Chapter 145: The Accusation
Alex met the old general's iron gaze, a blizzard of calculations firing in his mind. He could not afford to show weakness. He could not afford to look away. He was the Emperor. He was the divine authority in this room. He leaned forward slightly on the throne, his posture a carefully constructed projection of calm, measured power, a stark contrast to the maelstrom of terror in his chest.
"I did not summon you, General," Alex said, his voice quiet but carrying the immense weight of the echoing hall. "But now that you are here, you will show the proper respect due to your Emperor."
Maximus did not bow. He did not even incline his head. Instead, he took another heavy, deliberate step forward, the sound of his boots on the marble a sharp retort. The act of defiance was so profound, so utterly out of character for the man, that it was more shocking than a drawn sword.
"Respect is earned, Caesar. As is loyalty," Maximus said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that promised thunder. "For two years, I have given you both, freely and without question. Today, I find myself questioning what, or who, I have given them to."
With a swift, angry motion, he unrolled the copy of Valerius's report he had carried all the way from the Danube. The papyrus crackled in the still air. He held it up as if it were an indictment.
"A village of seventy-three souls," Maximus began, his voice a grim litany of death. "Nineteen women. Twelve children. All put to the sword by Roman soldiers. By the Legio V Devota, acting under your direct, holy command." He let the words hang in the air, each one a stone cast into a silent pool. He pinned Alex with a stare that demanded honesty. "This is the report of my finest scout, a man who does not know how to lie. Is it true?"
Alex forced his expression to remain impassive. This was the opening salvo. He had to meet it with the cold logic of statecraft, not the stammering of a guilty man. "It was a nest of insurgents, General," he replied, his voice even and controlled. "Fanatics who had allied themselves with a hostile power threatening the stability of the entire northern frontier. They attacked my soldiers first. The action was regrettable, but it was a necessary military measure to excise a threat to the Empire."
He had expected the argument to hold some weight. Military necessity was a language Maximus understood. He was wrong.
The General's face, a stoic mask of leather and discipline, finally broke. His control snapped. With a roar of pure, undiluted fury that seemed to shake the very dust from the rafters, he crumpled the report in his massive fist, crushing the neat script into a mangled ball.