At the center of the world, nestled amongst the marble aeries of the eternal city, the eagle stood tall. The crimson standards fluttered and waved in the gentle breezes wafting over the Capitoline hill, and for a moment there was peace. But it was only a moment.
A scream tore the baked summer air asunder, drawing the senator’s gaze back to the earth below, where he saw the world coming to an end. For two days already, the Goths had burned and wrecked their way through the city of Augustus, of Tiberius, of Hadrian and Marcus Aurelius. They took what they would, destroyed the rest, and even now columns of smoke were reaching toward the heavens on all sides, the ashes of unholy sacrifice rising to great Jupiter, who would no longer look on his child, the jewel of cities. All about lay devastation and destruction, the rape of civilization, and the Capitoline mount stood as an island in a sea of blood.
Since the long-haired Goths first crossed the Alps, the legions had lost nearly every battle, retreating foot by foot, forsaking the lands won by their ancestors, and now they had nowhere left to run. They stood upon the steps of the capitol, and they made their final stand. Looking down upon them, the senator’s face was lighted by a passing smile. They had failed often and without shame, but now, at the end, their actions would send them to Elysium with their pride regained.
The soldiers knew the rival they faced, for they had faced him too often before, and they had prepared themselves mightily. The marble steps were piled high with overturned ox-carts, market stalls, and other such debris, before which were stacked casks of oil. The seat of Empire had been turned into a battery, which would sooner be blasted to dust than given over to barbarian lords.
Still gazing down, his brow furrowed with fear, the senator saw the hordes sliding up the streets toward the hill, screams of terror and torture preceding their march. Their feet pushed slowly, hatefully forward, daring to sully the walks of men who had become as gods, but the legion that awaited them did not budge. They remained stalwart.
When finally the Goths reached the Capitol, they surged forward with unimaginable intensity, a sea of wrath and hatred born on a century of jealousy. They hacked at the makeshift ramparts with their axes, hurled their spears at the soldiers atop them, and soon enough, they overcame that last line of defense. The final bastion of Rome had fallen. And then, with tears in his eyes, the senator did what had earlier been asked of him. He removed a torch from a sconce beside him, thrust it out past the window’s sill, and dropped it. Absent-mindedly, he began to count. One. Two. Thr—
The blast knocked him off his feet, and he smiled. The barbarians had destroyed the eternal city, but they would not be given a costless victory.
The Sick Baby Jester
Tale of the Week 295: Emperor - SUBMISSIONS THREAD
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