"Athens and Andolara share a similar system," Cornelius began, his voice steady but resonant across the assembly. "In both city-states, the highest authority lies in the Citizens’ Assembly, allowing all citizens to decide on crucial matters such as laws, military, and diplomacy."
The crowd listened intently, their expressions a mix of curiosity and skepticism.
"Athens has its ’Ten Generals,’ while Andolara is governed by two consuls, elected annually by the Citizens’ Assembly. These consuls manage internal affairs during peace and serve as military commanders in tis of war. Furthermore, we have a Senate of 100 mbers, also elected by the Citizens’ Assembly. The Senate drafts laws, assists in governance, and nominates candidates for the consulship."
Cornelius paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "Traditionally, these elections are held every June.
Candidates self-nominate, the Senate approves them, and the Citizens’ Assembly votes. But this year, due to the devastation caused by war and the urgent need for strong leadership, we will break tradition and hold the election today.
I propose that Juleios, our liberator, and his officers step forward to discuss and propose candidates for the consulship."
The air grew tense. Cornelius had barely finished speaking when murmurs rippled through the crowd of newly admitted citizens.
"What candidates? The consul of Andolara can only be Juleios!" a soldier’s voice rang out, piercing the murmurs.
The call ignited a thunderous wave of agreent from the rcenaries.
"Juleios for consul!"
"Only Juleios can lead us to victory!"
"Leader Juleios is an undefeated commander. We trust no one else!"
"Juleios! Juleios!! Juleios!!!"
The square erupted into chants of his na, the cries of nearly 3,000 rcenaries shaking the very ground.
Cornelius, overwheld by the force of the mont, cast a pleading glance toward Juleios. The young leader, standing among his officers, whispered to Asistes. The latter sprinted toward the rear of the square, and monts later, the brassy blare of a horn sliced through the noise.
The sound was like a spell. The chants subsided, and the square fell silent.
Cornelius exhaled in relief but remained deeply uneasy. It was clear that Juleios had already secured the loyalty of the rcenaries. While Cornelius believed it was appropriate for Juleios to beco one of the consuls, he thought it crucial that the second consul co from among the original citizens of Andolara.
Before Cornelius could speak, another voice rose from the crowd.
"Brothers, even if we elect Juleios as consul, don’t forget—he would have to share power with another. And next year, we’d face another election. Who could possibly be better than Juleios?"
"No one!"
"Exactly! No one!"
"Do you want an outsider to rule over us?" the voice continued, feeding the crowd’s apprehensions.
"No!" the rcenaries roared.
"Think of Athens, once the most powerful city-state in Greece—ruined by the incompetence of its politicians! Think of the city-states we passed along the Black Sea, crippled by weak democratic systems. Do we want to repeat their mistakes? Do we want to be weak, or do we want strength under Juleios’ leadership?"
The crowd buzzed with energy, their thoughts aligning with the speaker’s rhetoric. Then, like a spark igniting a fla, soone shouted, "Juleios for King!"
The words hung in the air for a heartbeat before the square exploded into chants.
"King Juleios!"
"Juleios for King!"
Cornelius and the other prominent citizens were stunned. The thought of a king ruling Andolara was an affront to the city’s democratic traditions, yet no one dared to speak against the roaring tide of voices.
On the stage, Sesta and Adrianx exchanged uneasy glances. Their gazes flicked to Juleios, whose expression remained unreadable. If they had looked closer, they might have noticed the faintest twitch of approval as Juleios watched Xilos, Matonis, and Olivers—officers he trusted implicitly—quietly steer the crowd’s fervor.
The cries of "King Juleios!" grew deafening. The original citizens of Andolara on the stage seed paralyzed, their courage sapped in the face of overwhelming pressure.
Cornelius, his heart heavy with regret, turned once again to Juleios, silently imploring him to intervene.
At last, Juleios moved. He ascended the wooden platform, his steps asured and deliberate. The sight of him silenced the crowd instantly, their anticipation palpable.
As he reached the center of it , the chants gave way to a stillness so profound that even the faint rustle of the wind could be heard.
"Citizens of Andolara," Juleios began, his voice calm yet commanding. "When we left Byzantium, I promised my n that I would find them a ho and give them land to call their own. Today, I have fulfilled that promise."
A roar of approval erupted, but Juleios raised a hand, and the crowd quieted.
"I thank you for your trust in and for nominating as your king. To , kingship does not an power for the sake of power. It ans responsibility—ensuring the safety, prosperity, and dignity of every citizen. It ans ensuring that no one can ever threaten our city again."
The crowd hung on his every word, their admiration shining in their eyes.
"But I must refuse."
The square erupted into confused murmurs.
"Why?"
"Because monarchy is not the way of the Greeks," Juleios explained. "In this age, no Greek city-state thrives under a king. Even Sparta, with its dual kingship, is an anomaly. If Andolara were to crown a king, we would be ostracized by our neighbors, our trade and alliances jeopardized. We cannot afford to be isolated, for without allies, all our hopes and visions will crumble."
His words carried the weight of undeniable logic. The murmurs faded as the crowd grappled with the truth of his statent.
"For the sake of Andolara," Juleios continued, "I cannot be your king. But I will always serve you, as your consul, your commander, and your citizen. Together, we will build a city-state that is strong, respected, and united."
The crowd erupted into cheers once more—not for a king, but for the leader who had given them hope, a ho, and a future.
Reviews
All reviews (0)