End of the world -- Fiction; Epidemics -- Fiction; Science fiction; Twenty-first century -- Fiction
“Not one of these must perish!” and plunging the rowels into his
horse’s sides, he dashed between the conflicting bands. We, his staff,
followed him to surround and protect him; obeying his signal, however,
we fell back somewhat. The soldiery perceiving him, paused in their
onset; he did not swerve from the bullets that passed near him, but
rode immediately between the opposing lines. Silence succeeded to
clamour; about fifty men lay on the ground dying or dead. Adrian raised
his sword in act to speak: “By whose command,” he cried, addressing his
own troops, “do you advance? Who ordered your attack? Fall back; these
misguided men shall not be slaughtered, while I am your general. Sheath
your weapons; these are your brothers, commit not fratricide; soon the
plague will not leave one for you to glut your revenge upon: will you
be more pitiless than pestilence? As you honour me—as you worship God,
in whose image those also are created—as your children and friends are
dear to you,—shed not a drop of precious human blood.”
He spoke with outstretched hand and winning voice, and then turning to
our invaders, with a severe brow, he commanded them to lay down their
arms: “Do you think,” he said, “that because we are wasted by plague,
you can overcome us; the plague is also among you, and when ye are
vanquished by famine and disease, the ghosts of those you have murdered
will arise to bid you not hope in death. Lay down your arms, barbarous
and cruel men—men whose hands are stained with the blood of the
innocent, whose souls are weighed down by the orphan’s cry! We shall
conquer, for the right is on our side; already your cheeks are pale—the
weapons fall from your nerveless grasp. Lay down your arms, fellow men!
brethren! Pardon, succour, and brotherly love await your repentance.
You are dear to us, because you wear the frail shape of humanity; each
one among you will find a friend and host among these forces. Shall man
be the enemy of man, while plague, the foe to all, even now is above
us, triumphing in our butchery, more cruel than her own?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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