Lucyfer
I made something that'll love me even when I won't
Castor Iunius Vetus knew this day was going to be auspicious from the moment he woke up. As if to prove his point, he found that a murder of crows had decided to congregate in the courtyard when he stepped out in the white toga of a senator, wearing the new stripe that signified his consulship. He did not think the toga fit him well, and not just because it was a joke. He was a man meant more for the military than for politics, and the toga felt flimsy over his musculature.
It was a joke, of course. There were no real consuls in Lavine when a Dictator was in power.
‘And there is.’ But only for a few hours more.
Castor had been taken in by Theron’s charisma and promises, but that was years ago. Theron had been dictator for five years now, and the senate—the senate—had just voted him into the position of Dictator for Life. It was brought up by that spineless man, Sextus Pompilius, and seconded by someone who pretended to be an opponent of Theron on most days.
When Castor saw that, he understood this could not go on any longer. Theron was lying—he had no intention of giving power back to the people.
In the days that followed, he had plenty of opportunity to kill Theron. He had been in the man’s house, his guest and friend, but Castor refused to do it in a cowardly fashion. When he struck, the people of Lavine would know, and they would know why. Castor would not allow Lavine to become ruled over by a monarch in all but name.
He tore up his biscuit and tossed it out for the crows, “Give your master my regards,” he told them as he watched the brave birds venture closer to him to get at the bits of biscuit, “And beg his mercy for me.” Crows were, of course, the birds of the dead realm. They served their master, Yanus, well.
He had not heard his wife’s steps, and so he was startled when her arms wrapped around him from behind. However, he forced his body to relax quickly, and he leaned back against her. “You are very troubled this morning.” He had not told her his plan. He couldn’t risk it. “Are you concerned about the war Theron is planning?”
Ah yes, Theron’s war with their unconquered neighbors to the East. Castor shook his head. He wouldn’t lie to her, even if he would not tell her. “No, Sophia,” he answered, “They do not scare me.” There would be no war. Not if he could help it.
The woman let her arms drop and she walked around to be at his side, searching his face for more information. He endured the look until she said, “Well, I will pray for you.” She lifted a hand to his face, and brushed her slim fingers through his auburn curls, "Okay?"
That would actually be sane. Castor nodded, and suggested, “Take the children to the temple and pray.” They would be on sacred ground. They would be safe. “Go to the temple of,” he considered saying Audra, but stopped himself. That would be where they would bring Periander’s body, since the Dictator thought he had such close ties to that Goddess. “Deces.” The war god.
Sophia smiled, as if she understood all then. She did not comment, since Castor was unwilling to say he was afraid of the war. “All right.” She stepped back, “I’ve seen to it that your lictors were called, and they are here when you are ready to leave.”
Sophia left him with his thoughts then, and Castor dwelled a little while longer in the courtyard. When he left it, he did go the lictors. They were all hand-chosen by him, and they were all in on his plan. He cast a look over each face, stoic, unreadable, trying to see more through his hazel eyes. He saw nothing, except their determination. So, he gave a nod, and walked out the door. They fill in line, six on either side, and walked on to the Curia Audria, the senate house created by Theron, of course.
~***~
Early at the Curia Audria were Theron and Aemilia, and Theron’s lictors who waited outside as they were supposed to. Weapons in the Curia was an offense to the gods. Theron sat in one of the consul chairs, and Aemilia on the bench. He had tried to coax her to the other chair, but she refused each time, shaking her head and messing up the carefully made updo. There were now a few corkscrews of black hair in her face, but she had yet to fix that.
“You can’t make me a Tribune in the war.” Aemilia was saying, arms folded over her knees, “I do not have the experience.”
“You led a group of men through enemy territory to deliver a message to me on your first campaign, Aemi,” he was only ever informal when they were with friends, or had some form of privacy. Otherwise, it was always ‘Pullus’. “The people are aware of this. They will not protest it.”
“I am protesting it,” she said, “It looks ill. It was near the end of the war, the enemy was hardly in that area—”
“—because they were setting up the trap you gathered the information for, by stealing letters from Balbus and Vextor.”
Aemilia averted her green eyes to the walls of the Curia. Her mother had been friends with the once-great Gnaues Balbus. When over at their house once, Aemilia had stumbled upon the letters. She was well-educated, and could read the language that Vextor and Balbus wrote in. As soon as she realized a plot was being set to trap Theron and his men, because Balbus was giving away information, she set out from Lavine with a small group to get that information to Theron himself.
To say it had an impact was an understatement, but Aemilia did not want to press her luck when she felt it was undeserved. “Make me a First File Centurion or something. I’ll earn the way up to Tribune and Legate. It’ll look better.”
Theron let out an exasperated sigh, “Fine. I’ll set you under my general’s guidance, as well.” He would have put her under his own guidance, but he imagined this, too, would look better. “Happy?”
Aemilia looked back to him and smiled, “Happy.”
Their conversation might have continued, but they were interrupted by an entering senator. Theron rose from his chair and greeted him, but Aemilia remained sitting. She could hear everything from here. So began the routine—another thing Theron found amusing—of Theron becoming the social butterfly and Aemilia simply observing it all. She seemed to go ignored quite easily, though the fact she was small and unobtrusive helped. One would think a woman who looked like her would have no interest in the legions, but Aemilia had learned it wasn't just brawn that won wars, and anyone on the path to consulship needed to have a background in war.
Besides, she could handle a bow.
Theron and she always talked after the senate meetings because of how she just melted into the background. Theron had noted that Aemilia picked up a lot of information through her observations, even if she voiced none of it within the Curia itself.
Aemilia wasn’t even sure she’d spoken once within the Curia when the senate was in session.
And so, the senate began to fill with others.
It was a joke, of course. There were no real consuls in Lavine when a Dictator was in power.
‘And there is.’ But only for a few hours more.
Castor had been taken in by Theron’s charisma and promises, but that was years ago. Theron had been dictator for five years now, and the senate—the senate—had just voted him into the position of Dictator for Life. It was brought up by that spineless man, Sextus Pompilius, and seconded by someone who pretended to be an opponent of Theron on most days.
When Castor saw that, he understood this could not go on any longer. Theron was lying—he had no intention of giving power back to the people.
In the days that followed, he had plenty of opportunity to kill Theron. He had been in the man’s house, his guest and friend, but Castor refused to do it in a cowardly fashion. When he struck, the people of Lavine would know, and they would know why. Castor would not allow Lavine to become ruled over by a monarch in all but name.
He tore up his biscuit and tossed it out for the crows, “Give your master my regards,” he told them as he watched the brave birds venture closer to him to get at the bits of biscuit, “And beg his mercy for me.” Crows were, of course, the birds of the dead realm. They served their master, Yanus, well.
He had not heard his wife’s steps, and so he was startled when her arms wrapped around him from behind. However, he forced his body to relax quickly, and he leaned back against her. “You are very troubled this morning.” He had not told her his plan. He couldn’t risk it. “Are you concerned about the war Theron is planning?”
Ah yes, Theron’s war with their unconquered neighbors to the East. Castor shook his head. He wouldn’t lie to her, even if he would not tell her. “No, Sophia,” he answered, “They do not scare me.” There would be no war. Not if he could help it.
The woman let her arms drop and she walked around to be at his side, searching his face for more information. He endured the look until she said, “Well, I will pray for you.” She lifted a hand to his face, and brushed her slim fingers through his auburn curls, "Okay?"
That would actually be sane. Castor nodded, and suggested, “Take the children to the temple and pray.” They would be on sacred ground. They would be safe. “Go to the temple of,” he considered saying Audra, but stopped himself. That would be where they would bring Periander’s body, since the Dictator thought he had such close ties to that Goddess. “Deces.” The war god.
Sophia smiled, as if she understood all then. She did not comment, since Castor was unwilling to say he was afraid of the war. “All right.” She stepped back, “I’ve seen to it that your lictors were called, and they are here when you are ready to leave.”
Sophia left him with his thoughts then, and Castor dwelled a little while longer in the courtyard. When he left it, he did go the lictors. They were all hand-chosen by him, and they were all in on his plan. He cast a look over each face, stoic, unreadable, trying to see more through his hazel eyes. He saw nothing, except their determination. So, he gave a nod, and walked out the door. They fill in line, six on either side, and walked on to the Curia Audria, the senate house created by Theron, of course.
~***~
Early at the Curia Audria were Theron and Aemilia, and Theron’s lictors who waited outside as they were supposed to. Weapons in the Curia was an offense to the gods. Theron sat in one of the consul chairs, and Aemilia on the bench. He had tried to coax her to the other chair, but she refused each time, shaking her head and messing up the carefully made updo. There were now a few corkscrews of black hair in her face, but she had yet to fix that.
“You can’t make me a Tribune in the war.” Aemilia was saying, arms folded over her knees, “I do not have the experience.”
“You led a group of men through enemy territory to deliver a message to me on your first campaign, Aemi,” he was only ever informal when they were with friends, or had some form of privacy. Otherwise, it was always ‘Pullus’. “The people are aware of this. They will not protest it.”
“I am protesting it,” she said, “It looks ill. It was near the end of the war, the enemy was hardly in that area—”
“—because they were setting up the trap you gathered the information for, by stealing letters from Balbus and Vextor.”
Aemilia averted her green eyes to the walls of the Curia. Her mother had been friends with the once-great Gnaues Balbus. When over at their house once, Aemilia had stumbled upon the letters. She was well-educated, and could read the language that Vextor and Balbus wrote in. As soon as she realized a plot was being set to trap Theron and his men, because Balbus was giving away information, she set out from Lavine with a small group to get that information to Theron himself.
To say it had an impact was an understatement, but Aemilia did not want to press her luck when she felt it was undeserved. “Make me a First File Centurion or something. I’ll earn the way up to Tribune and Legate. It’ll look better.”
Theron let out an exasperated sigh, “Fine. I’ll set you under my general’s guidance, as well.” He would have put her under his own guidance, but he imagined this, too, would look better. “Happy?”
Aemilia looked back to him and smiled, “Happy.”
Their conversation might have continued, but they were interrupted by an entering senator. Theron rose from his chair and greeted him, but Aemilia remained sitting. She could hear everything from here. So began the routine—another thing Theron found amusing—of Theron becoming the social butterfly and Aemilia simply observing it all. She seemed to go ignored quite easily, though the fact she was small and unobtrusive helped. One would think a woman who looked like her would have no interest in the legions, but Aemilia had learned it wasn't just brawn that won wars, and anyone on the path to consulship needed to have a background in war.
Besides, she could handle a bow.
Theron and she always talked after the senate meetings because of how she just melted into the background. Theron had noted that Aemilia picked up a lot of information through her observations, even if she voiced none of it within the Curia itself.
Aemilia wasn’t even sure she’d spoken once within the Curia when the senate was in session.
And so, the senate began to fill with others.
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