Pero was downcast. He hadn’t been invited back to the television station since his stellar debut. How could the people hear their Pero if they are not allowed to see him?
There had been some good news though, his father had arranged for his promotion in the military; he was now Colonel Antonio Felipe III Pero. Now there was a title. He referred to himself as The CAP in the presence of the common soldier. Pero now had the respect, title and manpower he deserved. It was a good day. But yet, he was downcast.
He walked to the mirror and stood profile on, jutting his chin out. Pero was a proud man, a loyal man. Why then would some of the officers not do as The Colonel wanted? Could they not see his vision, for a greater future for them and their families? He considered what his father might do; bribe them or kill them. Pero liked the idea of killing them, but the men respected their officers and Pero would not harm his children.
Pero took to bribing the officers with great gusto. Naturally talented at slipping brown envelopes surreptitiously to people, Pero had great success. Another victory for The CAP.
Yet, there were one or two who did not look kindly upon their new messiah. In particular, that old crusty one who spoke frequently with his fists. Pero must ponder his fate wisely, for Pero was not Julius Caesar, who was stabbed in the back by his best friend. Pero wondered if he should make friends with the Officer, become bosom buddies so that Pero may strike first. First and hard. No et tu Pero for Pero.
Pero called the Governor. He could solve the problem and deal with the fists.
On his promotion, Pero had a local historian look up his family’s coat of arms; the heraldry of his ancestors. The historian couldn’t find anything apart from a cousin twice removed of the uncle of King Philip II of Spain had married one of his ancestors. There was no record of any holdings or heraldry of note. Pero decided that he must bring back the strong traditions of his family. He designed a yellow crown with tall spikes and had it created by a local cloth factory as a badge for his men to sew on the arms of their fatigues.
They were the King’s men he told them. “You have the honour of serving royalty and doing the greater good.”
Some of the men had done a poor job in sewing the badge on; with seams and threads showing. A lash to the cheek and a week in the shed soon put an end to that. Now his men had pride in themselves and their appearance. He had mixed militia men, boys and adults alike, in with the regular army battalion. It hadn’t gone down well and there had been beatings and judgements required. Pero shouldered the burden, like Atlas pushing the rock up a hill.
With the bust sitting proudly on a mantel made of sturdy rock; Pero considered the need for a statue. He smoothed his moustache languidly, whilst leaning back on his desk chair. On the desk was a smaller bust of the same subject, a brass ornament of a man whipping a bull and a stack of brown envelopes. He liked to keep things simple.
A statue of him on a horse leading a charge. Firstly, he needed a horse. Pero didn’t have the first idea about horses, so he rang his father. His father had a number of race horses, undefeated and all named for his grandfather. A horse would be procured for his son. Hercules would be his name.
Tall upon a horse, Pero would make for an inspirational monument; Pero on Hercules. A strong man who did great deeds.