Unshed Tears

The Guild of Tiberius; A league of shadow and intangibility that exist within the darker places of this world.

Where there is corruption, they have either instigated it, or will liberate it. Where there are powerful organizations and if you know where to look, they are there… in the background. Where there is war, agents are positioned upon both sides of the battlefield to seek a common outcome and when their purpose is complete, they will simply fade away.

Agents known as The Disruptors have always worked tirelessly behind many scenes. Sometimes they come in the guise of diplomats and government officials – or their wives and mistresses. Sometimes they are assassins or thieves. But none are restricted by the laws of time. Two hundred Disruptors spread across more than ten thousand years of history, all working for a common purpose – a common goal.

Yet only a select few are privileged to know all of the mysteries of the world. The twelve Guild Masters of the secret city of Tiberius; alone, they are privy to the knowledge to be had within The Dome

. Only they know why they send their agents into history to keep events flowing in their favour. Only they know what will happen if they failed to intervene.

And so, it is a Disruptor’s life to carry out the orders of their masters, in secret and knowing that there is more than just the continuation of Tiberius at stake – but never allowed to know the ultimate end-game.

They are told that sometimes evil deeds are required to serve the greater good, and that from dark times, there will rise a golden age of prosperity and happiness. Failure, however means death and replacement, and so questions are never asked. Only obedience is necessary.

But to become a disruptor is to be free from that city. Free from the oppression and the drudgery and the fear. Free to explore green fields, blue skies and culture – at least for a little while.


***

“What do you mean you can’t find him?” General Gylippus spat into the young lieutenant’s face as he grabbed the clasp of his cloak and pulled him closer still. “Search the entire city. Your presence is not required until the prince is found!” With that, he thrust the smaller man away with one mighty arm, and sent him sprawling across the marble floor. Picking himself up, the lieutenant simply saluted in the Spartan way and left with as much dignity he could muster.

Gylippus paced the senate floor with vehemence. He looked as if he was about to burst one of those over-sized blood vessels in the side of his head and he tugged on his beard in frustration. Arbraxos, the general’s most trusted captain, approached him where others wouldn’t dare. “My Lord, try to calm yourself.” He soothed. “There are only so many places this woman can keep Prince Pausanias. It is only a matter of…”

“This woman

” Gylippus cut in angrily, “is making a mockery of Sparta! King Pleistoanax will have all our heads on spikes if aught were to happen to his son; victory or no!”

He turned to the small group of captains and their subordinates who had been gathered at short notice to decide how they were going to deal with this Octavia. “What say you? We suffered her ultimatum, as we suffered her insults. Admittedly, her plan worked, though how she gained knowledge of the archer’s ambush, I know not. She saved many lives. But the greatest honour for a Spartan is to die, not of old age, but in combat!”

He stopped and looked out across the sea from the open senate pillars. “She came to us hours before the conflict; as we were emptying the city in fact. If this woman can blackmail us into letting her lead an assault; if she can fight on the battlefield and kill Athenians, then why should she not be subject to all of our Spartan ways, woman or not?”

***

The woman simply known as Octavia had waited long enough. She was becoming testy. If they did not summon her soon, she had made the decision to vacate their silly prison. These men who were apparently deciding her fate were beginning to bore her and she had things she needed to do; meeting up with her ‘number two’ for a start after the final phase of a two pronged mission. Maybe she would gain a day or two on one of the more remote islands, just to feel the sun on her skin.

She was here to ensure that King Pleistoanax’s son, Pausanias was to survive the battle and any subsequent dangers. This she had done. It had been foreseen that he would have fallen in yesterday’s battle and so Octavia had kidnapped him whilst ensuring a Spartan victory.

It was important to her paymasters that he lived long enough to become the traitor he was supposed to be when eventually he succeeded the throne. Without his acceptance of a certain bribe from the Persians in a few years’ time, the Greeks would become too powerful and this would send ripples through time; ripples that were not to the benefit of her employers. She kept him secretly stashed away for now, guarded by her subordinate until such time as they could both leave Sicily.

The second part of the mission was a little hazier. She was required to find a man who would be suitable for recruitment into the ranks of the Disruptors. She did not know who this might be as the Guild’s sources were not exact, but she was told he would become obvious once confrontation with the general had occurred.

It was not unheard of to recruit members from past times. Whoever he was, he had been judged to be historically unimportant and his absence would not affect the world. He would need intensive training and induction before being placed upon any mission, but the Guild did not choose people lightly. He would undoubtedly have a significant part to play in the their intricate plans.

She remembered, it was not unlike how she was chosen, wandering in a Persian desert with no memory of whom she had been, or even what year it was. For now though, she was existing on her wits and perception. Things would invariably turn out as they should. She just needed to be able to recognise it when it did.

Although the Spartan general, along with his advisors were important within the context of historical matters, they were an arrogant bunch of vain and aggressive individuals and she would have loved to have had her special issue to shoot Gylippus right between the eyes, if only to see the look on their faces. That

would give them some perspective, and if they thought that life was cheap in this age, they should visit where she had come from. Then

they would know all about the value put upon one’s existence.

“The fools wouldn’t last five minutes!” she muttered within the darkness of her cell. The sound that was produced from her larynx however, sounded croaky and disjointed. Wait…

she thought. That didn’t sound right.

Reaching beneath her black hair at the back of her neck, she unclasped a small, leather choker that doubled as a voice replicator. She fiddled with the three metallic studs that acted as resonator controls and with a bit of trial and error, she ‘doe–ray–me'd’ the device back to its desired setting. Although she could speak many languages, ancient Greek was not one of them. The ear implant she had received when first inducted into the Disruptors however, was still translating language well enough.

The resonator must have taken a knock on the battlefield, she thought… or more likely, when the general had ordered her arrest upon returning to Syracuse. Jealous Spartan women, only too eager to oblige, had pushed the men aside, grabbed her none too lightly and rough-housed her all the way to the prison. Now the bruises were beginning to show.

Fortunately, in most cases, it was usually only the men that needed to be impressed. They were the ones who held the keys to power and influence, and resentful wives and girlfriends came with the territory. She was certainly not averse to using her womanly ways upon these single minded fools, and many had fallen under her spell so that she could gain the desired effect. But none yet had tasted any of her delights, and of this she was proud.

At least they had allowed her to wash herself with a large basin of clear water. She couldn’t have abided sitting around for hours, her hair all matted with blood and feet covered in filth.

She remembered now; the blood in her hair had been from a soldier who had set a course with her. He wielded one of those two and a half metre long pikes and was intent on bringing down her horse. Having already thrown her spear at the beginning of the ambush, she was forced to toss a small, but lethal gravity bomb which clamped to his breastplate. Before he could reach her, his whole top half had exploded in an instant with a sickening smacking sound followed by splattering as she was drenched in his fluids. In the chaos of battle, the event went unnoticed; least-ways by anyone left alive.

She could hear footsteps making their way towards her cell and there was a grunt as the great bar of wood was lifted from its fittings. The door opened and in walked the rather old - but still spritely jailor. “Come on you,” he said turning and holding the door open for her. “You're company is required by the general.”

“Well, it’s about time.” She replied in an indignant manner and breezed past him with her nose in the air - although she had no idea which way to go. The old soldier rolled his eyes and quickly ran past her to lead the way.

She was led into the forum where all decisions on life, death and war were made, and considering her case included all three of these subjects, she mused that she was in the appropriate place. This time however, she was not greeted by the white toga of the senate, but by the crimson cloak of the soldier. She did not expect a gentle debate. The old jailor ushered her to one side of the assembly and quickly left.

The speaker's pit on which she now stood was semi-circular in shape, yet the stone seating that surrounded the area was square. It was small by comparison to an Athenian hall. Sunlight breached the open pillars to the east, and cast shadows throughout, and the marbled surfaces were inlayed with the inverted 'V' of Lacedaemon. The general had already started his speech on the opposite side of the floor.

“Ah! Our Messiah is come.” Gylippus theatrically and loudly announced to his group of officers. With a dramatic wave of his arm, he began to stride the floor as if addressing a real senate; his great bulk making his footsteps sound heavy. “I beseech you, stand and tell us of your… heroics Octavia; of how you have come to the rescue of us poor

Spartans, who would be so

defenceless against those big, nasty Athenians.” His tone was thick with sarcasm.

Octavia remained silent, but her mouth was moving as if muttering something under her breath. Gylippus ignored it and saw it for a sign that she was nervous. He took the opportunity to press home his advantage. “You have come here, stolen our prince and held us at spear-point so that you could personally lead a counter ambush against the enemy. Did you really think that we would welcome you into the city with flowers and a parade? Now it seems you have nothing left to say.”

She mumbled… something, but it was too low for any to hear. Gylippus leaned toward her, as if trying to comically listen to her words. Like she was some naughty child caught stealing with a no-good explanation, “I’m sorry.” He placed a hand to his ear “I didn’t quite catch that, oh Great Messiah. Did you say something?”

Still nothing but an inaudible drone passed her lips. Feeling as though she was about to break down in tears like some Arcadian girl, Gylippus pressed on. “Come child, surely you can share what you have to say with all of us. After all, we…”

Looking him directly in the eye, Octavia made her response. “I said;

it’s because you understood, you failed to understand that you misunderstood!”

General Gylippus froze as if caught in a time bubble. His eyebrows went from a high arch to a knitted furrow on the instant. His gathered comrades turned to each other with bemused looks and one corner of Octavia's lip curled into a smile. She watched as they tried to make sense of her nonsensical statement. She could never resist an opening to completely sabotage another’s ranting and Octavia was trained to confuse and beguile. The general was just not ready for her.

Now she

began to pace the floor as if to mirror the general’s actions from a moment before. “Allow me to explain: You understood

that I had taken your prince and have hidden him safely away so that I could blackmail you into letting me lead your men into battle - which, by the way was highly successful. But you failed to understand

the reasons why I did what I did and you did not even question it. Therefore, you misunderstood

the whole situation and have now come to me to get the answers.” She stopped and raised an eyebrow. “Am I correct?”

Gylippus remained where he was for a moment before shaking himself from his quandary filled thoughts. “Bah! You talk in riddles woman.”

“Perhaps she is right.” It was Arbraxos who now took the floor, coming somewhat to the rescue of his superior. He gave Octavia a look with his striking blue eyes as if to say; that was too near the mark but… bravo.

“We were so intent on having the prince returned to us that we didn’t even ask her why she had taken him in the first place. Add to that that we were on the eve of battle. By the time we had decided to let her go ahead with her ambush plan, we were only looking at the short term.”

“Yes.” said Gylippus, recovered now and with narrowed eyes. “You certainly came to us at a time of pressure. But I think that was the idea. So, now the question is; why did you abduct Pausanias? He should have been cutting his teeth on the field, not in some cellar, or wherever you have him, and why did you even want to personally oversee a Spartan victory?”

Octavia chose her words carefully - as she lied. “To your first question, Prince Pausanias had to be kept safe. I have been sent by the King and given instruction to keep him from harm and to use any means possible. Unfortunately, because I am female, you would never have listened.”

Gylippus snorted. “Then why, pray, not send a man?”

“Because of my speed.” She quickly answered. “Also because as a woman, I could – and did - pass through the Athenian camp, and I learned of their plans. The king, in his wisdom saw that I could be used to kill two larks with one sling, and so the battle went better than expected. The bonus is that his son is still alive and well. You see, the king fears for his health at present, and he will need his heir apparent.”

The general was becoming angry. Octavia was standing here telling him that he was – to all intents and purposes – not a good enough leader to win the island of Sicily for the glory of Sparta, or to keep the heir to the throne safe. The king had sent a woman

to increase his odds! His honour was being attacked, and the kidnapper who stood before him was mocking him with her arrogant talk. His hands had curled involuntarily into fists and his great muscles were becoming knotted.

Although he had received the training all Spartan warriors receive as a young boy, (and he was about the biggest and strongest among his peers), Gylippus could never escape the fact that his mother was not of Spartan stock. Therefore, he was considered; a man of inferior status,

no matter how high he rose. He had worked hard to become the general that he was, and his size had much to do with it, but also his wit.

He had become an advisor of sorts to the king and was respected for his views and advice. But the thought always remained in the back of his mind throughout his life. Inferior!

It was what all true Spartans thought as he walked by or as he took the field. On the one hand, it was a source of strength that forced him to strive that bit harder to succeed, but on the other it was his weakness also. Right now, it was the only thought in his mind.

Of course, Octavia could see the effect she was having on this brute, but she also knew that it was out of necessity that she antagonized him. In order to find the one who she was looking for, she had been told to goad him into making the mistake that would reveal her true quarry. She did not fathom all that the Guild Masters told her. Octavia herself didn't understand fully why she was ordered to help with the Spartan victory, but she knew enough not to question them. So, she continued in her condescending tone.

“To your second question, I could see how things would work out if I did not take charge. My number two was the ideal choice to take out the second group of archers before we could join the main battle, and you would not have allowed her to become involved if I had not kidnapped the prince. Yes, I knew the timing was perfect. You had no choice on the hour of war, but I assure you now, as I did then; Pausanias is safe.”

Octavia too had begun to ready herself for a fight. Her own muscles were bunched and ready for action, but she was much more adept at hiding the signs than her opponent. She was a calm pond without, but a raging rapid within. Her speed and brain were her strengths and her training was her foundation. She decided to get things underway and see what would be seen. With all the arrogance she could muster, she made her final insult.

“So, the question I put to you Gylippus is this; are you not grateful that I have come?”

For a second, the general lost it just as she had planned. In an instant, He quickly closed the space between them and raised his great hand back to strike her… but stopped. Octavia was about to move into action herself, but held her reserve in a defensive stance.

Giving her a growl, he turned and walked quickly to one of the seated officers. Picking up his shield and spear, he threw them down with a clang to slide towards Octavia’s feet. Jutting his chin towards her, he said; “So, You wish to play with the men? You wish to test my leadership? Well then, let’s test your balls!” He turned to his captain. “Arbraxos, Show this wench what it is to live under Spartan law.”

***

Octavia was taken to the training pens near the gates of the city. Here, the young boys of Sparta were conditioned for manhood. Back in Tiberius, she had read up on the hardships that the males went through from the age of seven. She learned of how they were taught to cope with pain. How they were encouraged to steal by being kept undernourished, and of how they would be punished if they were ever caught stealing - to encourage stealth. But you could only gain a small measure of real knowledge from words printed upon a screen, and seeing is sometimes the only way to open your eyes…

As she was led by six guards around the outside of the sanded courtyard, she watched the various forms of vigorous training taking place. It reminded her of her own regime back in The Blue City when she had first arrived at The Dome, all be it a bit more lo-tech.

There was a brutal fight going on in one corner where two teenage boys were going at one another with wooden swords. Both of them were bloody and bruised. Nobody moved to stop it. Only shouts of encouragement were sent in their direction.

In another area, a group of four girls had gathered close to one particular boy who, by the looks of things, had been singled out for punishment. As a man with a wooden stick circled him, he was made to crouch low on shaking legs and hold his heavy shield directly above him. He was forced to use the bronze surface to deflect the sunlight towards the females, and they each took turns to bath in the light that he provided. As they did this, they pointed at him and laughed.

Octavia picked up a little of what they were saying. Something along the lines of; not to worry, for when we give birth to true warriors, you can easily be replaced.

Humiliation, it seems, was also encouraged here.

Just before entering an archway leading to her destination, Octavia noticed a small child of no more than eight years of age. His mother was crouched beside him, and at first it looked as though she was trying to comfort him as he bravely fought back his tears. The child had many fresh welts across his skinny back where he had been beaten by one of the older boys. It was only as Octavia passed the boy and his mother that she heard, through the translator within her ear, what was being said...

“I bore you so that you might die for Sparta.” She was saying, looking deeply into his eyes. “If I had had a daughter, she would not have let her tears flow as you do. Be brave, for when you die, it will be because I wished it.”

The boy swallowed hard and lifted his chin as if to appease his mother and show her that he could indeed be brave.

Before Octavia entered the arch, nearly passing from sight, the boy looked up and their eyes locked as he gazed directly at her. Behind those unshed tears was a courage that she had rarely seen amongst even the most experienced of war veterans. In the moment that passed between them, Octavia discovered that she had found a new respect for these Greeks who called themselves Spartans. She saw now that she had a kinship with these people and that their hardships mirrored her own. It was a kinship that spanned millennia.

She looked around at her crimson clad escort, and knew that each and every one of them had been put through this grinding mill. They had survived and emerged as hard men, not only in body, but also in mind and in spirit. She decided that they were not so silly after all.

Eventually, she was shown to a practice area, where several trainees were ushered from the sand and she was directed to stand to one side. The general and his men gathered at the steps while many youngsters crowded between the stone pillars. This was not how things were supposed to happen.

Octavia had been told that she must fight Gylippus in order to reveal the Disruptor recruit, but she was now confronted with a young lad, no more than fifteen years of age as he entered the small arena and faced her; spear and shield in hand.

Gylippus was not in the mood for any more speeches. “If you will not tell me where Pausanias is, then you will die here.” He stated in a matter of fact way. “Begin.”

Immediately, the boy launched into an attack. Octavia was still recovering from her revelations from a few moments ago, and was nearly taken off guard, but she managed to parry his spear and glanced him to one side with her shield. She then adopted a very low and very defensive stance, and all that the boy could see of her was the top of her head and her dark eyes, glittering from behind the disk of bronze.

She did not have a problem killing men on the battlefield. It was either kill or die; the choice was simple. But she had not the heart to take this or any other boy’s life unless it was her very last resort. She could certainly be a nightmare to some, but she was not a monster.

He came at her again with a smile on his face as he attempted to prove himself before his general. This time, she was ready for him. He launched himself into the air in an attempt to drive his spear downwards and over her shield. Immediately she quickly rolled forward and thrust her boot upwards and into the boy’s groin, and despite the large crowd that had now gathered to watch the show, silence invaded the air. As the teenage warrior fell onto his side holding his tender regions, all that could be heard was his moans as he softly whimpered into the dust… he was not the one, but he would live.

For just a moment, the general looked shocked, but soon adopted a look of disinterest. He sat with one leg upon a large vase as he watched the proceedings. With a wave of his arm, the teenager was dragged from the arena while two more took his place. They looked much more wary than their predecessor had, but neither did they hesitate once the melee was joined.

For half an hour this went on. Octavia used the butt of her spear, the flat of her sword or her hard shield to dispatch these would-be exacters of justice. Each time her young opponents were defeated, Gylippus would demand to know where the prince of Sparta was held; and each time she refused to tell him, he would send more youths into the fray until eventually, she was facing six young adults at a time in a fight for her survival. She named him a coward many times among other, not so polite terms, but he remained un-moved.

She did not survive each round unscathed by any means. Many were her bruises and cuts. When she cried out in pain, the general would laugh at her discomfort whilst eating from a bowl of fruit. But she had become stubborn now. She had come to loathe this man for his flippant attitude and for sending in these boys, caring not if they were killed. Her stubbornness also ensured each of their survival as she refused to draw blood, even if they were used to the pain.

“AH, ENOUGH!” shouted Gylippus after what seemed like forever. “It is beyond me why you will not tell us where he is!”

Octavia stood, battered and bloody upon the sand, breathing heavily in the sun and drawing on all of her strength so as not to collapse in a heap. Trainees were hobbling away, nursing their own bruises after their individual defeats. She would not give in to this man. Her number two’s life depended on it and she would rather die than betray her.

“Fine!” The general stood. “Arbraxos, finish her off. We’ll find him ourselves.” As a man used to having his soldiers follow his orders, he was surprised that his captain hadn’t heard him. “ARBRAXOS!” he boomed.

“I’m here my Lord.” Arbraxos jogged into the arena with his plumed helmet and crimson cloak. He squared off with Octavia, standing tall and staring at her with those penetrating eyes. Fighting youths was one thing, but fighting a trained soldier who had some obvious experience and athletic ability was quite another. This one, thought Octavia, would be to the death, and most likely her own.

She managed to straighten herself and tried to show him that she was not nearly as exhausted as she felt. But she knew that her previous bouts with the not unskilled boys had taken too much of a toll. This, she realised, would be the end of her mission. However, Arbraxos made no move towards her. She thought that he was sizing her up after making such a good impression and that he was not taking her lightly.

Gylippus stepped down onto the sand with suspicion in his eyes. “What are you waiting for? Finish her.”

“No.” Arbraxos stood firm, much to the shock of his superior. “I have seen much in my time with you general. We have fought many times side by side. But I never thought you would have me murder a woman on her last legs. Under Spartan law, has she not earned her right to live?”

Octavia was shocked, and quite touched, but she would have rather died at the hands of Arbraxos than at the general’s. Her hope darkened as Gylippus made his way into the arena. “And what do you propose we do with her then?” he stood at the captain’s side and looked at Octavia. “Are we supposed to just let her go? And what of the prince?”

“Here is your prince!” a woman’s voice called out from the city wall. All eyes rose as one to see Octavia’s ‘number two’, standing upon the parapet with an almost unconscious man kneeling at her feet. To Octavia, she looked magnificent! She stood with her blonde hair blowing in the wind, with the sun at her back, wearing the same black armour as her with a great sword held at her side. She looked for all the world like a dark, avenging angel.

As the Spartans watched, aghast, she pushed the prince's feeble head and let him fall to the earth and out of sight into one of the empty pens; a drop of nearly twelve feet. “Now let her go!”

Bells began to ring from close to the training area and men started to rush past the general and the scene within the arena as if they weren’t there. Something was on fire close by, and soldiers confirmed this with their warning shouts. Smoke could be seen as it began to billow over the rooftops and from doors within some of the barracks close-by. Confusion reigned as choking fumes spread throughout the courtyard and people hurried to get water from where they could.

Only for a second did Gylippus take his eyes from the blonde woman on the wall to survey the encroaching chaos which she had obviously started. When he looked again, she had gone.

His rage had reached its peak. Turning to Arbraxos, he grabbed his captain’s sword from its scabbard before he could move. “DisoBEDIANCE!” He smashed him under the jaw with his great forearm, sending him crashing to the floor, “will NOT be tolerated!” Turning with murder in his eyes, he lunged at Octavia with a war cry and surprising speed.

Too exhausted to fight, she did the only thing she could. She moved into

the thrust, preventing him from fully extending his arm! His sword entered Octavia’s body just beneath her right breast. It went only half way in and would have pierced the other side had she done nothing. She screamed – a very vulnerable and womanly sound which echoed her pain, but surely, she had only delayed the inevitable.

The general and Octavia were now in a struggle, and the mightily muscled man was far too strong for her techniques to work on him. She could only watch as he drew his dagger; flashing past her vision. As he aimed it at her neck, he gave her his parting shot; “Time to die little one.” He snarled through gritted teeth as he eased the knife towards her throat with an irresistible force.

Golden sunlight burst upon his face! For a moment, he was blinded by Arbraxos’ reflecting shield as from the floor, he aimed it into his general’s eyes… but a moment was all she needed. She brought ridge-hands to both top and bottom of the big man’s wrist. His dagger fell from his numbed limb and she grabbed it in mid-air, swiping, backhanded with all the energy she had left, and feeling satisfaction as the blade penetrated both flesh and bone.

She heard him howl with pain and rage as she staggered away and fell to the ground. After which, she knew nothing but blissful oblivion.
***

Octavia was not at all lucid after that event. She vaguely remembered being lifted up within a powerful grip and born away at speed from the fire and commotion and a clashing of swords. She dreamed between times of semi-consciousness. None of her dreams seemed to follow each other, but her visions were ever fragmented as they were now, and it was not so great a burden to bear.

She dreamed of the time she was picked up by the rider in black. He had dismounted his camel and caught her before she fell from dehydration in the desert. She dreamed of Tiberius, with its auspicious towers and miserable slums and everything coloured with a blue-grey hue. She dreamed too of friends long gone into the arms of death and away from this world. Sometimes they had gone peacefully, and other times, they had died amid violence… So many!

But then, she dreamed of blue oceans and gentle skies; of a beautiful and exotic rainforest; mountains dominating a crystal clear horizon, and a waterfall that cascaded from a lonely peak.

Her dreams finally drew her to a warm azure sea where the only feature was a small chain of tropical islands. This, she felt stronger than anything was her home. Not a soul existed within this idyllic world, and she felt herself collapse into the water feeling at ease with nature.

She awoke for a while, weak, but at peace as she was carried by strong hands aboard the unmistakable rocking of a ship. Once again, she was at home, close to the water and with the sun on her face, and for the first time in… forever, she allowed herself to nestle into a man’s arms.

To be continued…

Impressum

Texte: Original artwork by K. Jones (Myself).
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 22.09.2011

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