The Imperial Guard In Homer's The Odyssey

People immediately start yelling back insults, questioning such warning. Severus raises his hands for silence and continues.
“The Oracle has sent me to deliver her message to the Empire. The gods demand a cleansing of the Empire before it teeters over the cliff of ruin. A cleansing that will give strength to the Empire’s faithful, and destruction to the enemies of our great Empire,” he says, to the roaring crowds suddenly silenced.
Not one sounds echoes in the arena. It’s an eerie sound, a deathly silence. Only the distant nickers of war stallions carrying the Imperial Guard can be heard in a crowd of hundreds. There is a sudden movement, and I see one of the senators rushing towards Severus with a knife. The Imperial Guard is too quick. The man’s blood pours out on the arena floor, and his body is dragged away in only a few moments.
Severus washes off a few specks of blood from his face and continues. “These followers of this Unseen God, of the Jews and Christians bring a
sickness to the Empire. The gods have spoken that unless we rid the Empire of such a diseased people, the gods will come themselves to destroy them, but it will be us who will wish for mercy from their ever flowing wrath.”
Diocletian steps up and puts his hand on Severus’s shoulder to speak.
“Know this, sons of Rome, this decree is given by our gods, and must be followed. Which of you has the stomach, but the strength to follow such a decree while not destroy this Empire?” He turns to the heirs and gestures for them to step up to the front of the stage. “You, Maxentius, nephew of Emperor Maximian, who would burn the flesh of man following orders? You Galerius, who would show the worth of a man’s years of loyal service as nothing for one mistake to be hung on the wall? But you, Constantine are the most dangerous of any of you. Your reasoning, your questioning mind, is better suited for a scholar than an emperor. One who questions the laws set down by the gods’ law should not lead others by it.” Turning to Emperor Maximian, he says, “Choose one of your blood to succeed brother.” Diocletian turns back, and faces Severus, “For this man, Severus is the only man I can see to fulfill the gods’ command for the
Empire.”
Diocletian raises Severus’s hand, giving him the ring of rule. The people cheer, but quickly grow quiet to hear who else will become emperor. Emperor Maximian steps forward and speaks for the first time to the crowd.
“Galerius, strong hand of justice, one who rules with both head and heart, you will rule my throne from this day forward,” he says to a roaring applause, though Emperor Maximian is not thrilled by this turn of events. A servant removes Galerius’s cloak, and replaces it with a soldier’s cloak, trimmed in purple. A warrior, and now a future emperor faces the crowds roaring applauds.
Constantine steps back to join the other heir Maxentius, who seems too shocked to hide his embarrassment for not being chosen heir. The crowd is silent. Severus was chosen while two blood heirs still breathe, something that has never happened. Never has an advisor been placed before blood in the matter of rule.
Something catches my attention, and it seems everyone is drawn to Emperor Maximian. His stature draws silence where cheers should be echoing the stadium. An heir was to be chosen for his bloodline, but he does not look happy about it. The air grows stale in his silence, and I can almost feel the tension in the crowd roll over like a sudden frost on summer grass, icy and surprising.
Diocletian walks over to the magistrate, his sword drawn. Never scabbard, the sword of an emperor is better than any ring, any message, or any bloodline in the Empire. Any who holds the emperor’s sword may do whatever they wish for no blood that touches its blade lives. Not a breath or a rustle of clothing could be heard in the arena. Diocletian turns to the three young men, his hilt now facing them, a gesture that he intended for one of them to take it.
“Galerius, your father sees your potential and has claimed you as his heir. Galerius, with this act you will claim yourself future emperor over one of the greatest Empires in the world. Kill this swine that dared claim this city as a tyrant,” he says. “Traitorous acts earn such deaths. Destroy it at the core of a man, and you will save your people.” His voice curdled with anger as he thrusts the hilt into Galerius’s face.
Galerius looks to Emperor Maximian, who gives his consent by nodding, making no comment otherwise. Galerius takes the sword from Diocletian’s hand and walks the long steps towards the Magistrate begging for his life. The man’s hand shoots out to grasp the bottom of Galerius’s cloak in a last attempt to gain mercy as soldiers come to pull him up to his knees for execution.
I look into Galerius’s face, to see if he has any hesitation in executing a man denied justice. The eyes, once filled with laughter that day as he sharpened my sword and called me Lady Hawk, had changed. His eyes were now as hard as the steel he now held. I look away as the sound of a sword cutting both air and flesh rings out throughout the arena. A pool of blood spills down and over the platform to make one man an emperor.
The pale skin Galerius already sports turns deathly white as the head of the Magistrate falls down, and lands at his feet in a splash of blood. Constantine runs across the stage and grabs Galerius before he faints. Blood pours down the steps of the platform, and the senators back away so it doesn’t stain their feet.
Emperor Maximian walks over to where Constantine and Galerius are standing and puts his hand on Galerius’s shoulder. “To stare into the eyes of the men you kill requires practice, not strength. The cost of executing men is the price you must always be ready to pay. I have indeed picked the best of the liter to tame this hostile land,” he says, so the whole crowd can hear. “Mercy breeds doubt, and doubtful men are not worth the gift of life.” Everyone looks at Constantine, including Emperor Maximian. Constantine just keeps his head down, as though he wasn’t just insulted by his father in front of everyone.
Diocletian nods and signals the soldiers to make way for their departure to the palace. As cool as glass, he walks down the platform’s steps, the blood splashing on his white toga the entire way down. Diocletian, the emperor who walks through men’s blood smiling.
The story was true after all. If that story was true, then I shudder to think the other rumors about him are too.