If You Can Keep It
If You Can Keep It
A Short Fantasy Novel
If you haven’t read Chapters I and II, you can do so here. If you haven’t read Chapters III and IV, you can do so here. And if you haven’t read Chapters V and VI, you can do so here.
Chapter VII
There had been skirmishes in the streets. Very small. Late at night. But that they had happened at all was enough. Like any large city, Granfallia had its share of crime. But never since the founding of the Republic had rival political partisans resorted to violence. The story was always similar. Some of the men – never anyone in charge, always the clientes of clientes of senators – in Regus’s camp or Cornelius’s had traded words with men in their rival’s camp and it had come to blows. Maybe there had been an ambush. Usually, they had been drinking.
No one had been killed yet, but the scuffles were growing larger. There was talk of mobs and of more widespread violence. Perhaps they would need to suspend the next election. In the whispers and chatters of the city, the words, “civil war,” kept surfacing.
“There isn’t going to be any war,” said Catus to a shopkeeper who recognized him when he was buying wine. Catus didn’t typically frequent shops, but he did buy his own wine sometimes. He was reminded by the shopkeeper’s questioning of why he didn’t frequent shops.
“But the fighting?” asked the shopkeeper.
“A disgrace and a dark blotch upon the honor of this esteemed country,” said Catus, “but not a sign of war. Those who say otherwise are fools and gossipers.”
But both camps had begun talking about the need for martial law. Each claimed the other was a great threat to the Republic, and that only a steady hand at the tiller could keep the country from falling into disarray. Each side claimed the other would end the Republic first, and the only way to prevent that was to suspend regular governance.
In the Senate, members of both parties gave impassioned speeches declaring that the law was now standing in the way of what was necessary for preserving the Republic. Could Uirians really stand by and let procedure keep them from doing what must be done? Would the people of Uiria stand to know their leaders in the Senate had stood on ceremony and followed the rules rather than doing what needed to be done?
Catus found himself speaking more frequently now, if only to dispel this claptrap. He remained defiant, accusing all comers of disloyalty to the laws of the nation.
But they kept talking. They said that justice had fled and that the law was holding back the right thing being done. They said that the law must be set aside, that this would be the only way to restore order, to set things right. There was even talk on both sides about bringing in outside help. After a fortnight of this, Catus threatened to introduce charges of treason against any senators who had spoken openly of bringing in Yarthians or other foreigners to violently suspend the civil government of Uiria.
“You are united,” he said, “in very little, but you are united in your treasonous plans and you are united in your hatred of me. I believe in adherence to the true laws of Uiria, to our ancient charter, to our tested custom, and to the old rules of our founding fathers. Many of you speak often of something new – you say that we need new policies that our founding fathers couldn’t have imagined, because our time is different and our challenges so much more dire. You say that we need new rules because we cannot let rules get in the way of doing what you believe to be right. You say that we live in a new era and that the old norms don’t apply.
You disagree on everything, but you have no disagreement in your rejection of the charter of Uiria, and the laws of this nation. You have no disagreement in your belief that the law is preventing you from doing what you want. You have no disagreement in your desire to set aside our republican way of life in the name of what you believe to be justice.
Really, there is no difference between you save for the arguments you make about each other. You are interchangeable and you are a disgrace to this esteemed body. I have nothing more to say – and will yield my time – save this: we used to have the death penalty for treason in this nation and I believe we still do.”
That night, charges were introduced into the senatorial record against Catus. He was accused of four counts of extortion, four of taking bribes, four of offering bribes, and one of sexual impropriety. An investigation was opened into him immediately.
Chapter VIII
Catus suspected Regus had introduced the charges, but he had no way of knowing. He hadn’t been there – he hadn’t realized the Senate had been in session at that hour, and in fact very few senators had for almost none of them had been present – and no senator was on record as having introduced them. It was as though they had been quietly suggested, and having been suggested must now be investigated.
It bothered Catus that his friend might do something like this, but he had learned not to doubt Regus capable of such a thing. He had a terrible feeling that it hadn’t been Cornelius who had introduced the charges. But he avoided confronting his friend without any evidence.
Catus wasn’t worried. He knew he was innocent of all counts. When he went to the Senate the next morning, he discovered he had even less to worry than he thought. None of the people he talked to seemed to believe the charges were serious. When the Senate was called to order, senators in both the Cornelii and the Blues stood up to say the charges were unserious and should be dropped. One senator colorfully suggested that nobody could possibly believe the charges because nobody believed Catus had a heart and therefore nobody believed he could desire such things as are corrupting. Another pointed out that Catus had held the same positions essentially since entering office and that clearly his mind was impervious to being changed – even by money. A third pointed out that if he had been taking bribes he wasn’t doing anything with the money, for his toga was threadbare and his sandals had seen better days three consulships ago.
By the end of the day, the charges had been dropped. Still, the damage had been done. Catus no longer trusted anyone in the Senate chamber other than himself and Julia – who couldn’t have introduced the charges, because she wasn’t allowed to make accusations. He found himself – by necessity – speaking with her more frequently.
“In some ways,” Julia told him one day, “you and I ought to be natural allies. Both of us are, by our natures, outsiders. You by reputation and me by womanhood.”
They were sitting in Catus’s office, where Julia had come after the ending of the morning session. He had not turned her away, although he still maintained that she had no business in the senate chamber.
“I can’t see what you mean,” said Catus, “other than that you have rightly maintained with fidelity the principles your late husband championed. You are a woman and you therefore…”
“Yes, I know,” said Julia, cutting him off. “I think you knew what I meant, though you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge it. That is, of course, why we are such natural allies and why we cannot be allies. We are alike in that.”
“Alike in what.”
“Stubbornness. You won’t ask for my help and you’ll refuse it if you can see a reason to do so. I have nothing to lose or gain and therefore have no reason not to pursue what I see as the right path come what may. You don’t like me because I don’t stand on propriety when it comes to speaking in the Senate chamber. I don’t dislike you, but I don’t like you either, because if you weren’t so stubborn about me perhaps we could have done some good. As it is, I doubt either of us will be able to prevent whatever calamity is coming from befalling our beloved republic.”
“That is all very well, then. What is your business with me today?” asked Catus coldly.
“I come to warn you.”
“Warn me of what?”
“These charges today were a test. Can’t you see that? This won’t be the last time they’ll come after you. First it will be your reputation, but if you persist, they will try to have you imprisoned. Or worse.”
“Or worse?”
“It will come to murder eventually. I hope you aren’t too narrow to see that. You’ve painted a target on your back,” Julia said, leaning forward.
“What about you?” he asked.
“I’m not a threat,” she replied, leaning back in her seat again.
Catus took this all in. “Thank you,” he said.
“You’re welcome.”
They sat there in silence for a moment, and then Catus asked if she had anything else to tell him. “No,” she replied, “but if I find out anything more, I will. Sometimes I hear things that you wouldn’t. Men say things in front of me sometimes that they wouldn’t in front of another man.”
Catus nodded. “Thank you,” he said.
She departed, and he returned to his work, but he thought to himself all afternoon of what she had said and it seemed to him the clouds outside had grown darker. He wasn’t afraid of his own death, but he worried what would become of the Republic. He wished he hadn’t lived to see this day, but he felt, too, the weight of responsibility. His ancestors, if they could see him now, would know that the burden was his to carry. He would endure this time, and do everything in his power to ensure their republic wouldn’t die with him. But increasingly his misgivings got the better of him and he wondered whether he hadn’t been wrong in telling the shopkeeper there wouldn’t be war.
Read Chapters IX and X.