Finale

Tullius sat on a haybale, leaning to his right in an awkward posture. It felt so unnatural, but he tried to appear comfortable while posing. “Like this?”

His guest, an older woman named Ulpia, examined Tullius’s posture. “A little bit further, and one arm leaning against a table. He always had one placed close by. That back of his was always acting up.”

“How’s this?” Tullius held his arm out to lay on an invisible table, leaning so far that his neck was straining to keep his head up straight.

“Yes, that’s perfect. Also, drum your fingers. He was always fidgeting. Or drum with a coin, if you have one.”

Tullius checked his pockets, knowing there was no coin. His acting troop had not performed in some time, and funds were strained at the moment. They had recently come to the capital city to put on an extremely ambitious play: they would be performing the naval battle where the famous Admiral Mus broke the city’s blockade to resupply the garrison. The war had ended over a decade ago, but wounds were still fresh enough that finding cooperative sources for first-hand accounts was proving difficult. So far Ulpia, the admiral’s widow, was the only one who had agreed to meet them.

She smiled, reaching into her pocket and offering a coin to Tullius. He took it, a bit embarrassed. “I’m sorry we have to meet in a barn. There weren’t any open, or reasonable, accommodations nearby.”

“That’s alright - Ah!” Ulpia jumped in her seat as a barn owl screeched from the overhead rafters. “Except for him! Honestly, how do you put up with that?”

“He’s quiet when I rehearse. The only time he starts up is when I take too long to continue. So, he’s no different than a live audience.” Tullius posed again, drumming the coin silently on the non-existent table. UIpia gave him instructions on his expressions, habits, and other features for a while before they both took a short break.

Tullius brewed some tea on his portable furnace and handed Ulpia a cup. “I want to thank you again, for coming here and helping… and not charging anything.”

Ulpia’s response was interrupted as the owl screeched again, causing her to drop her tea. Tullius quickly refilled her cup as the woman fanned herself and slowed her breathing. “It’s alright. I love plays, and when I heard you were playing my husband I wanted to meet you.”

“I know I don’t really look the part; too young and all, but I promise our makeup artist is quite good at his job.”

“I’m not worried about that. When I heard Torquatus wouldn’t even meet with you all, I knew I had to come. I think it’s a wonderful thing you’re trying to do, and I want to help. I only have one request.”

“You need only name it.”

Ulpia sat quietly for a moment, looking down at her teacup. She took a few moments to answer, sitting quietly, seeming to be choosing her words carefully.

“I know that it’s common for events to be embellished in this sort of thing; battles must always be big and grand, flaws must be removed, but…”

Tullius sat quietly, waiting for her to finish. When she finally looked up he could see her pupils swimming in unfallen tears. “Please, just do your best to be him. Whatever else you all decide to do, just… I want to see him one more time.”

Tullius nodded quietly, unable to look away from her gaze or find words to express his sudden invigoration. Any worries of crowds or donation numbers to this play were vanished from his mind. He was now looking at the only gaze that mattered for this performance.

She would continue to help Tullius with his rehearsal well into the night. The barn owl overhead didn’t bother them again, watching quietly from his gallery overhead.

“Through the mist and winter waves

Our heroes set sail! Their worry was ripe,

Not from fear or the cold’s bite,

But the suffering of us all should they fail…”

Admiral Mus sat behind his desk, tapping his compass against his armrest. He sat leaning far to his right, trying to avoid jolts of pain from his back. He did not look up from the map on his desk, staring at the small red flag placed over the bay of his nation’s capital. The others in the room stood quietly, watching and waiting. Finally, he spoke up.

“Torquatus, your report.”

A young man, dressed in a uniform that was too big for him, stepped up nervously. It was a sign of how bad naval casualties had been that such a young and inexperienced sailor was now serving as first lieutenant. He sounded breathless when he spoke, as though his mind was mostly focused on appearing calm.

“Sir, it’s been confirmed. The bay has been taken. The home fleet was scattered in the retreat, and the enemy now blocks the opening.”

The admiral quietly sighed, his drumming speeding up. Their small fleet was escorting supply ships meant for the capital, which was under siege by land. His forces had suffered a string of defeats, and he’d hoped to avoid a battle until repairs could be made. Now, the battle he had been fearing was inevitable.

“Delay is not an option. The plan remains unchanged. Send word to every vessel, and make it clear that retreat is only acceptable once the supplies make it to port.”

Torquatus nodded, opening his mouth but not speaking. His eyes widened as he stood, mouth agape. It was clear he knew he must speak, but the words were eluding him. The admiral watched him quietly, looking as calmly as he could to the boy and waiting. Finally, Quintus cleared his throat and spoke, albeit a bit monotone.

“We will serve with the conviction you have come to expect, sir.”

Mus nodded. “Send word out, then come back here. You and I will be going over the strategy, and I need you to memorize every detail. There will be no room for error, regardless of what might occur.” With that he dismissed his officers and looked back to his map. He shifted in his seat, twinging slightly from pain before sighing and resuming his tapping.

“You’re still not emoting!” Tullius sighed and lowered his script so he could look at Quintus. The young man cleared his throat for the tenth time, jumping when the barn owl screeched overhead.

“I swear it’s mocking me!” Quintus sighed, trying to find his place in the script again.

“Block it out. You’ll hear worse from people if they can’t hear you in the back row.”

“Can’t I just be an extra? Someone with one or two lines? I didn’t know I’d be playing a big part, and I’ve never done this before!”

“You’re the only one young enough to play Torquatus. Sometimes you must go above and beyond what’s expected. Do you think he knew he would be serving Mus directly when he was drafted?

Quintus grumbled and shuffled his feet. “He probably expected to be paid appropriately…”

“You want pay? Then do the job right. Now, again! We’ll do this all night if we have to.”

“Our heroes arrived to a greeting of fire and shot!

Without hesitation, they greeted death and victory

No shallow grave would suit such an onslaught

Only the crushing depths could swallow such bravery!”

“Incoming!” A deckhand screamed and jumped for cover as another salvo rocked the ship’s side. “Return fire! everything you’ve got!” Mus shouted his order, pulling on the ship’s wheel to keep the vessel from turning with the current. They had managed to push through the center of the blockade’s line, and now held the opening on both sides to give the supply ships a gap to slip through. What remained of his fleet now blocked shots from either side of the opening. The deck was in chaos from men either taking cover, shouting over each other, or screaming for help while clutching a fresh wound. It was clear they were being decimated, but victory was never going to come from strength of arms. They just had to hold out for a little longer.

Down on deck, Torquatus dragged a wounded sailor behind cover. The young man was clearly shaken but did not allow fear to hinder his duty. “Admiral says fire! That means right now!” The lieutenant ran up to an unmanned canon, prepping and firing. The others on deck saw this and reorganized themselves, firing shortly after.

The ship held position, even as the friendly vessel beside it began to sink from an explosion in its gunpowder reserves. Admiral Mus and Lieutenant Torquatus kept composed and unsheltered, doing their best to inspire the others. Finally, Mus looked out to the city and saw the greatest of sights: the supply ships had begun to enter port, passing into the safety of the city’s walled defenses.

The admiral reached to his belt for his flare gun to signal a retreat, but as he unclipped the firearm an explosion rocked the ship from below deck. An enemy shot had found their ammunition, and a blast of fire blew upwards through the deck. The sails overhead burst into flames and the screams of sailors was heard, then quickly silenced

It took Admiral Mus some time to regain his senses. He was laying down, staring up at the sky. His vision was clouded from smoke, and a pain was shooting through his body. At first he thought it was his back again, until he looked to see wreckage from the explosion pinning him, and a board having stabbed through his shoulder. He tried to move, but the weight was too much. He could not hear anything but a loud ringing, and he couldn’t see what was happening on deck above the wreckage that pinned him.

Slowly, his hearing began to return and he heard the sounds of canon fire; the battle was still ongoing. Mus lifted his head, looking for his flare gun. He saw it lying nearby and reached for it, but it was just out of his grasp. He desperately tried to reach further, tears of pain streaking his face as he pulled against the board that tore at his shoulder, but he couldn’t reach.

It took a moment for Mus to notice someone pulling at him. He looked up to see Torquatus, covered in blood and soot, trying to push the debris off the admiral. Mus watched him for a moment before pushing the young man aside, pointing desperately at the flare gun. Torquatus looked from it to his admiral, who nodded and spoke with a groggy voice. “Get them into the city… find my Ulpia… tell her I’m sorry.” The first lieutenant grabbed the flare gun, looking to Mus one more time before firing it and running out of the admiral's sight. Mus laid his head down, knowing any survivors were in good care.

He closed his eyes, hearing only canon fire and flames for a long time until he began to feel ice cold water washing over him. Silence and darkness moved over Admiral Mus like a curtain. In this final moment, the shots seemed to die out. He heard no screaming sailors or screeching barn owls. He wasn’t sure, but somewhere past his darkness he thought he could hear the sound of a woman’s muffled weeping. He only hoped he had done well enough to earn such sorrow.