Valentin and Cassius witness the execution of Ivery Malventus.

Length: <3000 words, POV: Cassius, Rating: R
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Part of: 016 Solitude, Contents

The afternoon had fled, and the sun sank towards the horizon as if exhausted by his day’s work. Cassius went back to his room to put on a black tunic and hose, and a black cloak trimmed with imperial blue. He put the heavy gold chain around his shoulders that signified his position in the royal family, and smoothed his hair back from his face with a wrought gold clip that Valentin had pressed on him at some point. His black boots shone with polish.

Feeling solemn and regal and completely unequal to his task, he went down to the courtyard and stood, waiting for his horse to be brought around.

Valentin was fond of saying that it was fortunate Cassius had been for the army and Valentin for the diplomatic service because Valentin would have made a terrible soldier and Cassius a terrible diplomat. As he tried to calm his racing heart, Cassius reflected that Valentin was only half-right. Cassius would, without doubt, have made a terrible ambassador, but Valentin was more ruthless, more strategic, and more bloodthirsty than Cassius. He would probably have made a fine soldier if he had been forced to apply himself to it.

Stop it, Cassius said to himself. You were going to stop thinking that way.

At any rate, soldiers serving under Valentin would have hated him: vain, sarcastic and manipulative. Men strove for the opportunity to serve under Cassius, because they knew he would try his damnedest not to get them killed.

There, that was better. He straightened his shoulders.

The groom was just bringing his horse around when Valentin strode into the courtyard. He wore almost the same garb as Cassius, but immediately contrived to make him feel shabby by comparison.

He hailed Cassius and stepped over. “Negotiations wrapped up, so I thought I might come with you. I know how you hate the bloody business.”

Cassius nodded. “As you wish,” he said mildly.

“Listen, I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Cassius. “I understand, and you’re right, anyway. I’ll keep my nose out of your affairs, and worry about my own.”

“Well, I’ll count on you to help me amuse my wife when she’s here. It’s your duty as my brother.”

Cassius raised his eyebrows. “Amuse her?” he said dryly.

Laughing, Valentin said, “Oh, not like that! I recognise a futile cause when I see one.”

Their horses were brought around, and they mounted up and rode to the lockup where Ivery had been held since his trial. He had been dressed in sack-cloth, and was dirty and unkempt. His eyes were red from exhaustion or crying.

The cart carrying the giant wooden cross was already hitched to a horse, and Ivery was bound by the hands to the back of it. The Monsilys prefect nodded in recognition to Cassius and Valentin. Cassius’ eyes met Ivery’s and he tried to think of something to say, but he had said it all in that room at Blacktower. He had promised gens Sylvanus would destroy him, and was here to carry out the promise.

He turned his horse and rode out of the jail. Valentin rode beside him, and behind them came the cart, and Ivery, and his guards on foot. They rode down from the lockup, along the wide main street of Monsilys, towards the gate. By the time they reached the wall, word had spread that a traitor was being taken to be executed, and a crowd had formed. Some jeered or shouted, others just watched quietly. Guards had to ride ahead of them to clear the way for the cart.

Cassius looked straight ahead, over the crowd, and focused on looking stern.

They passed out of the town onto the way, intersected by the cruciform shadows of the other criminals. At least one was still alive; Cassius could hear him crying.

He heard a shout from behind him. Ivery, met with gruesome evidence of his fate, was struggling and trying to flee. Cassius turned his horse and watched as the guards bound his feet and tossed him into the cart beside the crucifix.

The crowd had followed them out onto the plain, still jeering and catcalling. Cassius wished they would shut up. They reached the place where Ivery would stand, and he was hauled down from the cart by two guards. Another four removed the massive cross and laid it across the way. There was a deal of traffic from people returning to the city at the end of the day; carts, riders and pedestrians stopped and milled around, the word passing back that there was a crucifixion and they wouldn’t be able to pass until it was done.

The flow of people from the town and those from the plain met and spread out into a wide circle with the crucifix at its centre. Ivery was laid, still struggling, on the cross, and his hands and feet were bound. One guard held his hand still while the other placed a spike on Ivery’s wrist and hammered it into the flesh between the two bones of the lower arm. Ivery screamed. Mercilessly, the other arm was given the same treatment, followed by his feet, which were nailed through the heel to either side of the stake.

Not wishing to watch anymore, Cassius turned his horse away and shouted, “Watch this man’s suffering, make note of it, tell your families and others you meet. Spread word throughout Jovan that this is the fate of traitors and mutineers. All of you bear witness to the punishment of those who transgress against Jovan and gens Sylvanus.”

The crowd fell silent to listen to him speak, and not into this silence there came a thin, reedy wail as Ivery was lifted up on the cross and his mutilated hands and feet were made to take the full weight of his body.

“Blessed few,” cried Ivery. “Sweet, merciful, blessed few help me.”

The guards stepped back and were preparing to leave as Valentin rode up to the base of the pillar. “I wouldn’t bother,” he said. “Pray for the fields of asphodel instead, scum; it is the best you might hope for.  I think you will walk among the damned, though, in the hell reserved for traitors.”

Ivery fell silent except for the sound of damp, raspy breaths being dragged in through his teeth. Cassius didn’t look up at him as they left the road and re-entered the city.

As they left the horses in the bailey, Valentin said, “Drink, brother?”

“I’m not really in the mood,” said Cassius.

Valentin slapped him on the back. “The best way to cope with something you cannot bear to think about is to chase it away,” he said. “Take it from one who knows.”

Thinking for a moment, Cassius imagined dinner with the family, followed by his bed, where the image of Ivery’s body contorting itself around that wooden stake, and the image of Llewellyn’s face when he bid Cassius goodbye in Ilas, would chase themselves around his mind all night, robbing him of sleep.

“All right,” he said. “Lead on, brother.”