In the Empire (4)
Chapter Summary: The atmosphere in the Empire is truly unhealthy. Staying here long enough, that twisted mix of love and hatred would probably seep into one's very bones…
Gratian proposed to Caesar. His love was genuine.
"And so we made love. Right there in the luxurious reception room of Odysseus's main hall, with patrolling soldiers, my subordinates and generals, your bodyguards, and allied journalists outside. You made a sound, and I whispered something in your ear, seeing your ears turn bright red. You begged me to let you go, but your body remained pressed tightly against me, trembling. You murmured something, your eyes blurry with tears, and you lay there on the red-carpeted floor of the main hall. Until someone knocked on the door and asked, 'General Ganymede, have you reached an agreement with His Majesty the Emperor?' The voice was filled with worry."
You gripped the coffee table leg, trying to straighten up and leave me, saying, 'Sorry. Please wait a little longer, I'll be right there…' I turned you around, and you half-knelt on the floor. Your hand slipped, and you braced yourself against the ground. I restrained you from behind again. You were trembling so badly, but you still tried to speak, stammering, 'I…I still have some terms to discuss with the Emperor. Yes, confidential.'
The voice outside hesitated for a moment, "But this is enemy territory."
The man said firmly, "Let everyone see you, General. That will put our minds at ease."
I saw the doorknob turning.
'No, no! Don't...'
The door opened a crack. Many feet appeared in the gap beneath the door, shifting their position, about to squeeze in. You began to scream softly; you couldn't hold back anymore. I pulled you into my arms, and you gripped my arm. I dragged you into my bedchamber, after which your whole body relaxed—a completely open and unreserved self, utterly exposed to the one you loved most. I didn't want anyone to see you like this. Your bodyguards who had sneaked in were quickly chased away by my soldiers.
I fell asleep holding you. You were sleepy, and in your drowsy state, you hugged my waist and snuggled closer to me. I dreamt I was running across a desolate plain, the sun setting, the world a vast, blood-red expanse. I remembered this place, the night I first arrived in exile, the night I took turns raping the men, and the night I shot them afterwards. I had a fever, lying in the warm earth, a giant pressing down on me. One moment it was a beautiful woman, the next a dark, rugged man. The man pulled my heart from my chest, and in that moment I felt he looked like you. The man's face froze. That man was you, Caesar. You held my steaming, blood-soaked heart in your hands, and strode off, running further and further away. I called after you, and you raised your hands high above your head. My heart convulsed in your palms; it hurt terribly, but you didn't stop, running towards the setting sun. I hugged your waist, and the blood from my heart dripped onto your smiling cheeks, leaving streaks of crimson like tear stains.
I said, 'Caesar, don't go! My heart is yours, I won't take it back, please don't go, okay?'
Your smile is serene, like a statue of the Virgin Mary in a niche. You did not answer, nor did you push me away, remaining where you were, turning into a colossal rock that stands tall between heaven and earth. My mortal hands still caress you, my face pressed against you. I decay, but your eternal smile endures in the twilight, until night falls and the starry sky illuminates the universe.
I woke up to your soft snoring and kissed your sweaty forehead. I pressed the bell on the cabinet, and Caligula emerged from behind a hidden door, standing in the shadows. I nodded, and he took a few steps forward. 'Your Majesty,' he bowed.
"Phaethon Ganymede was indeed murdered by the Alliance's high command. The official who just contacted us has confirmed this. However, they find it strange that His Majesty suddenly asked about this."
'What was your answer?'
"I told Your Majesty that you wish to please Caesar Ganymede and uncover the truth behind his concerns. The allied politicians were terrified, but I then told them that General Ganymede could no longer threaten them. A dead man can threaten no one."
'Very well. Then tell them that Caesar Garnimed is dead. The funeral is tomorrow.'
'Tomorrow?' Caligula hesitated, 'Wouldn't that be a bit too hasty?'
'No. Caesar can no longer live in their sight. The 14th Fleet should also be disbanded as soon as possible.'
'I'm afraid some people won't believe it.'
I scoffed. 'Those who don't believe it won't believe it sooner or later, no matter what you do.'
'The Alliance cannot have autonomy; it must be incorporated into the Empire as a centrally administered province. As for the existing judicial, administrative, and legislative bodies, they will remain as they are for now, with more than half of them staffed by imperial officials. Nominally, these officials will oversee the normal operation of these institutions, but I don't need to elaborate on how they should actually operate. Oh, and regarding the democratic voting, everyone can vote, but the backend data will be edited before being made public.'
"Your Majesty, thirdly, the people of the Alliance are accustomed to open voting and public tallying."
"Habits can be changed," I said. "Once they accept that democratic elections are meaningless, we can announce the abolition of the voting process. Like the other subjects of the empire, they have never voted, so naturally they won't see any value in democracy."
'So, what were the conditions you agreed to with General Ganimede earlier? You said that the people of the Allied Forces could retain their laws, political system, and culture after surrendering to the Empire, you…'
I laughed. 'What did I promise him? Tell me then.'
Caligula immediately fell silent. "Your Majesty has not promised General Ganymede anything."
"Your subject takes his leave." Caligula nodded in acceptance and turned to leave.
I stopped him and asked, 'What are the results of the genetic analysis? How similar are I to Phaethon?'
"Approximately," he hesitated for a long time before finally saying, "of the more than 30,000 genes, the similarity is about 99.99999999999%, possibly more. No, to be precise, the differences are negligible... Your Majesty, I have misspoke!"
My mood suddenly became very irritable. I'm not a clone of Phaethon Ganymede, of course not. Caesar loves me because I am Gratian, a new human with perfect genes, not that flawed, ugly, stupid old human named 'Phaethon'. Even if that old human is his brother, how dare a dead man compete with a living one for a place?
His narration ended.
Yes, I remember that day. I slept for a long time. The previous decisive battle was too exhausting. The Emperor and I had sex, deliberately leaving me drained; perhaps I shouldn't blame anyone, I brought it on myself. I awoke. Finding myself unable to contact my allies, I watched Hyperion, circling the stars, anxiously flashing its pre-arranged signal lights, searching for me, through the ship's porch. I couldn't respond; under the Emperor's watchful eye, I watched its flashing lights gradually turn cold, it grew desperate, howled, and finally wept.
Odysseus coldly flashed his white light. His posture was haughty. The light spilled onto the living room floor, then fell into the yard outside, looking down through the floor-to-ceiling windows at me, writhing on the sofa in agony. Warm liquid dripped down. I heard him inhale, and I clung to him tighter. He pushed my hands away, demanding to touch me instead of letting me hug myself. I was delirious, waves of sensation crashing against me like waves against a shore, enveloping me in warm, soft waters. Then he fell asleep, exhausted. At dawn, I heard him sobbing. I touched his face and neck, feeling the strong pulse within his arteries. The light sweat from our kiss had evaporated; he had a fever again.
＊
I squatted on the balcony watering the pothos. Its leaves had grown bigger and plump, like a baby's tightly clenched fist.
“This dress is beautiful, it suits you very well.” The emperor stood before me, holding a silk white robe. As the robe was unfurled, several gold pendants draped over its front, the gold foil pieces fine and thin, adorning intricate openwork patterns. I flicked them with my little finger, and the gold fragments tinkled with a clear, melodious sound.
"Do you like it?" His eyes lit up.
I let go, and the fragments clung perfectly to the inner white fabric, while the outer purplish-red silk fluttered in the wind, wrapping around my neck and face.
"No." I pushed it away forcefully. "I hate it."
His eyes visibly dimmed. But he quickly added, "I order the Imperial Household Department to weave another one. A different color, or a different style."
"No. I mean, I hate the way your imperial family makes things. Every flower, every thread, every fold, I hate it."
"Then we can buy it outside."
"You'll eventually meet someone you like," he said.
Will you come with me?
"certainly."
"No need. Even the most beautiful things can become disgusting."
“Caesar…” he said patiently, “I will accompany you out of the palace without disturbing you. You can wander around the market by yourself. Zeus City is home to the best textile workers and the most outstanding artists in the entire empire. There are bound to be clothes that will satisfy you.”
"First, can you let me leave the palace alone? Without surveillance. No. Second, I don't lack clothes at all. You expect me to attend our wedding banquet in exquisite and gorgeous clothes? How ridiculous! Why would a concubine dress herself up as an empress?"
This is my third year imprisoned in the Empire, dying in the eyes of many. In these three years, I've gradually come to terms with the reality I'm in. People hardly mention "General Caesar Ganymede" anymore. After the Alliance joined the Empire, they actively engaged in post-war reconstruction. Just this morning, Emperor Gratian suddenly found me and stopped me. I was going to water the flowers in the yard; I had planted a pot of newly sprouted pothos there. His face was flushed, and after stammering for a while, he said, "Caesar, let's get married."
"You've made a mistake, Your Majesty. You should marry a princess, or the daughter of a high-ranking official in your alliance, to be the empress of your empire."
"I, I hereby bestow upon you the title of Prince of the Galactic Empire. I will share my authority with you."
“Your Majesty Gratian, please return the watering can to me. The sun is very strong outside, and the pothos will dry out.”
"I'll take you to try on clothes. These are for your wedding day. The maids of the Imperial Household Department have made quite a few. I think they all look pretty good. Are you free now?"
"What name shall I take when I marry you? The name of the former Allied Colonel 'Caesar Garniermed', now that he is dead?"
"So that's what you were worried about?" His voice held a hint of anticipation. "Caligula said he can arrange a suitable identity for you, whether it's a close friend of a former Allied nobleman, a prince from one of the other star systems conquered by the Empire, or whether you'd like to be a Zeusian or a native of the Empire. It doesn't matter. You don't like going out and prefer quiet, which is even better. You won't have to attend those messy public speeches or celebrations. And you won't have to worry about being seen by people too often. I will arrange everything for you."
He dragged me into the fitting room. The maids were all out, and Gratian changed me into outfit after outfit, trying on countless pieces of jewelry; he was completely absorbed. I looked at my tall, straight figure in the dressing mirror, a figure that seemed foolish, constantly avoiding looking at itself. A sharp metallic glint flashed in the air, and I saw the man suddenly withdraw his finger. It was bleeding. He kept talking to me, but I ignored him. Then he pressed his injured finger, as if afraid I would see it. His voice faltered, and there was a long silence.
"Does it hurt a lot?" I asked him. It was a hat pin, which he had intended to pin in my hair.
He nodded, then shook his head. He seemed embarrassed. His fingers curled as he licked the bleeding wound to his lips, biting his fingertip. A child, I thought. Noticing my gaze, he quickly removed his finger from his mouth.
“Gratian, I will not marry you. Listen carefully, sleeping with you is one thing, and now, whether I like it or not, it has happened, and I accept it. But marriage is another matter for me. I will not marry someone I do not love. No, it's not that I don't love you, it's just that I can't marry you, that's all…”
I found myself unable to give a reason.
“You don’t want a title by my side,” he said, looking at me for a long time. “Fine.” He suddenly turned my chin up and bit my lips. “Then you can just be my mistress.”
Am I not already his lover? Lover sounds more sophisticated than a kept woman.
He went on to say that I needed to change my name because he felt I had to be granted a title or peerage, even if it was just to be the emperor's mistress. How meticulous, I thought. But I refused any name other than "Caesar Ganymede," and he insisted I choose one from among the names he had chosen for me; only then could I move freely within the empire and accompany him to various occasions requiring the emperor's presence. Caligula said the Imperial Household Department had already prepared a mask for me and arranged for a shadowy figure residing in the palace to confuse the situation; he had already begun addressing me as "Your Highness." The emperor said he would grant me freedom—freedom with a neck brace, a muzzle, and a dog leash in his hand; oh yes, he had even provided the dye for the dog's fur, the very same ridiculous mask the Imperial Household Department had commissioned for me.
"In short, I want to announce our relationship to the world, and the whole universe will know that I have married the one I love."
“Go to hell, Gratian!” I roared at him, but he didn’t get angry at all. He remained unmoved.
“You’re in a bad mood today. Caesar, I’ll send a doctor to your chambers later to give you some tranquilizers.” The emperor said, dodging the things I grabbed and haphazardly threw at him in the living room—vases, cups, kettles. I burst into tears. He left.
I was soon informed that the wedding date had been postponed because the emperor had fallen ill.
"Is he seriously ill? Is he feeling any better?" I asked.
Octavian absentmindedly grunted an "Mmm," then left with a worried expression, ignoring me. I hadn't seen Gratian for a long time. For the next six months, Caligula presided over the Galactic Empire's imperial court meetings and several major celebrations. Initially, he spoke only as the emperor's representative, but later, on several occasions, he was photographed touring the borders on behalf of the emperor, wearing the full crown of Emperor Gratian, waving to the crowds who had come to pay homage. The crowds erupted in cheers. The people in those outer star systems were unaware that the emperor was seriously ill and that Caligula was now in control of the court. Such news only circulated by word of mouth in the capital. Any form of written record or visual representation would be a serious crime of leaking state secrets, and no one dared to take such a risk.
"Long live the Emperor! Long live the Emperor!" the people shouted, raising their hands. Many craned their necks curiously, wanting to catch a glimpse of the living Emperor. Caligula, in his magnificent robes, smiled at them. This scene was captured on camera, and in the photograph, "Emperor Caligula" showed his face. Of course, the photograph immediately disappeared, along with the person who took it—their name, date of birth, gender, workplace, and acquaintances were all erased.
Caligula is in some way usurping the power of Emperor Gratian, but clearly he doesn't want to reveal himself or his intentions to the world right now. Perhaps he is waiting for the right moment.
For a while, I couldn't sleep at night. I kept hearing a clanging and knocking sound coming from inside the bedroom wall. At first, I suspected it was a mouse, because there were also squeaking and footsteps along with it. But then I realized something was wrong. What mouse would make a metallic clanging sound? What part of a mouse, a small mammal made of protein, carbohydrates, and fat, would be related to alloys? I hesitated for a moment, but didn't tell anyone. Maybe I was just hallucinating. One night, I woke up, and the clear metallic clanging sound was still coming from inside the wall. I put on my coat, opened the door, and went outside.
"Your ear canal is not inflamed. Your hearing is also completely normal. If there is anything not so good, the hearing in your right ear is slightly worse than that in your left ear. However, this may be related to the fact that your left eye has poorer vision, and the vision in your left eye has compensated for some of the hearing in your left ear."
"Does that mean my hearing in my right ear is actually deteriorating?" I complained. "I don't believe in compensation. In my opinion, it's just that my left eye has poor vision and my right ear has poor hearing."
Octavian smiled. "You always get the worst understanding of things."
I thanked him. This young doctor, despite his young age, had been consistently working night shifts lately. "What exactly is Gratian's illness?"
The boy shrugged. He wasn't going to say, or perhaps they didn't know for sure right now. In any case, no comment. He rubbed his eyes. "If you had come any later, I wouldn't have been able to treat you tonight. I need to rest; I still have to give His Majesty his medicine later."
"Wait a minute?"
“Five o’clock.” He fumbled for the blanket, then rolled up on the sofa in the examination room. “You need to take the medication again before dawn…”
I saw Gratian's bedchamber and went inside. It was deserted, without a single guard. The emperor lay sunken on his brocade bed, surrounded by four tall Baroque columns adorned with intricate carvings. Deep red curtains, three layers of fine gauze, hung from the top of the vaulted ceiling of the hall. I saw the emperor; a flush rose on his pale cheeks, his nose and jaw as sharp as chiseled marble, almost cutting. His breath was hot. Beside his pillow lay a bouquet of white flowers, offered by the imperial generals to comfort the ailing emperor; the stems still held vibrant green leaves, some of which were withered and sallow in the candlelight. The emperor's hot breath had probably dried them up. The steaming heat mingled with the intense fragrance of flowers, and wisps of incense smoke drifted in, mixing with various strange aromas, swirling around the emperor's curly golden hair. Soft blankets enveloped Gratian's body and limbs, leaving only his head and a face with tightly closed eyes visible. I looked closely at that face; it was still so beautiful, breathtakingly so. Illness had not diminished this captivating beauty in the slightest.
He stirred, letting out a groan amidst his high fever. He bit his lips, breathing rapidly, coughing. His face flushed even more, as if the sun had directly reflected its fiery light onto his skin. A hand emerged from under the covers, its palm drenched in cold sweat. I grasped that hand, our fingers intertwined. He calmed down a bit, his breathing becoming heavier. I could almost hear his blood pumping from his heart in his chest, squeezing his veins; and the pounding of his heart like a drum.
"Gradius, Gradius," I whispered in his ear. There was no response. An unnatural flush covered his beautiful face, and his lips were glossy and vividly red.
I felt a sudden heat rising in my body. His high fever seemed to have spread to me.
I quietly sat down, pulled back the covers, and slowly unbuttoned his white, long robe, leaving the upper half neatly buttoned. I applied a little pressure. Gratian frowned, breathing rapidly, his eyelids twitching nervously, his head slightly turned, his cheek rubbing against the pillow. I could feel the purplish veins throbbing. For a moment, I wanted to cut something off him, so I grabbed a short knife from the candlestick. I felt its heat and hardness. My hand trembled, and the knife slipped onto the blanket.
I knelt on either side of him, adjusting the angle many times, but I still couldn't get in. Gratian coughed violently, his thin sternum heaving beneath his reddened, pale skin, gasping for breath and screaming in his nightmare.
Frustrated, I tossed aside the half-soft object I was holding. It was utterly useless.
"Hmm, I'm quite surprised. To see you... in such a posture."
"Is His Majesty the Emperor alright? Ah, he is fast asleep."
I almost fell off the bed. I quickly jumped out of bed, pulled up my pants, and leaned against the emperor's sickbed, facing the visitor.
"Caligula".
He gestured for him to proceed, and curled his lips into a smile. "Don't worry. I didn't see anything, Your Highness."
He made way for me, leading to the main entrance of the emperor's bedroom. "Oh, wait, sorry, that was my oversight. Perhaps you'd prefer to use the side entrance now?"
I ran off in a hurry. But I turned back halfway. I realized I was barefoot, and my fluffy slippers were still in the bedchamber. I opened the side door a crack, and the dim firelight shone through. Caligula was reaching for the emperor's neck.
I kicked over the candlestick by the doorframe, making a loud noise. "Um, I'm coming back for my slippers. Sorry."
Caligula released Gratian's neck. He had been gripping Gratian's neck with both hands simultaneously. I tried not to think about what he intended to do to Gratian. As one hand retracted, it tugged at the gold-threaded quilt, pressed it down, and tucked the corner of the quilt around the emperor.
The head of the intelligence agency said, "You're too careless. What if His Majesty wakes up and notices?"
"Thanks for reminding me." I entered the bedroom, knelt on the cold tile floor, and reached under the wide bed. After groping around for a while, ah, I found it. Two furry tufts brushed against my fingers.
“You too,” I said. “There are no guards outside His Majesty’s palace tonight. Not a single one. How strange! Is today some important imperial anniversary? Are they all on holiday? Oh, you, as an important official of the empire, certainly know better than I do.”
"Alas, the heavy responsibility of ensuring the Emperor's security tonight falls on your shoulders. You have come alone. Please be extremely careful. His Majesty is probably unaware of this matter."
"Ah! These slippers are still the warmest. Goodnight, Director... You should be going now, shouldn't you?"
Caligula stood in the deep red shadows within the curtains. The deep red was almost black. A strange smile played on his lips. “No, no. His Majesty will not know that either of us has been here. And you would be better off not lingering here any longer.”
I saw his hand reach behind his belt. He grasped something. Maybe a gun. Was he planning to kill me? I said, "Hmm. Five o'clock. Dr. Octavian said someone would come to give His Majesty an injection at five o'clock. It might be a whole professional medical team, ah, I don't know."
“How could His Majesty accept treatment from anyone other than Octavian?” Caligula loosened his grip.
"Hmm? I don't know about that. Many of the imperial generals are quite concerned about His Majesty's condition."
I pointed to the white flowers beside Gratian's pillow. "They are worried about His Majesty and hope to do their part in his treatment; they have hired a few doctors to show their goodwill."
Caligula lowered his arm. His hand returned to its side. "Well then, goodnight, Your Highness."
“Goodnight.” I smiled warmly at him. Before turning my back to Gratian, I glanced at him; there were two scarlet five-finger marks on his neck. They were turning slightly purple. He had been silent just moments before, but now he was coughing violently. He was rubbing his neck, his brow furrowed in pain. I smelled a sweet, cloying floral scent—no, not flowers, but incense, some kind of pale purple, creamy substance burning on a candlestick. The smell made me dizzy. I saw Caligula stride out, his right hand slipping a handkerchief into his pocket.
What's that handkerchief for? This man is a real devil. I frowned.
——tbc——
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