Rhoth was fixated on the tiny cooling streams running down his dry bloodied chin.
“Listen to me,” Zeno commanded.
Rhoth immediately complied.
“You have a deal of talent. You stay on-point. You’re concise but quick to employ pertinent details. And you know how to prey on people’s fears and galvanize them to action. I’d like you to be a speechwriter for me. Well, not for me personally – I write my own speeches. I would have you write speeches, when necessary, for members of the Assembly.”
Rhoth’s eyes betrayed his shock.
Zeno spoke more, “The Assembly does whatever I tell it to, obviously. But the optics of our current arrangement would benefit from an intelligently and passionately argued counterpoint. That’s where you would come in.”
Rhoth felt his stomach churn. The discomfort grew into the daggers he stared at Zeno.
“Speak freely,” Zeno commanded, “but try to mind your tone.”
Rhoth started, “I never would have guessed you were crazy.”
“You could do a lot of good for Araddor, Mr. Rhoth.”
“Your definition of ‘good’ is different from mine.”
“I think that if you looked at things from my perspective you would see our disagreements result from a mere misunderstanding.”
Rhoth steadied himself. “I think,” he said with a fearful affectation, “that your perspective is colored by your addiction to power.”
Calmly Zeno asked, “What makes you consider it an addiction?”
“Your insuperable need to consolidate all power into your hands.”
“My every edict has been enacted into law with the full consent of the Assembly of States.”
“Your father purged the last of your dynasty’s enemies and replaced them with lapdogs. The Assembly doesn’t speak on the people’s behalf.”
“Has it ever?”
“That’s not the point.”
“Of course it is. Araddor’s governmental apparatus has always reflected the needs of its citizens. The people need their collective voice to be heard. The Assembly is their instrument, hence its continued existence through every permutation of government.”
“But the people want their voice to have weight. They want to affect change on their own.”
“Do they? Then why has a republican system failed to take root after nearly two thousand years of civilization?”
“Because individuals who thirst for power keep corrupting and subverting the system.”
“And what does that tell you?”
“That there’ll always be individuals looking to prey on their fellow man.”
“But if said system is inherently good, then why is it such easy prey?”
Rhoth hesitated, realizing that he had never asked himself the question. He boldly ventured, “People get scared.” Rhoth had intended it as a jab at Zeno and his ilk.
Instead, the Sovereign smiled and said, “And you would place the health and security of an entire planet into the hands of craven toads?”
“So anyone who experiences fear is a craven toad?”
“Only those willing to sell out their empire for their own immediate benefit.”
Again, Rhoth noted that Zeno had succeeded in surprising him. He had not expected the tyrant to utter an altruistically patriotic sentiment. He responded without thinking. “As if you give two shits about ‘the empire.’”
Zeno said “Impugn my sincerity again and I’ll order you to bite off your tongue and watch you bleed to death.”
Rhoth watched the color in Zeno’s face dissipate. He was staring at a curse given human form. Minutes earlier he had thrashed about an invisible conflagration. Now he was petrified by the gelid menace of his Sovereign’s hawkish stare.
Zeno slowly approached Rhoth. “You’re not the only student of history. The Assembly – ergo, the people – could have taken it upon themselves to fight the barbarians. They certainly held the authority to levy the nobles for money, supplies, and soldiers. Instead they turned to them and said, ‘Save us!’ The nobles obliged and turned into the Oligarchs. Centuries later, when the Oligarchs lost sight of their duty, when they came to believe that all of Araddor was a full teat for them to suckle at, the Assembly – the people – could have made a pact with the priests. They could have been a part of Araddor’s salvation. But they fell to their knees and cried out, ‘Save us!’ Look at what happened. My venerable ancestor hated the Theocrats as much as anyone did. He would have been happy, honored even, to serve the people, to aid their path out of a culture of injustice and bigotry. But the people didn’t want help. They wanted deliverance. They wanted someone to win their freedom for them.”
Rhoth grew angrier with Zeno’s every utterance. He knew his history, Rhoth was forced to acknowledge. “What’s your point?” he asked through clenched jaws.
“Don’t feign stupidity.” Zeno stood inches from Rhoth’s face. “You know exactly what my point is. Power imposes near-unbearable responsibility on whoever wields it. You know as well as I do that the average person would buckle under such an oppressive yoke. And the average person knows it. He doesn’t want that responsibility. So he allows himself to be ruled by those with your ‘addiction to power.’ ”
“My audience would disagree with you.”
Zeno’s eyebrows arched. “Really? Then why do they need you?”
Rhoth hung his head. He couldn’t bear to look at the tyrant a moment longer.
“It’s all about power, Mr. Rhoth – how badly does one want it and how does one use it.”
Rhoth kept his eyes lowered to the bloodstained floor. He hated every word Zeno spewed forth. Each sound stung with the prickling self-assurance of armed authority. Rhoth wanted to attack him with every self-evident truism he could muster. He wanted to bring down his heel onto Zeno’s face, to tamp down his throat each inalienable liberty so obvious that Aruluea’s schoolchildren held them as given. But Rhoth’s voice was as paralyzed as his body. No salient argument or stirring rhetoric crossed his tongue.
Zeno bent his knees and looked into Rhoth’s broken bloodied eyes. “I’ll leave you to dwell on that,” he said.
Zeno and his guards turned and left Rhoth alone in his cell.
No comments:
Post a Comment