Chapter _: Denigration
Justinian stood up slowly, wiping his hands on a piece of silk. He cast his lips a broad smile, and carrying himself with unmistakable pride, he made an elaborate theatre of his walk to the deus; every step he took was one filled with the joy of seeing a hated enemy now secure within the grips of defeat. He would now bask in a victory so pure it must have been of divine appoint; a victory borne of wrath and terrible purpose. A purpose bathed in malice and gripped by destiny. How he had waited for this moment. How he had plotted, and pined for a day when his victory would be absolute and his vengeance quenched. Through every gaping stare, disgusted gasp and wailing child who had looked upon his mutilation, his rage had grown more pure. In every breath, the scars on his face had burned with anger, and seethed in rage. His once beautiful visage now reflected the vengeful intent that had for so long nourished him. It would not do to waste moments like these, he thought, they were far too precious. Making no attempt to hide his smile, or the overwhelming sense of providence he felt as he walked across the chamber and through the throngs of people now gathered. Gathered, one and all, for the spectacle he was about to offer them. A spectacle indeed, he thought. He was going to savor this.
Reaching the deus he stopped, and to every quarter of the room he bowed low, in a deep and elaborate show of respect, swaying graciously as he regained his posture. A consummate showman as ever, he blew kisses and called names to the crowd; acknowledging patronage and throwing coins to onlookers. Rose petals and barley and dove feathers were thrown to the ground at his feet. Here and there a man might reach out in attempt to touch him, for the vain sake of favor or miracle. But most were there to witness the king's justice, and revel in its making. His people had come to see a triumph.
And indeed, thousands had come. An event like this was hardly missed, and pitch and field lay unattended for miles around. Schools fell empty and cattle were tied to posts, as everyone who could physically walk or was not compelled to man his post, was assuredly in that vast sea of onlookers. A sea that grew wider and more restless with every passing moment. They had come to gawk in wide eyed marvel, with glee and in utter anticipation, to see that which happens to those who oppose an emperor.
As Justinian dispensed with the last of his coins and trinkets, he wiped his hands again, and turned to the man now standing, chained, in front of him. And then abruptly his demeanor changed, and a darker man seemed to stand in his place. The sky seemed to grow dim and the air a bit colder, as if to match the emperor's new countenance. The sublime animation that had rosened his face now vanished, and the glint in his eye went dark. Etched into his face now was a grim thing, whereupon you could scarcely believe joy had ever made a home. Now only rested the starkness of the sun set against his chiseled brows and indiscernable expression; a thinly lined face made alive only by eyes lit aflame with both purpose and malice. Eyes that he now brought squarely to rest on the man he'd come here to see.
The wind howled and each stood in silence, letting the tension of the moment build. Until the emperor at his liesure spoke.
"And so here you are before me" he said. But the man before him made no reply, nor gave any reaction at all.
"Have you nothing to say to me, old friend? Would you not look upon my face as you used to? A face set to ruin by the blades of your command. My dear Leontius, you have wounded me deeply." he said with a laugh, and in a loud booming voice, with a practiced enthusiasm.
Louder, this time, he continued. "And you know, I'm sure, what happens to any man who dare wound an emperor." The crowd cheered and laughed. The emperor let a smile crack through his facade.
But this was not mere theatre, he thought. No, he may have captured his quarry, but before him stood a man still set apart from him. A man who still believed, if only deep down, that he might know deliverance. That small hope that lies within the depths of all mankind, set to ring true against any horror that might befall us, that some how a better path might be offered and to a happy end. So long as this dwells within a man, he thought, one cannot be defeated. There cannot be a victory, he mused, until there has been defeat.
"What say you, traitor? What say you to your King? Where are your words, that for so long have rained upon us like an acrid filth that sticks and stinks and maligns the soul? Where now, I ask, has your venom gone? Has your forked tongue run dry? Must we whet it with the vine, that you might again make your violence known? Might you rise up, once more, against the sovereignty of God and the dignity of your people? Will you not still profane the ground on which I walk? Come, my brother, tell me. What words of defense can you muster to account for your heresy and betrayal? How might you spare your mortal soul?" He quaked. But still, he received only silence in reply.
With a wave of his hand, Leontius's jailers took him by the arms and threw him to the ground at Justinian's feet, with a further two guards now resting the tips of their spears mere inches from his neck.
"One way, or another that shall be found, I will have from you a full account. I shall know your mind, and your secrets and your poison will be laid bare. Every babe and every wretch, every tradesman and drover from here to terminus will know the sound of your cursed name. Child and woman alike will wail and despair but the whisper of your memory. And even that will soon fade, no more than a mere sunset among all the days of eternity whenceforth. To the lord's care I shall send you, but not before the proper time. You will, before the graces of God and the righteous men before you, retell, recant, and accept punishment for all your misdeeds, terrible though they may be. You will set free the meaning of your heart and offer up the keys to your soul. And then, you will ask for my forgiveness, and my mercy. But please know, Leontius...my fallen brother, Leontius...and know well: though I shall be forgiving, I shall never be merciful" he said, to the eruption of the crowd.
The audience cheered and yelled, some threw rocks and grass, many striking him. Insults and curses came from every direction. Children screamed and women cackled and rasped, pointing fingers and making threats in gesture. But still he stood silent, as but a stone. It would take more, the emperor thought, to provoke the response he desired. But that was fine; he was just warming the crowd. Act I had merely just begun. At that thought, the emperor smiled once more.
With another subtle gesture of his hand, a servant walked forward, head bowed, holding with him a large vessel of wine. An emaciated boy, clearly of diminished growth and stature; he hurried himself to the emperors side and poured a measure into the goblet now held aloft. And now, to the mild astonishment of his compatriots, the emperor extended his arm and offered his drink to the man he sought to break. "Drink," he commanded, "for it shall likely be the last you will ever taste from the land of your birth. Let its sweetness be a solemn reminder of the virtue of your kinsmen, who are kinsmen no more." but Leontius, still, said nothing. Nor did he move to end his thirst, which must have been considerable.
At this, the emperor turned his head and let the cup fall from his hands. Its contents quickly vanishing into the many crags and cracks in the cold stone at his feet. Justinian turned, and lifting his arms to his people took a step away. But finally, Leontius stirred. Lifting his head slightly, he at last found the energy to speak. An almost inaudible sound escaped Leontius's lips, in a voice strained and broken by torments one can only suppose; each word struggled for freedom.
"you...look better...without...the nose" he coughed, each word spat as daggers seeking flesh. And as though an arrow had at that moment struck within the emperor a humour of such visceral anger that entire worlds might be brought asunder, as they struggled against an onslaught of pure and potent rage. The walls of his mind flamed white, and the demon that lies within the heart of all men awoke in him with a fury such that God and his pantheon had surely taken note; at that moment it seemed to all that the air itself had turned to death and all the savage hearts of men would soon descend upon us, and the walls of our city would be but paper before them. As if in that instant the gates of hell would erupt and swallow whole the host of man. Every man held in pause his breath, in fear and anticipation of what their lord might do.
And to the astonishment of all, the intensity that had for but a sheer moment gripped his face turned again to one of grace and confidence. Justinian walked on, and signaled the music to start. The guards again took hold of Leontius and drew him up, placing stocks upon his shoulders and now holding him within a cage of iron bars. From his cell he would watch the festival around him, a festival that signaled his now imminent death.