Bellerophon waited for his turn on the Senate floor with a sort of manic glee. This was his time, his chance to prove that he could live up to his father’s legacy as leader of the anti-dynastic faction. For too long Peleus and his family had thought they were Macaria’s kings and not its Emperors, that the Senate existed at their whims and not the other way around, that no misdeed could ever come back to haunt them. He was going to prove them all wrong.

  Even up to the st possible instant there were those who wished to stifle him. His fellow Senators kept telling him to sit still, to cease his idiot grinning and wait his turn, but Bellerophon was too smart to allow himself to be so trod on. He yawned and rolled his eyes as the old men, fossilized in the Senate positions they’d held for nigh-on half a century, debated about how it would be best to go about fixing the damage to the city’s infrastructure.

  That was just about the only thing that could slow down the rampaging herd of stallions that was Bellerophon’s anticipation (no mares in Bellerophon’s mind, that would be unmanly). Depending on how one looked at it, it might be said that the incineration of half of Chrysopolis’s dock infrastructure in a single night of fmes was Bellerophon’s fault. He didn’t necessarily see it that way. Really it was all the fault of his benefactors, and of the churlish brutes he had hired to carry out the deed, neither of whom had stopped to confirm that Storm wasn’t full of extremely fmmable raw grain. If they had just picked a better target, none of it would have happened!

  The scroll tucked away in Bellerophon’s toga meant that it was going to turn out well in the end, regardless. He’d rubbed the little scrap of papyrus raw just holding it, re-reading it, confirming the letter’s contents to be as damning as he had assumed on the first reading. It was everything he could have dreamed of and more.

  “Bellerophon, son of Apollonios, what say you?”

  Bellerophon looked up into the squinting eyes of the Senatorial Archon, the man who theoretically convened the Senate and set the topic of debate. In actuality Bellerophon knew precisely who had set the topic of the debate, and that he was sitting approximately twenty seats to Bellerophon’s right. He wondered for a moment how it must feel to be the Senatorial Archon, elected by the people to one’s role, only for it all to mean nothing. Then he remembered why the old bastard was gring at him like that, and stood.

  “On the topic of the rebuilding of the port, I agree with…” Bellerophon cast his gaze about, looking for someone in his faction who had likely spoken eloquently. “Ancaeus, son of Acastus!”

  Before the Archon could assume that he had finished speaking, Bellerophon advanced down the steps toward the central open space of the Senate chamber. He wanted as many as possible to be looking at him, to understand fully the importance of his speech.

  “But I must add this: if we are to rebuild Chrysopolis, it is not enough merely to put one stone above another! We must seek to improve our nation, to build its moral character through the abhorrence of vice and allegiance to virtue. There is a great sin which festers within the very halls of power, here, at the heart of the Empire, and I stand before you today in hopes of uncovering it, bringing it forth into the light, and allowing it to be destroyed. I have proof of this wrongdoing, which I shall show to you all today; but first, I think I must remind you all of what can happen to us when we allow wrongdoing within our borders.”

  Bellerophon paused a moment for his words to take effect. The Senate was bewildered. Most looked at him with confusion in their eyes, including the majority of his own faction, while others whispered to one another, seeming to have not noticed him at all. They would notice. By the end, they would all notice.

  “Cast your minds back, my countrymen, to nine years ago. I was barely a man then, young and foolish, and yet even engaged as I was in learning my trade from my father, the news from the west struck me like a thunderbolt. I speak, of course, of the Temple Revolt. I hope that none of you are in need of too great a reminder of the terror, the uncertainty which this time evoked, and the painful stories of suffering and strife which swarmed the city like rats.

  “But do not allow that fear, and the even more powerful pride and triumph which followed, to blind you to another great issue reting to the Revolt. For, while one of Macaria’s armies was sparring against the turncoat Philgeoniai, the other was nowhere to be seen. This was, of course, the army of the then-general, now-Emperor, Peleus. He was off in the north, carrying out his own war against Far Trabakond, pushing our borders further into the heart of their barbarian domain. Every day, I remember men wondering when Peleus would learn of the Temple Revolt and turn back to break the siege of Eunon and shatter the backs of the Temprs. Often I would hear rumors that our savior had come, that Peleus had finally learned of the danger and set off for Philgeonia; but far, far too many times, those rumors turned out to be false.

  “Such is often the case in war, after all. Messengers are intercepted, left to rot in forests by Trabakondai scouts, or their messages are damaged in transit so as to be rendered impossible to understand. When Peleus returned from finally breaking the siege of Eunon, with its former governor dead alongside thousands of imperial citizens, he shared with us all his great and terrible sorrow at having failed to learn of the Revolt until it was almost too te. We had no reason to doubt his account. For, after all, is the Emperor not supposed to be the best of us? Is he not supposed to be honest, forthright, honorable? Sadly, I now have proof that he is not.”

  At this point, Bellerophon gave his audience another moment for the startling allegations to sink in, whilst he retrieved the scroll from where he had tucked it into his robe. The handwriting on the scroll, he had been assured, matched perfectly with that of General Eteocles, long Peleus’s right-hand man. He cleared his throat, gave one final gnce to the Senate as a whole, then began to read.

  “To: Peleus. I should say, firstly, that I still believe this to be a misstep; if your tardiness leads to any great harm coming to Philgeonia, or the Empire as a whole, they will fy you. But I also see that I will not sway you from this course, and as your friend and confidante, I do possess the maturity to say merely that I have my opinion, and you yours, and history shall decide who was in the right and who was in the wrong.

  “Here we see, already, that we have arrived in the midst of an ongoing conversation. The previous letters exchanged between Eteocles and Peleus have not been found, perhaps even having been destroyed by the vilin in his efforts to conceal what he has done. Eteocles refers to it as a pn: a strange way indeed to speak of a great mistake brought about by ck of information.

  “Perhaps, indeed, I can find some positives in this course of action; that blowhard of a governor your father installed might learn a lesson or two once he has been forced to subsist on hard biscuit for a few months.

  “The governor of Philgeonia had, by the date of this letter’s writing, already been sin, pierced by the arrows of the treacherous rebels and left to die in agony as the wound poisoned his blood. If Peleus had decided to turn around at once and not remain north for his own perfidious ends, perhaps the man might have lived?”

  “But regardless, I have seen little action these st two weeks, the enemy forces continuing to evade contact in the foolish belief that our supplies are running low. We received a new shipment of bread and beef from Chrysopolis just the other day, hauled four days overnd by the bravery of those locals who have seen the wisdom of continued loyalty, the same locals whose vegetable gardens also sustain us. I have heard tell from Chrysopolis that your father’s illness has returned again with yet greater vengeance than before, forcing your mother to make an appearance in the Temple of the Golden Lord on his behalf, is that true? Even if merely a rumor, the story doesn’t… um…”

  Bellerophon quickly realized that the rest of the letter descended into pleasantries, rumors, and the ephemeral debates that naturally carry on between men who have long been friends. No doubt this was the reason why this letter had not been destroyed where the others had been, but it was irrelevant to his point. He scanned the following paragraphs for anything else interesting; finding nothing, he rolled the scroll back up and secured it once more by his chest.

  “As you can see, this tter portion proves that the letter was written during the heat of the fighting, long before Peleus cims that he first learned of the rebellion. Despite knowing the truth in quite some detail, he deyed his return to the core of the imperial territories for almost two months! As for his motives, we can only specute. A sheer hatred for the then-governor of Philgeonia is one distinct possibility, as indicated in the text of my evidence. A personal hatred so strong it drives a man to let thousands of his future citizens be sin, can you imagine it?”

  Evidently, they could. Amidst the ongoing disbelief and bewilderment, Bellerophon saw several faces in the Senate chamber absolutely brimming with rage. Good.

  “But there is another idea, which I find just as likely: our Emperor is a glory-hungry fiend. Think about it: what has always been Peleus’s greatest accomplishment? What scenes has he had carved into every pilr since the inauguration of his reign? Why, his domination of the Trabakondai! From his perspective, it did not matter that there were citizens of the Empire being sughtered and starved, the Temple Revolt was merely a distraction from the project which would bring him, and him alone, the most glory!

  “Would a man who had the interests of his own people at heart choose to sacrifice them for his own gain? No! Would a man who is just and kind weigh lives and glory on a scale, calcuting his actions the way a merchant calcutes accounts instead of doing what is right? No! Should we, noble men of the Senate, allow such negligence on the part of the man who we have accoded, and given leadership over our country? No!”

  By that point, the Senate had descended into chaos. Some had risen from their benches and were shouting their support of Bellerophon, while others were demanding silence. A few had begun to press their way to the front, hopefully out of a desire to look upon the damning document themselves and ascertain its veracity. The Senatorial Archon was calling for order, his subordinate magistrates pushing up into the benches to ensure that no squabbling broke out between senators of rival factions. No doubt a sense of decorum would return eventually, and the speeches would continue down the line; but with the fire which Bellerophon had just lit, it was likely that the closing vote would not take pce until te at night.

  This was acceptable. Few indeed would pay much attention at all to the Senate’s opinion on the matter of dock reconstruction, aside from those few members of the city bureaucracy in charge of such matters. The news of the letter, on the other hand, would be spoken on every street corner in the city before suppertime.

  “I end my speech,” Bellerophon said, “Thank you, fine Senators.”

  None heard the end of the speech over the rapidly-growing din. In a matter of seconds, half a dozen men had Bellerophon surrounded, some demanding to see the letter, others trying to work themselves up to violence. He had done it; everything had turned out to be worth it in the end.

  SaffronDragon