Enemies of the Revolution

Enemies of the Revolution

Speech! Speech! Speech!

He moved like a bride at a wedding. Gliding towards the stage, a column opened for him right down the middle, as he moved he was flanked by hands outstretched, and when he reached the elevated plinth, he was welcomed not as a dissident, but as a leader, and when he would journey to the throne room where the newly elected Council would share the might of the departed king, he would be hailed as Alphons, revolutionary, the vanguard of history.

At first, Alphons did not speak. He held the room to attention as he looked for his small friend, cloaked in his classic green jacket among the crowd, a smile on his face, shoulders at ease:

“The ashes of the revolution still fall but tonight we cheer because our old world is dead. We cheer because for the first time, power no longer flows from an accident of birth, but springs from the will of the people. We cheer because of the confidence the people have placed upon us, for they have granted us a majority in the Council–a council that is but a steppingstone; the first split of the old crown, but not the last.”

He looked out in front of him and saw his listening comrades. Their eyes trained on his every move, swaying as he did, darting as his hands jabbed, punctuating his speech with dynamist–raising the tempo in one instant, and then slowing down to a conversation in another, letting his words hang, allowing his brain space to consider what comes next. In his past, Alphons was lawyer for the poor, and so was well practiced in arguing in front of an audience for those whom justice was rarely guaranteed:

“We are building a new system—a new world—and we stand on here, planting a flag for the people to follow. We, entrusted with the nation can be better than what came before, and we must be better, and we will be better. We will govern for the many: no child shall want for bread; no child shall grow up without education; and we shall free the people from the bondage of debt. As we race forward to this new world, we might stumble, and we might fall, but in time we will accomplish wonders.”

For the revolution! For the many! For the revolution!

As he finished, Alphons went into the audience to be celebrated; there were smiles and handshakes, a few part on the backs, but if you were close enough—and looked for it—you might see his hands will with uncertainty. Eventually, he was alone. His friend in green passed him a filled glass, thank you Amil, he said and emptied its contents.

Hey easy! I worry one day you’ll choke while giving a speech and I’ll be forced to stand-in, Amilcar said.

Nothing inspires confidence like your deputy imagining your death, Alphons said. I said I worry Al; I’d finish your speech with a sombre disposition, Amilcar said and refilled the glass in Alphons’ now uncertain hand. But you would finish it all the same? Alphons asked.

Our revolution must be continued, Amilcar said and clinked glasses with his friend. Bread, schools, and debt abolition, all while we’re bleeding troops in the South. You were never one to take the easy route. Alphons embraced his friend, we must not be afraid to dream big my friend, now more than ever. Amilcar kept his glass stead and by his side: if so, we might need some experience in getting things done.

The Librarians, Alphons said, again? What common cause do we share with them? It’s not about common–do you, Amilcar struggled to get the words out. He looked around the room, they had developed a small audience, if you really want to do this, maybe we should step outside? He asked.

We are the demos, Alphons said, it is not enough to be democratic Amil, we should be seen as democratic. Amilcar rubbed his temples, tracing familiar paths. If you’d like we can be seen to be stepping outside. Alphons laughed. I’m serious, Amilcar said and loudly tapped his glass:

Supporters of the Demos, he shouts, forgive me for stealing away our leader, we have scheme to put into place (laugher), but before we go— Amilcar placed his wine glass to his lips and started to lean backwards, only pausing at the point when he threatened to fall, before springing back, empty glass in hand.

—Conway, he shouts, please bring more wine, I fear some of our comrades carry empty chalices (laughter). He bowed theatrically as a tall man approached, carry with him a large pitcher. A Amilcar approached him to refill his glass, he was flanked by celebratory hoots and hearty pats on his back from the crowd. Do you have to be so theatrical? Alphons said.

We’re politicians now, Amilcar said, as he gestured to the side door. The muffled shouts and conversation receded as the two men walked into the night, welcomed by the low whistle of the wind and, with each step, a soft crunch as their boots met fallen leaves. I did not know we had extra wine, Alphons said, stretching his legs and filling his lungs with crisp autumn air. It was in case we lost, Amilcar said, would you mind if we take a walk? My ears are still ringing. Alphons nodded and the two strolled the Grand Boulevard, meandering around the scars of artillery fire and the skeletons of barricades. As they approached the Barracks of the Citizen Guard, the familiar sound of celebration returned. Alphons waved as a guard in full military dress struggled to stand straight, recognised who greeted him, returned the wave, and proceeded to empty the contents of his stomach.

The whole city must be celebrating, Alphons said laughing, and nobody deserves it more.

Convincing them to join our cause was no easy feat, an army of and for the people. I knew they would listen to reason, Alphons replied.

They listened to you, Amilcar said, and thank goodness cause none of us knew how to plan for war. They brought experience when we stopped waving placards and started dodging bullets. Right now, they are winning us the civil war in the south.

I see where this is going, but the Guards are not the Librarians. We grew up with them, Captain Mahou lived two doors down from you, Alphons said, the Librarians have spent their whole lives in the palace, and honestly, I am shocked they did not follow the King.

Do you know how to run a country?

We will learn.

While you can be downlight prodigious—

Flattery? Its beneath you–

–Let me finish, Amilcar said interrupting Alphons, you’re brilliant yes, but your great gift is getting others to pledge their support, bring their own expertise, and still feel like they’re doing you a favour: the Citizen Guards, our many supporters, your trusty deputy. At some point we all heard you speak, saw you plan, and now we’ve overthrown centuries of tradition. The Librarians have worked for the king, yes, and her mother, and her father, but does that make them impossible to reform? Before Alphons could respond, Amilcar carried on not willing to let even his friend interrupt his flow. We aren’t waving placards anymore and thank goodness we aren’t dodging bullets. Now we’ve got to cover. They’ve run the country for centuries, and we’ve run it for—he looked down at his watch—call it three and a half hours.

And what? Alphons asked, have we already failed?

I’m saying we don’t have the option of failure, Amilcar replied, could we have overthrown the king on our own? Perhaps, but it would’ve taken a lot longer, and less of us would be celebrating our electoral victory. We now have the opportunity to improve the lives of millions of people, we cannot afford to learn the basics on the job.

Alphons pondered this, he and his friend had argued about policies, principles, and philosophy, but he had never seen him so animated and forceful. Amilcar brought from his jacket a small box and shook it; its sole occupant rattled around. They might not share Demos’ values, democracy is new to the people and foreign to the palace, Alphons said, they might not want to even work with us. And that’s why you’ve got to convince them, Amilcar said, meet with them and see if there is a space to work together, and then we can come back to the party informed and decide.

One meeting, Alphons said, I can live with that. Will you make the introductions? Amilcar laughed, you’re beloved by the people, have the confidence of the Citizen Guard, and have enough delegates in the National Council to start passing laws. You no longer need introductions. Alphons, realising he was no longer an exile relying on his friend to make connections in the city, found himself also laughing. Word has spread that a Librarian spends every waking hour in the Royal Archives, shall see her tomorrow then.

Thanks for hearing me out, Amilcar said, we should head back to the party, we’ve got drunk delegates to brief. Before they returned, Amilcar brought out his cigarette box once again and lit one. A plume of smoke, pushed from his lips, flew into the air and, free of any force, floated for a second, two, three, before being carried by the wind. He pulled close his green jacket, continued smoking, and they began walking down the boulevard, away from the palace, and towards the small hall that had become their headquarters.

It took time for Alphons to make good on his promise, instead nights were spent with his cabinet, drafting legislation to enact food banks for the poor, debt abolition from the rich, and beginning the process of deciding what ought to be taught now that schools were open to the many. By day, he was a torrent, defending the policies from the other delegates who sought to moderate his march. As the fighting in the South turned to a rout for the Democrats, Alphons grew bolder and bolder, his pen his sword and his voice his shield, the very fabric of history seemed his to conquer. Yet, he remained a man of his word, and so one sunny day, he walked into the former Royal Archives.

She did not stand when he entered. She did not look at him nor offer a greeting. The only evidence that she knew they shared the same room was a hand limply raised in his direction after adjusting her glasses. Her head hovered over the stack of paper resting on her desk, as if she was willing the inked letters to make the leap onto her nose, up to her eyes and settle into the contours of her mind. Alphons, head still recovering from last night’s celebrations, found the chair least occupied by books and folders and drags it opposite her, and took a seat; his legs crossed.

He did not know Maia well, he did not know her at all, but Amilcar had convinced him some experience could be added to his cabinet and so here he was, pretending his leg had not lost all feeling. Maia made a few notes in the margins of the page she was reading, peeled it off, and put it to the side. Alphons went for it: Summer Harvests in the Low Country. It’s woefully out of date, she said. That got her attention. The Royal Archives have been invaluable but at some point, they either stopped counting or several books were lost during the Revolution. She raised her head and pushed her reading pile aside.

Good morning, he said.

Is it still morning? she said, I really should put a clock in here, did you know I almost missed the election.

Where were you? I didn’t think you would miss such an important occasion.

She lifted her arms: here, she said, after half the palace was burnt everything of value was moved here and so that is where my mornings and nights go.

I assumed that meant the treasury not the grain we harvested.

Knowing how much food you’ll have can be incredibly valuable.

But not when it’s out of date?

But not when it’s out of date. Which is why my second advice is to seize and store as much grain as possible.

I’m sorry? It was all Alphons could utter, it was rare he was rendered speechless, and he would not give that honour to Maia. You want to steal grain from the farmers? Harvest has just started, and you would deprive the farmers of their entire crop, he heard his voice getting louder and felt his face warm up, there will be a second revolution all because you cannot find accurate harvest predictions? –Alphons stopped abruptly, his mind adjusted to its sudden acceleration–wait what is your first advice?

Create a security force loyal to the state to anticipate any pushback and destroy any dissent, she said, it’s a wonder you’ve gotten so far without one, especially after promising to rid the rich of their valuable debtors.

I told Amil we would have opposing values, he said, I did not think I would be so disappointed to be right.

It is not a question of values, she said, bread is already at an all-time high and we’re all hoping harvest will be a panacea, but a few farmers spent the past few months overthrowing a king and not farming–

So, it is about us kicking out your patron–

If there is even a small shortage we might be facing a crisis, she carried on ignoring his jab, and at that point the security force will be worth its weight in gold.

You would have us rebuild the Royal Guard by another name because we might be facing a crisis? I won’t be a king.

Did you think governing would be easy? She asked, what is easy is to dispose of people the moment you don’t like them.

We did not overthrow the king because we did not like her, we did so because it was the right thing to do, it was a moral obligation–

You think you were the only group to realise that there was something wrong with one person having absolute power?

We were the only group to get it done.

And that is why we are having this meeting, she removed her glasses, history does not turn on just being right, there is also a moral obligation to be effective. In your world, to be effective is to raise an army against our people.

To be effective is to have your democratic revolution last beyond your lifetime. Alphons did not respond. Have you heard word from the South? She asked. Alphons did not expect that. Not yet, why do you ask? he asked. It was possible that Maia, a Librarian with the palace, had loved ones among the Royal Army. Good news for the democratic revolution might bring grave tidings to those with past connections to the old crown. We should get news soon, but the Citizen Guard understand that taking prisoners is preferable to spilling more blood.

Does this extend to the king?

Of course, I have specifically requested that she be taken alive. I wish you had not. It would be better for you if she perished far from the seat of government. Alphons could barely keep his voice low, it is not about what would be better for me, he said, she must return and stand trial for her crimes. If justice is to be done, it must be seen to be done. He put on his jacket, his feet back on the ground. I am sorry Maia, I do not think we can accomplish much together, he said. Amil will be disappointed.

She put her glasses back on and returned to her papers. She didn’t stand as he left.

As winter deepened, Captain Mahou returned to the city as a victorious general. For months, he led the Citizen Guards as they fought the last organised Royalist force in the south. The cabinet declared a day of celebration, but the people that came out to did not do so in the spirit of merriment, but with fear in their hearts for the brothers, sisters, and friends they might have lost in a revolution that had made them wake and sleep with empty stomachs. It was a parade of the injured and the maimed. The eyes on the soldiers that could walk without aid told tales of nights blanketed with artillery fire, and this unease spread throughout the city. Attempts by the bureaucracy to engage in civic activity was met with hostility by the people: tax collectors were mobbed, food banks were prevented from closing, and just the very act of walking the Grand Boulevard invited jeers and insults towards anyone with elected office. Now terrified of losing the support of the people, Alphons sped up plans for an event of national unity. To remind them why they supported the revolution in the first place, the king must be put on trial.

Deep in the Royal Archives, Maia laid out a fresh page and refilled her small pot of ink. At the top, she wrote in a typeset that betrayed her classical training as a scribe:

The Trial of King Dido.

She considered whether the title was appropriate and was grateful that the reforms had dulled the old censorship, for in the old days scholars like her had one guiding principle organising such thinking, and so the questions asked were not one of bias or accuracy, but whether the very title might offend whoever sat on the throne. Few believed it, but she was grateful that the sun had set on those days. She crossed out the title and decided this page would be to work out her ideas before a proper draft would be written, and so she wrote another title:

Can a Monarch Commit Crimes?

She now remembered the lectures of her tutors, warning against the ills of rhetorical questions, she was a scholar not a dramatist, but what is a trial if not theatre with stakes, and the one she sought to document anything but high tragedy. The question she hoped to explore in this paper was by what legal right a court might trial a king when all legal precedent had previously placed the crown as the law itself. Kings had been deposed yes, forced to abdicate, even killed, but the democrat Alphons hoped to create history by putting the crown on trial. Despite herself, she found his aim laudable. It was not enough to wield political power through their National Council, he hoped to show the people that all authority comes from them–the kingdom. A rupture with the past, the old-world dead, and his new one born in the hastily created Court of Justice. The jury would be the people, and he himself chief prosecutor and midwife.

Maia continued writing, pausing so often to correct mistakes and cross whole sections out.

Unfortunately, it was not an easy birth. The king refused to enter a plea and instead questioned the legal authority of the court. The trial could not proceed, and instead of a carefully orchestrated coup de grace, it let the king speak broadly on the ills facing the city, as Alphons continued to request a plea. All his clever arguments stayed within his head. Now their nation had a solution for this impasse, the defendant would be held in contempt, tortured, and so made more amenable to proper legal procedure.

Elegant, she noted in the margins.

The king, having presided over many a trial, knew this and therein lay her gambit. She dared Alphons to hold her in contempt. If he did so, he would be proven no better than the crimes she would be accused of, and if he did not, she would be given an audience with the people and use every ounce of rhetoric taught by the finest tutors in the land.

Or at least that was Maia’s theory. Impossible now to confirm. Unfortunately. Maia remembered sitting there, in that trial, feeling the people grow restless at this legal pantomime; they were hungry, and cold, and in truth did not have much interest in overthrowing centuries of tradition. They liked their old worldviews; it reminded them of times when they were not on rations. Maia remembers seeing Alphons alone on the stand, the weight of the revolution on his back, in those few hours he must have aged decades. His voice, coarse from his shouting, continued to ask for a plea. She saw Amilcar, his hands dove into his pockets and pulled out his cigarette box, and promptly shook it. Empty.

Night fell. In one corner of the crowd, a cry went out:

God save the King! God save the King! God save the King!

It stayed local but their voices were firm and unyielding. The king, understanding that Alphons would not have her unjustly harmed, pressed her advantage. She announced that she would offer pardons to those that took up arms against the crown. Alphons continued to shout that that was not in order. The king continued, she would keep the reforms the National Council had passed, she would even keep the political body to advise her on running the nations. Alphons moved to adjourn court for the day, but the king carried on. She would use her own personal wealth to bring in fresh grain for the people.

God save the King! God save the King! God save the King!

The cry was carried to all corner of the crowd so that now it surrounded Alphons who stood there on his elevated stage, his face unreadable, but his shoulders at ease. He seemed to have accepted his fate. Maia, at that point accepted that the trial was over and returned to the Royal Archives, the king would want a report of the past few months.

She had written several pages when she noticed the clock. She was going to be late.

The wind rolled slowly through the half-opened window, excited at reaching the empty corridor, it stretched out and expand. He swallowed it, felt its cool, blue energy slowly spread within his lungs, tasting its freedom, reminding him of nights past, filling him. But he could not hold it, his lungs screaming and his head light, one second, two, three and he let it go. Alphons heard descending steps and wondered if he would finally see the sun and watch it set one last time. He trudged to the lone chair in his cell and readied himself for his guest. Maia turned the long corridor, accompanied by a Guard, Citizen or Royal, Alphons could not tell, their face hidden by the shadows. He did not get up when they reached him.

The guard left them, five minutes, they said as they walked back up the narrow steps. To what do I owe the visit? Alphons asked?

I am writing about the trial, and the revolution broadly, she said, the king has kept her word and not rolled back the reforms.

Not fully, Alphons said.

History takes time to happen.

He laughed. I once believed my movement to be the language of history, and now here I sit, soon to be relegated to it. Maia took a second, one, two carefully considering her next question: Do you really think you will be forgotten?

No, I suppose not, not truly, Alphons began, some reforms in our few days of government will last, and the others will prove difficult to overturn. We have proved that democracy was possible, Amil is a student of the blowing wind, they will not catch him, and he will never rest. The movement carries on.

I think many knew democracy was possible, Maia said and drew closer, it’s why the palace, the rich, those that stood to lose, took you seriously. Alphons stood up, his hair long and matted, those same brown eyes that never looked at you but saw what you might become searched her for answers. Do you think there was a way to maintain our values or was this all a choice between failure and loosing ourselves?

Maia did not answer. I have returned to a position of scholar and bureaucracy; I should not insert myself into your story.

My story is soon to be over, there is nobody I could tell. Maia thought and then answered: You fought against the moral problem of autocracy and so could only conceive of righting moral wrongs. In many ways, you have solved your own problem. After your execution, every movement shall raise you up as a reason not to be conservative with violence against enemies of the revolution.