions to be held outside the entrenchments. A crowd of citizens had gathered for the spectacle, and ranks of armoured soldiery created a hollow square around the scaffold.
    At one end of the platform was a whipping post where two provosts waited, each dangling a metal-tipped flagellum, the brutal multi-thonged whip used to flog slaves and rebels. At the other end of the platform was a wooden block that replaced the usual dug pit with block in it that was the normal site of a decapitation. I wanted the mob to have full view when they witnessed the death of a Caesar.
    Chlorus’ face was as white as his linen shirt as he stumbled up the scaffold steps, prompting raucous laughter and jeers from the crowd, laughter that intensified as his clothing was pulled clear and his blinding-white body revealed.
    As the escort tied him to the stake, I climbed the scaffold steps and turned to the assembly.
    “This man treacherously acted against me and against my brother emperors,” I declared. “He broke his sacred oath of loyalty and attempted to steal Britain for himself. He is a common thief, and he will be punished for that before he pays the price for being a traitor. From respect for the customs of Rome, he will be beheaded, not crucified. My brother emperors and I are agreed. Now, flog the thief.”
    The flagella whistled as they struck in sequence, first one prefect striking, then the other. In moments, Chlorus was shrieking, his back and buttocks sheeted crimson as the iron tips stripped flesh from his ribs and spine, and spattered torn tissue and blood on the planking. After 40 strokes, the prefects stopped, panting heavily. Chlorus was slumped against his bindings, whimpering, semi-conscious.
    The executioner Davius’ assistant stepped forward with a wooden bucket of water and soused the man’s ploughed back, the prefects cut him down and hauled him, feet dragging, across the scaffold. Chlorus was on his knees before the headsman’s wooden block, moving his head from side to side as if to dispel the pain of his lacerated back. At a gesture from Davius, the assistant slipped a blindfold over the Caesar’s eyes, being careful to tie it underneath his long hair. Davius stepped forward. In his right hand he held a Spanish gladius, the standard sword of the old republic. I noted with some interest the thing was an antique, longer than the standard Mainz armoury sword, not as broad, a bit heavier. I supposed that even though it was more unwieldy than the legions’ usual equipment, it was excellent for this job. 
    I pulled myself back to the present. Chlorus had his neck on the block, probably pushed down by the executioner, and the assistant was holding the Roman’s hair to keep him in place. Davius glanced at me, I nodded. He