Chapter 643: Imperium

Chapter 643: Imperium

Imperium

The camp did not have space for the entire legion to stand together in ranks. Thus, as morning came, every cohort marched out, crossed the bridge, and went through Esmouth to finally arraign themselves on the plain north of the town walls. Martel, Eleanor, Lara, and a standard bearer ascended the gatehouse to stand atop, allowing the legionaries to see them. On the inside of the defences, the townspeople gathered to likewise watch.

"Soldiers of the Tenth Legion! We stand without legate. It is the will of your prefects that Sir Fontaine assumes this rank and responsibility!" Lara shouted. The clamour of voices from the legionaries declared their satisfaction.

The standard bearer lowered the eagle banner of the legion that Eleanor might place her hand upon it. "I, Eleanor Fontaine, swear this by Sol," she began. "I shall faithfully uphold the office and title as legate of the Tenth Legion. I will fight as the first and retreat as the last. I swear this by Sol. I shall let justice guide me in all decisions pertaining to the soldiers under my command and the lands where I hold imperium. Thrice bound, I swear this by Sol."

The soldiers cheered, shouted, and slammed spears against shields. Lara waited a while and finally raised her hands to gain silence. "Our cause needs a leader. The only man worthy of the title to lead us to peace. We must have Sir Martel as our captain prefect!"

The crowd shouted their agreement, and many yelled his epithet. As Eleanor stepped aside, Martel took her place and touched the fabric with its stitched eagle.

"I, Martel of Engby, swear this by Sol. I shall faithfully uphold the office and title as captain prefect of the Tenth Legion and all others that would follow me. I will fight as the first and retreat as the last. I swear this by Sol. I shall let justice guide me in all decisions pertaining to the soldiers under my command and the lands where I hold imperium. Thrice bound, I swear this by Sol." He let out his breath; it was quite a mouthful, which he had memorised only this morning, but he had gotten through it.

Down below, on the plain, about five thousand soldiers saluted him. He looked at Lara and Eleanor, now his subordinates. All of them, from legionary to prefect, were bound to obey his commands; yet Martel remembered how he had reacted when Varus demanded too much from him. He turned towards the host of soldiers and gave a salute in return.

***

The brief ceremony at an end, the soldiers began filing through the gate to return to camp. From their vantage point, the three commanders watched. "What happens now?" Martel asked, looking at the other two. "Do I have duties that require my attention?"

"Sir Fontaine and I will handle most tasks, along with the camp prefect and quartermaster," Lara explained. "We have been doing so for a while now, anyway. I do require your signature on the messages we shall send to Morcaster and the other legions."

"Is it urgent?" he asked. "Can it wait an hour?"

"I suppose. No courier is getting through that gate anytime soon," she considered, looking down at where the soldiers marched through. "But not much longer than that, sir, preferably."

"What do you intend?" Eleanor asked.

"I have a few visits I wish to make here in Esmouth," Martel explained. "Especially to Starkad, who helped you save my life. I owe him thanks if nothing else."

"Very well, sir. I shall have the couriers ready in an hour," Lara declared. She saluted, and Eleanor did the same, which Martel felt uncomfortable with, and the two women descended the gatehouse.

***

It was a short walk to Henry's house, and the stonemage stood outside, watching the soldiers march by. "Captain prefect," he greeted Martel with a wry smile.

"That's weird. Besides, you're a civilian," the battlemage replied.

"I am attached to a legion. Would the captain prefect care for a drink?"

"Only if you drop the title."

Henry laughed as they walked inside, and he dug up two cups along with a jar of wine. "How do you want it? This is a day for celebration."

"I'll take it strong, but just the one serving," Martel replied, declining the offer of water. "I won't be here long."

"The duties of a captain are many, I'm sure." Henry poured for him, and they let their cups touch. "Welcome home."

Martel winced in response. "That's just too weird for me. Any chance I can convince you to stop?"

"It is a matter of discipline," she replied, but she looked coy about it. "You salute any superior rank when addressing them. I must set a good example for the soldiers."

"I'm sure they can understand why the legate of the legion is an exception."

"Is the captain giving me an order?"

"Sure, if that'll make you stop."

She smiled. "As you command."

"Still weird."

"Sir Lara is inside. She uses this tent now, as do I sometimes." Eleanor nodded towards the structure, and together, they walked inside.

The chairs had been removed, making room for desks, drawers, and other administrative furniture. Lara sat surrounded by ledgers, and she looked up seeing them. "Sir." She inclined her head at Martel. "Sir Fontaine, did the quartermaster give you the lists?"

Eleanor handed them over. "We're taking inventory of certain supplies," she explained to Martel.

"Tedious and longwinded work, but needed. Not your headache, sir, but I do need your signature on all of these." Lara dug out a stack of parchment and spread them out before pushing a writing set towards Martel.

He grabbed the quill, dipped it in ink, and looked over the messages. One was a declaration of their intentions and demands, meant for Morcaster. The others were identical, expressing the same sentiment but in more direct language, to be sent to the other legions. Martel signed them all swiftly, remembering the last time he had written his name on a document; it had been on his first day at the Lyceum. "That's all?"

"It is. Thank you, sir." As the ink dried, Lara stepped outside and began instructing the awaiting couriers.

Eleanor, meanwhile, took a seat behind a desk. "This is not why I became a mageknight," she sighed, looking at the pile of parchment in front of her.

"I'll help," Martel declared. He had nothing better to do.

"This does require a certain – affinity for arithmetic."

"Right. I'll leave you to it." Martel turned towards the entrance but stopped himself. "Wait, something I wanted to ask."

"Yes?" She looked up at him.

"The oath we swore today – it mentioned a sentence, something about holding imperium. I'll be honest, I don't quite know what that means. I feel like I should," he said, feeling sheepish.

"It is an old Asterian term, from the days of the Senate. You know provinces like Nordmark, still under military administration?"

Martel nodded; although the region had been added a century ago to the Empire, it remained a wild and untamed land, under direct military rule rather than magistrates or nobility.

"A commander granted imperium means he acts as highest judge and magistrate in all regions controlled by the legions under his command. Your decisions are law, Martel, as long as they do not explicitly contravene actual law," she explained. "We used to call such commanders imperator, though that title has been replaced by your current one, captain prefect."

"Huh. I wonder why they changed it?"

"It is reserved for the one man who holds imperium over all Asterian lands. In daily speech, we call him the emperor," Eleanor elaborated. She lowered her gaze, giving her attention to the columns written before her. Feeling stranger and stranger about all the recent developments, Martel left.