Snow Always Melts [Closed]

[Lucyfer]

“The setting of the sun, the chill of winter, all of these serve to remind us of one thing.”

​

Aemilia Decima Pullus would reflect on those words later that day, words from a conversation held with Domitian when he had to lay a friend and enemy to rest.


He had put it so simply. Renewal came only with death. The fall of the sun and the chill of winter came on slowly, like an illness, but death was not always so slow in its arrival.


That lovely spring day, Castor Veta Geminus saw to it that the death of the Dictator, one Domitian Cornicen Periander. It had not gone as planned, but nothing ever does go as planned when other people don’t know the script. Domitian certainly didn’t know it.


“Hail, Periander,” Castor raised his hand in greeting as he stepped into the Curia Grachia to see the man with the greying blonde hair there near his chair. Though there were two consuls, there was only one chair, lest people forget this was a dictatorship.


Domitian looked up from his conversation with a couple of other senators. There was a smile in his gray eyes for Castor, “No need to be so formal,” he chastised, and walked around his chair, “Does something trouble you?” His arms were open for Castor to step forward, to sink his shoulders under the weight of one. The Curia Grachia was already full of many of the people who had consented to the action and promised their aide.


There were others present, of course. Sprawled out near the front was that tall man, Marcellus, who was only there to agree with whatever Domitian said about the oracles. Castor wasn’t even sure he checked the oracles any longer.


Sitting besides him, going over notes on that very topic, was dark-haired Aemilia. Castor found himself still divided on whether or not she belonged. The beloved Claudia did not help that matter any, either. For a woman, she had proven more capable in war than most men. Her name would certainly go down in history for her prowess. In truth, Claudia was one of the reasons he had hesitated so long—Domitian made some good changes.


However, his time had run its course.


Castor answered honestly, “I’m afraid quite a bit troubles me, and our informality is one of them,” Domitian laid his hand down over Castor’s shoulders, and Castor turned to look at the concerned expression. They stood about the same height, and so the position was easy to fall into.


Castor’s will didn’t falter. “Have I done something to offend you?” There was no warmth in Castor’s eyes for Periander. There was no happiness.


What fitting last words. The metal flashed and caught the light of the sun. Others noticed it before it penetrated its mark.


Among those who noticed was Aemilia, whose eyes lifted immediately from the scroll she was reading. What color she had to her skin was lost, as she gathered herself to rise, but not to run. She threw the scroll at Castor, but was not quick enough—how could she be? Though the weight of the heavy rollers propelled the scroll to strike his wrist, the knife was already in Periander’s heart.


The scroll fell and hit the ground. At worst, Castor would bruise. The auburn-haired man was not so concerned with that, as he was about the sound of other knives and a shout at Aemilia, “You can go with him!” A bench was jumped, a blade out.


Because of course someone would overreact. Plans never went as planned.


Domitian said no more, but was still alive, with evident surprise and horror written on his face as his arm slid off of Castor’s shoulders, and he descended to the ground. Domitian’s lictors hesitated in the entryways, seeing so many knives unsheathed by people with various amounts of military training. That had been the purpose, of course. Castor didn’t want a bloodbath. “Leave her!” He shouted, hoping to remind the fools of that direction. “No one else is going to be harmed!” But his voice was hardly heard over the stampeding senators that made a break for the exits.


Marcellus didn’t let Aemilia get much further, though she had attempted to move forward and take the blade from the one who threatened her directly. Marcellus wrapped a hand around her waist and pulled her back before the action could fully manifest itself. She snapped her head up to look at Marcellus.


His panic was visible, but he was trying to act calm and get out, with Aemilia. His eyes darted from Castor, to Domitian, to the nearby senator—Balbus—he wouldn’t forget that name or face anytime soon. “We’ll go.” He was speaking more to Balbus than Castor, for Castor was looking about the fleeing with dissatisfaction written on his expression. “Aemi, come. Come now.”


‘There will be a better time to fight.’ He wished he could say it aloud, wished he could say so much right then to convince her to leave off for a better moment. He knew, better than most, what the future held for the young Aemilia. He had been witness to the signing of Domitian's will. It was sealed in Audra's temple.


It seemed his tone did enough, for although her glare seemed to record the face of every person not running, she took a step backward.


Aemilia wouldn't turn her back, but she'd move away.

 

[Pentagon]

Claudia was in shock. She had not seen this coming. She had expected assassination, so too had Domitian, but knives on the Senate floor seemed an impossibility. Yet, it had happened. Castor had killed her patron, evidently the leader of a grand conspiracy between dozens of senators. Most had fled, a few watched in shocked horror, and the rest were gathered around the Dictator's body, blood spreading on their togas and dripping from their knives. She vaguely noticed the squabble between Domitian's new daughter and some meaningless bureaucrat, but her eyes were transfixed on Germanicus, the now sole consul sitting calmly in the benches, almost entirely alone. He had a hand in this, she realized. A second traitor, perhaps more dangerous than the murderer, sitting right behind her. Claudia wondered if she should kill him. She could, certainly. He was past his prime, and she had a gladius concealed under her toga, one which she never left her house without. She could kill most of them, she thought, confusion and lictors on her side.


She decided against it. There was nothing more to do: Domitian was dead, his power base crumbled, and a gaggle of old men would tear all he had built to the ground. 'Opportunities have arisen: I need to retreat and plan further moves.'. Claudia stood, and calmly left the Senate, leaving a side door to avoid the panicked forum.


Marcus finally stood, the deed done. Friends of Domitian had fled with the independents, however few of them existed, and Marcus walked down the isle between benches up to the new Hero of the Republic. He clasped his hand on the man's shoulder, and made to speak. "Congratulations, Castor. You have done your family and the Republic proud. You saved her from a tyrant, truly. I swear on Horrus's stone, by this time next year your statue will stand next to Africanus and Junius in the forum. Now, shall we greet the people, tell them of the good news?"

 

[Lucyfer]

Backing up, Aemilia caught sight of Claudia exit’s. She swallowed the shout in her throat that wanted to yell and accuse Claudia of complacency, but thought better of it. She was leaving, too, after all.


In the arch, she saw one of her tutors approach Castor and greet him as a friend. That was the moment Aemilia turned away, and lifted the skirt of her stola so that she could walk quicker.


Marcellus kept pace, “You must come with me.”


She walked, and refused to run. The area outside of the curia was clearing up quickly. The vendors were leaving their wares unguarded. Those interested plebeians left the area, as did so many other freedmen and slaves, and some of the patricians who didn’t hold a seat. “I must not.” She needed to return home. Her mother likely already knew, she usually had a slave in attendance. “I must—”


Marcellus grabbed her arm, and pulled, hard. Were it not for the urgent look in his eyes, she would have decked him.


The panic and certainty stilled her. Marcellus had never looked so sincere in his entire life.


She took a deep breath.


He spoke. “Trust me. There is more for you here. Fleeing will not help.” He imagined that was on her mind—run, and run far to where Periander had loyal veterans, and rally them. It might be an option, but it would be a much better option if she waited. “You’ll be safe in the temple to Audra. I’ll see that your mother goes there, and Periander’s family. His body will be brought there…assuming we can lay claim to it.” That would be the trouble. They might want to defame it.


Aemilia’s eyes sought further answers in Marcellus’s gaze, but he didn’t say them. He wasn’t someone she was inclined to trust, either. He earned his status by lying. “I will send for Claudia, as well. She should be present.” That seemed to ease Aemilia a bit.


“Very well.” She moved her arm, and he let it go then.


The streets they walked to the temple were dead silent. The news spread rapidly.


~***~


There was no time for shock, though Castor felt it. He wasn’t sure what surprised him more: that he had succeeded, or that the area became so quiet, so fast.


‘This is only the first step.’


His eyes lifted from the blood soaking his shoes and toga, to Marcus. He had to smile, for there was not another appropriate reaction, but he found he did not feel happy. He had done what was necessary, and it was an action he was proud of, but his heart was heavy with the burden of the future.


“I thank you, Marcus, but you flatter me,” he said, and looked from him, towards the exits. “I’m afraid there may not be any people to speak to. They all reacted rather poorly to this.” If he had a statue in a year, he’d consider it a miracle. No doubt, war would follow. From whom, he wasn’t certain. Claudia seemed the likely source, but there were others who were dear to Domitian who might try their hand at raising an army. There were his veterans, miles away, who might rise on their own.


He could not blame them. Violence earned such reactions. They would calm in time, and hear what had to be said about this deed. When the wars were won, the people would understand that this was, indeed, for the best. Periander was enslaving them all with luxuries. “Perhaps there are some stragglers left who would hear, and spread our message.” He said with a bit more optimism, and made a motion towards the stairs that led into the curia’s bowl.

 

[Pentagon]

Marcus was surprised. He had pegged Castor to be the kind of man who wanted the city to recognize his honor, not a Cato who was happy with honor alone.


"You do not want to meet the curious people without, show them your honor and convince them of the rightness of your cause? I think you expect too much of them if you think the common mob gathered outside will understand the good you have done them without your spelling it out to them. We need to promise them freedoms, make them understand the threat Domitius was to them and their families! Do not waste your time scraping after cowards fleeing the scene: we have the principle men of the city, the quality already stands behind us resolute. Let us go out together and win the city, Castor."


If the people could be convinced of the rightness of the cause, Domitius' power base would evaporate in Rome. Armies were well and good, but a tyrant can never rule through military might. Without support in Rome, the sensible populists left would fade into obscurity or rejoin the Republican side. The rest would be crushed by armies of a united Republican front, Castor was sure. Marcus spoke again.


"Castor, do this with me. Speak with me, and then we together will make proclamations to the fled Senators and spread our message of peace and virtue. We must stand united here, a symbol of the newly firm control of the Senate, free of the leash of Domitius.". As soon as that was over, Marcus could plan faster: he had never been good at thinking on his feet, he needed time to think. "Please, friend, I beg of you."


~***~


As soon as she was a street away from the forum, Claudia broke into a sprint. She briefly enjoyed the sensation of exerting herself, her feeling of inactivity and frustration at political life lessened quickly. She had always thought better after exercise, and she needed to contact her Iaticlavius immediately. She removed her toga and threw it by the wayside, her tunic beneath much more suited to exertion, and helped her blend into the crowd.


Claudia managed to reach her apartments a few minutes later. She had not seen any political agents looking for her, but she expected they would not be making strong moves for several hours. Now was the time to act. Claudia flew up the stairs and barged through the door, Pulla at the table reading from a scroll. She was a short woman, with a similar build to Claudia, though rather more feminine. She would likely have been a rare beauty if she had not taken up the soldier's life with Claudia all those years ago. Pulla looked up. "What is it, Claudia? You look like you have seen a ghost. Did something happen?". Her words were worried, and she stood to fetch water or bandages. Claudia deposited herself in a chair opposite to where Pulla had been sitting. "Domitian is dead, murdered by the Senate. Castor and Marcus of the Fabii. I need you to prepare to take action. How many agents do we have within the city?". Pulla hid her shock extremely well, Claudia had to admit. Even a lifetime of soldiering would not stop someone from being shocked by such news. "All are accounted for, Legate. I await your orders.". It was all business now. The geniality of their usual interactions was gone, now was the time for action.


"Listen well and do all I say. I will need to go mingle with the remnants of Domitian's camp, but actions need to be taken before I leave. Use the money from Helvetia and prepare the 6th for action. Those rebels in Epiria will do as an excuse: focus entirely on training new recruits and preparing the veterans for combat. Disband the 8th century of the second cohort and have them formally resign. They will stay under our command and retain all the benefits of soldierhood: call it paid leave. Have them report without their armor but with their weapons here tonight discretely, and find lodging within the city for them. Send emissaries to the northern tribes, tell them to prepare to fight for Rome: promise them riches and captives first, and if they do not accept that hint at autonomy from the Republic in exchange for their contributions to civil war. Send emissaries to... which legions do you think are the most loyal to Domitian?"


Pulla stopped writing, stopped for a second, and thought before answering. "Seventh, eighth and ninth were with Domitian in Helvetia. Tenth is now under the command of a Fabian"


Claudia took a deep drink of water before continuing. "Perfect. Send agents to those three legions and tell them to do the same: war footing and driven expansion. Tell them that if civil war erupts they will be on the side of the people, and tell them that they will get plunder and positions of high office upon victory. If war does not break out, I will pay for them from my own pocket. I expect we can afford most of that, but it does not matter, war will happen regardless."


Claudia stood and began pacing. "Here is the most pressing task. I need you to arm a few burly slaves. Give them cheap swords or knives, and order them to seriously injure or kill me when I leave from wherever I find Aemilia. Make them look Castor's supporters however you can: I expect I will be gone for a few hours, so you have some time. Dispatch our messages then do this, and tonight we will continue to plan. Understood, Iaticlavius?"


"Yes, Legate. It will be done."


"Excellent. I leave to find Aemilia. I will try her home first, and failing that I will look in the temples. Hopefully I can head her off before she takes drastic action."


With that, she left the apartment at a run.

 

[Lucyfer]

Claudia would not find Aemilia at her home. The young woman was brought to Audra’s temple, and left there as Marcellus decided to handle this business personally. ‘How interesting.’ She thought as she watched him depart.


There was obviously something she didn’t know, and it concerned her. At this point, though, her mind was too besought with plots to consider what it might be. It wasn’t advancing to the points of wills and inheritance, and even if it did, humility wouldn’t allow her to consider that worthy of her time. Anger would make her consider that Castor would be the one winning all the favor.


So, she walked further into the temple and sought out one of the clerics. Barefoot. It was the rule in the sanctuary. “Excuse me,” she called to one woman with blonde hair, who seemed neutral, as if the world hadn’t just fallen apart. “I would like some parchment, ink, a pen, and some ash, please.”


Aemilia might be confined, but she wasn’t about to be frozen. “Of course, my lady,” the priestess inclined her head to Aemilia, and went off to gather what was requested. It was soon brought, and Aemilia found a place to occupy to begin writing. She had friends from the Academy. She had friends among the retired veterans. She would write to individuals to let them know what had occurred, and see about rallying them, veterans and novices alike.


She also decided she would write to her friend traveling abroad in Helleste. They were rather well off, and those funds might be necessary. ‘There’s someone forgotten….’ Well, she’d consider that when all the other letters were written. It might dawn on her before then.


Dear Aquila,


~***~


Marcellus had two advantages. The first, obvious one, was that he was a pontiff. Though the consul could be considered sacrosanct, a pontiff was undeniably such. The second, was that no one expected anything of him. He was a ‘yes man’.


Of course, he was a ‘yes man’ because he was comfortable. He wanted to stay comfortable, which was why he bothered putting in any effort at that moment. He wouldn’t be comfortable in a future that put the Republic back on its rails. The bickering and in-fighting of senators was chaos.


Besides, there wasn’t good money in that.


He knew the way to the house of Tarpeia, since she lived in that same illustrious neighborhood as Periander, bought with her husband’s wealth, and her good blood. He had gone to Periander’s home first, to alert his wife to the situation and ask her to go to the temple, which she agreed to do. She also ordered some of the slaves to go and retrieve the body of Domitian, at any cost.


Before Tarpeia’s door was a guard, but he looked quite pale. The news had arrived quicker, here. “What do you want?” The guard demanded, clutching a polearm.


“I come on the young Pullus’s behalf,” he wouldn’t be calling her that long. “Please let me see your mistress.”


There was no hesitation at that point, he was swept into the home made of far too much marble and gold, and the woman was brought before him.


Aemilia certainly had more of her father’s traits then her mothers. Her mother was a beauty even at this age, curly strawberry blonde hair shimmering falling down her back and over her curvaceous form of golden skin. Her deep green eyes pierced through him when she came to a halt. Of course, Tarpeia cultivated an image of beauty and femininity. It hid the danger that lied just behind those green eyes.


“Where is my girl?”


“Safe, at the temple.”


“Safe!” Tarpeia took offense at that, “No where here is safe for her. Which temple?”


“The temple of Audra, Flavius,” he wasn’t so comfortable calling her by her first name. “I assure you, she is safe there, and I want to ask you to go there.”


“Oh, I will,” no questions, “But we will not be staying, and if you know what’s good for you, Corvina, you’ll fly as well.” As she was saying that, she was already walking into another room, and shouting something about being careful with the household gods. She paced back into the main room. “What is it? Why do you still stand there? Do you require a guard to go back to the temple?”


Corvina blurted, “Aemilia is Periander’s heir.”


Tarpeia paused in the center of the floor. “Oh.” Well that was going to require some thought. “How many people know this? Who has access to the will?”


“I know it, as the witnessing pontiff. One other knows, and it is not any of the assassins.”


“Aemilia doesn’t know?”


“Not yet. A formal reading of the will is in order.”


Tarpeia wrinkled her nose. “It won’t matter.” And she started to walk off. “Those men in the senate will say everything that Domitian did was a tyrant’s act. His will won’t matter.”


“The force of it will!” And yet, he thought there might be something that would prevent that declaration, though he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. ‘I’d lose my position.’ And then it came to him.


Marcus would lose his position, as well.


~***~


Castor would have been more than happy to meet the curious people, but he heard no people. That was what truly frightened him. He gave Marcus a half-smile at his plea, “You know I won’t shy away from speaking, Marcus,” he told him, “I know that my actions will require explanation.” Obviously, considering all the people that had fled.


The quality, as Marcus put it, was still there.


Castor walked up the steps to exit the bowl and move into the forum, but he didn’t leave the arches. He motioned out to the emptiness, “But who am I to speak to?” He looked back down to Marcus, expecting he would soon join him here.


The vendors had abandoned their carts and their shops.


The lictors were long gone. The women in their litters were carried off, the freedmen and slaves had left the area. “The pigeons?” Those seemed to be the only ones left outside. Perhaps if he shouted, the people in their apartments would hear, but it was not how he wished the world to be informed of his actions.

 

[Pentagon]

Marcus thought for a second. He had expected curious crowds to gather, to see what was happening and look for guidance. Evidently, he had been wrong. He stood next to Castor and gazed out at the forum, almost completely empty.


"Do not worry, Castor. There will be plenty of time to give speeches and win the crowd. We simply need to gather them. Bread and games, Castor, Bread and Games. We must have the people celebrate your name and curse that of Domitian, and with the funds we will gain from declaring him a tyrant we will be able to afford the greatest spectacle in a generation. We will dedicate the games to you and the Republic, and remind the plebs who is truly on their side. I will begin to hire the criers, they will spread the news for now. You go rest, clean yourself, and we will meet later. I need to make visits to some of the... less legal elements of our city."


~***~


Claudia made her way to the temple district. After not finding Aemilia in her house, she figured she would take shelter in one of the temples. She had tried the temple of Horrus first, but was rebuffed by the priests. She walked to the temple of Audra, her next guess, and found it more welcoming. The high ceiling and tiled floors were suitably grand, the place still and quiet and smelling of incense and perfume. Several priestesses milled around performing sacraments and handling offerings, and one was easy to question as to the location of Aemilia. Claudia made her way to the corner room of the temple the girl was apparently occupying, and opened the door without knocking.


She found her query slumped over a table, pen in hand scribbling hurriedly to write something Claudia could not see. Claudia was quiet as she entered behind the girl, closing the door softly and walking over to the table, before loudly scraping a chair on the ground and sitting down casually, her hands instinctively reaching to position the non-existent blade at her side, and for a second was irritated that she was forced to give up her arms at the entrance to the place of worship. She did not want to startle the girl, but did not want to waste time with platitudes and forced greetings. Claudia had never spent a great deal of time with the girl in front of her, and had only every truly thought of her as an object in the way of her ambitions, but those times were in the past. She needed to learn this girl's true capabilities, and secure her as a close ally.


Looking Aemilia in the eyes for a brief moment, she asked inquisitively "To whom do you write, Periander?"

 

[Lucyfer]

Though there were the sounds of many feet in the temple, Aemilia recognized the sound of the door closing as different. She did not lift her head from her writing, though. It wasn’t until the loud scrape occurred that she did that, irritation crossing her face as she met Claudia’s gaze.


She calmed the irritation and straightened up. She had no reason or need to be angry at Claudia. This was a woman she wanted to see, after all, and a woman she had immense respect for. The question that came was anticipated.


The surname was not, and just as Aemilia opened her mouth to answer, she shut it. The connections came quickly, of why Marcellus wanted her here, of what purpose it could have, and why Claudia would dare to call her Periander. Normally, she’d take it as a slight. Though there were more rumors about Claudia’s supposed relation with Domitian then Aemilia, the plebs certainly liked to consider all options.


Of course, they seemed to like to pair Domitian up with anyone. It didn’t matter to them. “Ah.” Aemilia looked down at her letter once more. “I have been writing to my friends Aquila and Gaia,” Aquila the soldier, Gaia the eccentric. “I have planned to write to Nerinder,” an asshole, but a man with significant pull among the 10th Legion. His grit won him more favors than most would expect, “Casper,” now retired with a host of veterans given their land up to the north, in lands they fought to obtain. “And Hyperius,” another up there, that one a closer friend than Casper. “I also intend to write to Lucius, Sava, and Thanatos,” of the 7th, 8th, and 9th Legions, respectively. “But it seems I ought to send a courier to Marcus instead if I’m not misunderstanding the reason you’ve just called me Periander.”


If it was true, then she would need to act fast to ensure Marcus Flavius Germanicus considered the consequences of labeling Domitian a tyrant to himself. He’d be deprived of his consular rank, since it was bestowed upon him by a tyrant, and not given to him through election. The tribunes, too, would lose their rank. There would be utter chaos in the political system. Not that Aemilia would have cared—in fact, it would have been a benefit.


Now, however…she weighed the options mentally. Legal access to Periander’s wealth would be useful enough to risk keeping Marcus in his position. Besides, if she played her cards right, Marcus might come to think of her as an ally, rather than a threat. She had been his student, and she had, once, truly looked up to him. It wasn't the same hero-worship she felt towards Claudia, but it might be enough to convince him that she could be swayed by his pretty rhetoric on Domitian's faults.


Pen went back to paper. “Am I wrong, or has Domitian chosen to adopt me in his will?” And she wrote.


The sounds of footsteps now were familiar. She’d know her mother anywhere, and could hear the woman arguing with a priestess about the shoe rule as she was halted near the entrance. The blasphemies that came forth would have made Horrus blush.


~***~


Bread and games. His narrowed eyes showed he didn’t like the sound of that phrase, oft’ repeated by Domitian. In fact, the tactics sounded similar. ‘Of course they do. That is how things have always been done.’ Domitian just took it too far.


Marcus wouldn’t. “You’re right,” his shoulders relaxed, as if the weight of the incident had lightened. “The criers will help. Perhaps one of the Tribunes could hold an assembly….” Though the tribunes, of course, had fled. They were Domitian’s people, too, but perhaps just bought. If so, they could be persuaded to speak on behalf of him, and convince the people to listen.


He did need to get clean, “I’ll do so. Should I come to join you at your villa afterwards?” He inquired, thinking it might be good if they remained close so that if an opportunity arose to speak, or to act, they could be united in it immediately.


It was strange how…anticlimactic the death of Domitian felt, in the silence. He wasn’t sure if that was good, or bad. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a troupe of slaves approaching with a stretcher held between them. One look confirmed they were Periander’s own slaves, likely sent by Domitian’s wife.


He had no plans of stopping them.

 

[Pentagon]

Claudia was shocked at her diligence, she had not expected definitive actions for a day at least. She was happy that she came to meet immediately: potential confusion among allies can now be stopped. Claudia heard shouting outside the room, and did not like the tone. She could not place the voice, probably some relation of Aemilia, but Claudia was unwilling to bet. She shifted her hand slightly closer to her dagger, just to be safe.


"You are Domitian's heir, named in his will. No matter whether or not they annul all Domitian's acts, it will hold great symbolic importance. I need you to answer one question for me right now, and answer with assurance before we are interrupted. What are your goals for the coming times? What do you desire now that Domitian is dead?


~***~


Marcus began striding off, across the empty forum, the unnatural wind whipping his toga around him. "Join me at my villa at your leisure, Castor. Hopefully, this will not take too long. Though, one can never know with the plebs."


Marcus walked with purpose down towards the Via Lata. He hated coming to these seedier parts, he stuck out like a sore thumb. He had picked up a pair of his gladiators on the way, mostly for the intimidation factor, but partially for safety. The Via Lata was never the most reputable district at the best of times, and these were certainly not the best of times.


He was looking for one Titus Lucius Mendax, a gang leader he had had relations with in the past. A rich man, by all accounts, and excellent for maintaining peace and suppressing any unfortunate sentiments from the neighborhood. A short man, bald and aging, he was none the less a very intimidating man, at least according to reports. Marcus was not one to be intimidated by a plebeian, no matter his criminal acumen.


The man could usually be found at his house, a rather large affair around a central courtyard, not lacking in lower-class charm but certainly a step up from the foul street it stood on. Marcus walked in with confidence, motioning for his impromptu guards to follow closely. The man he was looking for was sitting at a small wooden table in the center of the courtyard, pushing beads around on an abbacus. Titus had surely noticed Marcus by now, but waited for him to sit before looking up from his tallies and addressing him in a gruff, worldly voice.


"Senator! What an unexpected surprise. I heard you had some trouble on the Senate floor, I did. Real nasty business involving our man Periander. That wouldn't have anything to do with why you're here now, would it?"


Marcus was familiar with this particular brand of coy. The criminals spent so long pretending to be willfully ignorant that it had become a sort of game to them, appropriating it wholesale in their vernacular, though he doubted they would phrase it as such.


Marcus responded as calmly as he could "You know very well why I am here, Titus. Periander is dead, and as you know he was rather popular."


Titus chuckled "Not really my business, politics, never bothered with who made the laws I'm bending, but you're right. Loads of my boys rather liked Periander, and I'd not blame them myself."


"Of course. I am sure, therefore, you have surmised why I have come here on such short notice"


"You need me to help you convince these would-be periandrians that they're man was a nasty tyrant who needed to be stabbed for their own good. I'd reckon I could do something, at least here in Lata, but it'll cost you."


"I never expected you of all people to do anything for free. And I don't need them convinced. Show them their opinion is unpopular, and spread Republican graffiti, and the masses will drift our way regardless of their own thoughts"


"Don't lump me in with your lot, Marcus. I'd pay good gold to not be where you are right now, and I'd do it again." Titus stood, motioning a slave to fetch someone. "I'll do what you can afford, Marcus, mark me there. This time tomorrow, the streets'll be covered in drawings praising our man Castor. Now, you want me to rough anyone in particular up? It's what you're usually here for, after all".


Marcus thought for a second. Any aggressive move would be foolhardy, at least without talking to the other Republicans. "Noone in particular. Deal with any pro-Periander speech, but other than that keep it clean. The Senate needs to look pristine and honorable."


"Oh 'pristine and honorable', right. That's like asking me to tell people the sky's red, or shit's golden. I'll do the possible, you can't afford what isn't. Now, you going to stay for dinner? My cook's got a lovely pig in, I tell you"


Marcus pretended to not be insulted by the comments on the Senate, but let them slide. He needed Titus more than Titus himself thought, and offending the man was no way to get him to work. "No, I apologize. I need to be off. Busy day, it will be. I don't expect to sleep for a good while. It has been a pleasure, Titus, as always."


Titus stood to bid him farewell. "A pleasure, Senator. Good luck and all, I expect you'll see both sides of fortune before this is done."

 

[Lucyfer]

Aemilia’s pen halted as Claudia began to speak again, in order to take in the woman’s words without writing them down. It would be important in her letters to Casper, Hyperius, Lucius, Sava, and Thanatos, to mention what Claudia said about her new role, and to mention it all before emotion got the best of her as it threatened to do. She’d cared deeply for Domitian. To know that respect, that hope, was returned…there was a wordless agony that filled her in knowing she’d not be able to thank him, or show him that she was worthy of it.


Again, her eyes left the parchment. “Those are two questions.” Given, they had the same answer, but she would have phrased them differently to either. Aemilia did not have just one goal. “Ultimately, I will seek revenge. I’m not sure yet if that is the way to phrase it,” probably. Not just revenge for Domitian, but revenge for all of Vestra, for the terrible crime committed in plain sight, on holy ground, against a sacrosanct man, by a friend.


Castor could never be allowed to appear honorable. Of course, that was easily seen to. “Immediately, it is necessary to secure our power base. There is an empty consul seat. One of us needs to fill it.” She didn’t just mean her and Claudia, of course, but any one of those who could be found still loyal to Domitian. Aemilia was technically too young, but rules had been bent before.


As pen returned to paper, the door behind opened. Her mother wasn’t barefoot as the sound of her sandals indicated. “My rabbit!” No shame whatsoever. Aemilia felt those fingers move over her back as her mother walked around so she could be seen by Aemilia. They moved to her chin and lifted it, gave Aemilia a once over immediately and then breathed out a sigh of relief.


Marcellus stood awkwardly in the door, clearly embarrassed he hadn’t had better control over the situation with Tarpeia. “You’re all right.”


Aemilia was not, of course, all right, but she forced a smile to her lips anyway. “Fine,” came the response.


~***~


Castor gave a nod of understanding in regards to Marcus’s words of joining him. “I will do so,” he would take some time to make sure his family was safe and well-guarded, of course. He had guards stationed there regularly, anyway. Slaves. He’d have to make sure they understood a fate much worse than death awaited them if they were negligent.


Any other day, he might have enjoyed the quiet streets of Vestra, such a rarity. That day, however, he missed them. No one came out to kill him as he passed by, but he felt that was certainly a possibility. Likely, it was too soon for anyone to consider mobilizing. There was no selling or buying going on. No one came to greet him. He passed by graffiti days old that no one was snickering over, this a rather lewd depiction of Domitian and Claudia.


There were the jokes at Domitian’s expense, always. Yet, he was loved. He tolerated these jokes with a good nature.


There were things Castor would miss of the man, though he would miss nothing of the dictator.


His home was quiet, to his relief. The guards let him pass, but he took them aside. “Have you all heard the news?” He hadn’t told anyone in his family the plans, and certainly not the slaves.


Heads nodded. “Good. Then I trust you understand your job is all the more important. If you perform it to my satisfaction, I will grant you all your freedoms, and a boon of wealth on top of that.” As Marcus said, they would have quite a bit of wealth once Domitian was labeled a tyrant and his wealth became…well, plunderable wasn’t a good word, but it was accurate.


“Castor!” Sophia came running out, informed by another slave of his arrival. He straightened up as her arms wrapped around his neck and she pressed herself to him. He could feel the wetness of her tears through his toga. “What were you thinking?” It came out broken, worried, and frightened. He wrapped his arms around her and bowed his head so he could speak closer to her ear.


“I was thinking of our futures.”

 

[Pentagon]

Claudia was unhappy with the disturbance. She had hoped to speak with Aemilia alone and undisturbed for the time being, but at least these two new additions would make the planned 'ambush' more poignant and give her some rhetorical ammunition against Castor. "Aemilia, what I have to say to you is of the utmost importance, and I intended it for your ears alone. Do you wish these two to be privy to sensitive information? If so, I welcome them willingly, of course, but the decision must be yours.". Claudia welcomed no-one willingly, but the gods had decided to burden her with these annoyances, and she had to make the best of it.

 

[Lucyfer]

It did not take a genius to see that Claudia disliked the presence of the others. As Tarpeia puffed herself to protest the question, Aemilia spoke, “Mother, please leave us.” The air seemed to be taken from Tarpeia.


She had enough to say, “I’m your mother. Anything that—”


“I know what you are to me,” Aemilia interrupted before her mother could say anything offensive, “And as my mother, you should be focused on business manuevers right now, as I should be listening to Cornelia. We all need to be active.”


Her mother was not a logical woman, but her mother was cunning. It was enough, for the moment. With the tilt of her chin up, she said, “Very well,” and gathered her skirts to exit in a huff.


“You as well, Marcellus.” Aemilia said then. Unlike Tarpeia, he made no protests. He was used to being out of the loop, and so bowed out.


With the room empty, Aemilia set her parchment aside.

 

[Pentagon]

Claudia was grateful for the undivided attention. Acting quickly and with a determined goal would prove imperative in the coming days.


"I did not realize we were already allied. I had thought you would cast me aside or think me a threat to your position. Do not misunderstand me, I want nothing more than to work towards mutual gain, but am simply surprised. As for your goals, do you not think them short-sighted? There must be something more you want than petty vengeance on those that wronged Periander. Is there nothing you want for our 'Republic' once those senators pay the price of their crimes?"


Claudia hoped there was something more. Despite whatever feelings she had had towards Aemilia before, they were irrelevant. She was a skilled politician and a learned person, with numerous connections. She would be necessary for advancing Claudia's personal goals, and would hopefully prove a natural and cooperative ally.

 

[Lucyfer]

“We both had affection for Domitian, and you came to me,” Aemilia told Claudia, as she expressed her surprise. “I believe we are allied, until you prove me wrong.” And she would certainly be watching for those signs, but at the moment, she considered Claudia perhaps her strongest ally. Claudia had stayed with Domitian even when he showed her less favor. It suggested that Claudia had, perhaps, at least supported Domitian’s position and plans.


Her arms folded in her lap, “I have more plans for when the senators are dealt with. Mostly, to secure our peace. We’ve been playing at war for too long with our Eastern neighbors,” those under the rule of a king, the Lemurians, “and that must end. The defiant people in the West must be brought to heel.” A vassal of Vestra, another group that followed a puppet king, the so-called Atemese. They liked to try their luck to earn more wealth, “The game of illusion must continue with the senate after that, but the rule of one must be secured.” That was perhaps the only truly dangerous thing to suggest. If Claudia had not been a fan of that idea from the start, then she might balk at the idea.


Domitian had gone about it wrong by claiming a lifetime dictatorship. Even Aemilia had seen that would have consequences. There were other ways. “And then,” a shrug, “the peace will remain. We’ll advance in ways besides war, build up our cities and bring all of them into the modern era,” there were still cities without a proper water system, still locations without decent roads, and far too little writing being done to preserve Vestra’s history and culture. The dependence on slaves was also getting out of hand. “The legions will always have something to do up north.” There were more barbarians there. It would keep them strong to deal with them, and it would gain them land for their families, but Aemilia wanted peace around Vestra. That meant dealing with Atem and Lemure, after the senators fell. Or perhaps during the process. There was much to be seen. Atem was a potential ally in any civil war.

 

[Pentagon]

Claudia was impressed with the forethought, even if it did seem a tad premature. "I am glad you see the Senate as an establishment as divorced from the making of decisions. I think we can both agree even before Domitian the Senate was a corrupt joke led by individuals. I have already messaged the legions present in Helvetia, save the tenth, which I am fairly certain is lost to the Senate for now. They will be preparing for combat within the week, and the sixth is already ready for action. I have brought in near a hundred soldiers from the sixth to the city, ready to bolster the criminal allies Domitian held, who I will be contacting soon. Our vassals to the East and South will be contacted soon, though I thought it prudent to confer with you before taking action - it will take well over a week to get word to the more remote areas of Vestra's holdings, allowing us a modicum of freedom in action.


Despite all this, I am unsure how to progress politically, which is the main reason I have come to speak with you. I have already begun to defame the Republicans, and will continue to smear them in the eyes of the plebians, but that is merely me attempting to set the stage for you to act on the political theater. Is taking the position as consul all that is required? And what of the declaration of Domitian's tyranthood?"


There was no need to tell her about the barbarian allies to the north. They would be a useful safety against betrayal, after all. Claudia hated to admit that she was unsure of what to do, however. She attempted to not be prideful, recognizing it as a potential deadly character fault, but it galled her to have to look to a younger ally for guidance. She could have made her own decisions, certainly, and they may have been acceptable, but this was not the time to take any risks or attempt to be any less than perfect.

 

[Lucyfer]

If Claudia viewed the senate differently, she didn’t say as much. She agreed with Aemilia, and it allowed Aemilia to relax in her seat. More information was provided, and Aemilia nodded, pleased to hear that Claudia had not been lax. Indeed, what she did was more than Aemilia would have, her letters to the active militants were informative, with the requests to be prepared. To Hyperius and Casper, she was requesting that one of them personally return to Vestra, and the other mobilize the retired men.


Aquila was a friend, as was Gaia—but Aquila had pull with many of the newer recruits who had seen Aemilia put one of their instructors to shame. It had earned her the scars on her back, but it had also earned her both fame and infamy among her peers. “By your leave, Claudia, I’ll still write to these people but will not contradict you. My letters shall serve to show we are aligned in thought, so that they will not question the strength of Periander’s supporters.” Certainly that would be good. “I will also still write to Nerinder in the 10th. It may be lost, but Nerinder will not let it go without a fight. He should cause a substantial amount of discord if he cannot succeed in a coup.”


She would allow Claudia to dictate that, though. Aemilia did not consider combat her area of expertise, and she’d not contradict Claudia right now. Discord would not benefit them. “As for Domitian being declared a tyrant…Marcus wouldn’t dare, when he realizes what is at stake,” a smirk touched her lips, but just as soon as she felt it, she forced it from her face, “If Domitian is declared a tyrant, Marcus loses his position. Everyone does. There will be no government and there will be anarchy. We could rise in that anarchy,” and a sweep of her hand over the table, palm up, indicated she had no problems with that route. “But I think Marcus will see how important it is that he hold on to his position,” in which case, Domitian wouldn’t be officially labeled a tyrant.


That would very much weaken the case of Marcus and Castor, even if Marcus were allowed to hold his position as consul, “Which is why I believe we may want to pay him a visit, sooner rather than later, so he can see the error.”

 

[Pentagon]

"I agree with your decision about the letters. Showing our unity is important. Are you certain that declaring Domitian a tyrant would end with such harm? The Senate could surely convince the people that Domitian's tyrancy was so great that new policies are required. I am certain a man like Marcus could make a restricted declaration of tyranthood, or even invent some new legislation to compensate. They could declare a new, temporary dictator, have the man publicly make many of the changes Domitian did after they deem him a tyrant, then abscond from the position. Castor would be the natural choice, and showing a reluctance to power may help him seem a virtuous man. Are you resolved in visiting him, and have you easy dismissals to these possibilities?"


Claudia certainly hoped so. She herself did not see easy political plans to gain power, but that is why she had decided to confer with Aemilia.

 

[Lucyfer]

Aemilia listened to Claudia’s concerns with a patient expression. She had considered such things, but any of those things would allow Marcus to be painted as a hypocrite, and Castor as a victim, betrayed by Marcus. He could be painted as jealous and power-hungry. A true traitor, the man who planned the death of the merciful because all he ever wanted, from the beginning of that civil war oh-so long ago, was power.


She answered Claudia with such thoughts, “If Marcus does anything against the norm or tradition, we can more easily destroy him. I rather hope he will try it. The people will never listen to a pretty word out of his mouth if he tries to do something so rash.” Not when the smear campaign began to show Marcus’s ‘true colors’. “He’ll be painted a hypocrite, no true lover of the Republic. He’ll be cast as power-hungry from the start, out to steal Domitian’s fame for himself. A turncoat, through and through. We’ll have to paint Castor as a victim for a bit, but that is no hardship.”


Castor might even be shaken by it. Aemilia could only hope. “I have not imagined other alternatives that are honorable,” she’d considered several dishonorable ones. “But I’d hear more possibilities if you have them in mind. I doubt I’ve exhausted all possible options.”

 

[Pentagon]

"Let us halt speculation as to what Marcus will do. We have options no matter what he does, and none of our plans require a great deal of preparation. What we must prepare for is positions of office. Without the political pressure of Domitian I will surely be taken to court and exiled soon. I require position or some other safeguard, if we are not to use such aggression from the senate as grounds for war."

 

[Lucyfer]

Aemilia nodded, suggested, “It could be you that is consul, although I do not see Marcus liking that idea,” she frowned, considered, “It may be easier to make you a proconsul. That will give you a secure position, as well as imperium, if we can get you to be proconsul of an area where a legion is stationed,” shouldn’t be all that hard. Marcus might even jump at the idea of removing Claudia from Vestra.


“I’m not certain of other positions that have openings,” there was always a proconsul position somewhere. “but it should be feasible. If nothing else, whoever does take the second consul position can act to defend you.” Consular vetoes were wonderful, “and we have plenty of tribunes already who, with enough bribery, will do the same.” Claudia’s position wasn’t that bad yet.

 

[Pentagon]

Claudia thought for a second about being consul. It would mean greater military control, for one. It would ensconce her in history as firmly as possible, amplify her political reputation and certainly give her prestige in the history books. Her hypothetical children would certainly benefit from being related to a previous consul, at the very least. Upon further reflection, however, she realized she would hate it. Domitian did it right: acquire the consulship then leave for Helvetia, and leave the bureaucracy to the scriveners and old men. Claudia doubted her hypothetical consulship would be permitted to be anything like that. She would be forced to play politics, listen to the mewling of representatives and handling back door dealings. That seemed less than appealing, to say the least. Dictator, on the other hand... but that was thinking too far ahead, for the time being.


"I doubt I would make a good consul. The Senate would not care for someone of plebian birth to hold what they see to be rightfully theirs, and I in particular am not well liked by them regardless. A position as proconsul somewhere to the north would be excellent: we could claim that I am particularly qualified to handle the tribes, and it would give our new faction a bevy of possible recruits to new legions. I would think putting you on the consul's chair would be the easiest to perform, and I can have the legionaries begin spreading propaganda tonight if we decide it to be the best course of action."

 

[Lucyfer]

The opportunity to be consul was declined. Proconsul was what Claudia wanted and it made logical sense, but Aemilia felt a pang of fear. Her expression didn’t betray the thought that separation was worth worrying over. ‘Casper or Hyperius will come. So will Aquila and Gaia.’ Claudia wouldn’t leave immediately, either.


Aemilia was a patrician, through and through, her mother and her father both of that blood, and now adopted by Domitian, there would be no qualms except her age—and that was a minor rule to bend at this time. “Then it will be done, or we will overcome the traitors in the chaos that follows any other decision.” She had always wanted to be consul, but she’d planned to obtain it the proper way.


This wasn’t exactly ideal. “We do not need to worry about that propaganda just yet. We need to hire a crier to herald what is in Domitian’s will.” Aemilia rose, “If I know him, my adoption isn’t the only significant factor.” Anything about Castor or Marcus would be significant, but she imagined there’d be something to keep himself beloved by the people. Domitian was always so concerned about that. “I would like to know the full contents of it, so let’s find Marcellus and have it read.”


~***~


Tarpeia knew people from all walks of life. Her own livelihood had once threatened Aemilia’s reputation, when she used to have lavish parties with actors and others that even the plebeians thought dirty. She had cut it off over a decade ago, but she still kept some ties strong. Domitian had seen her use in the areas of propaganda.


Her first visit was to the lovely madam, Jana Posco. Jana owed Tarpeia her freedom, and was quite loyal for that. Her girls would whisper in all the right ears, and put all the right graffiti in the area just outside the Aptian Hill neighborhood, so that those patricians would know the popular opinion was still in Domitian’s favor.


That same would be done along the Via Aeterna, thanks to Vorenus Tyra, an ex-gladiator who now ran a rather vicious gang. He had no ties of loyalty to Tarpeia, but like so many, he appreciated the gold she was willing to throw at her problems. He often had a good chuckle over poor Quintus, her husband, and how the man was losing all his wealth to Tarpeia’s paranoias.


Eventually, Tarpeia and her guards arrived on the Via Lata and walked down it to the obvious home of Titus. The ex-gladiator slaves of Tarpeia remained close as she walked right into the home and sought out its criminal owner. Unlike Marcus she wasn’t content to merely seek, “Titus!” She called out, not bothered at all that utilizing his first name might be too familiar.

 

[Pentagon]

Claudia was impressed Aemilia was taking things so well. She had not expected someone who had never been given command responsibilities to go into them with confidence, and that was what Aemilia showed. She was making sensible decisions and remaining calm, more than the dozens of green officers she had seen crumple under pressure. Maybe it was part of being a patrician: blue bloods were always groomed to tell others what to do. They spent their whole lives doing it, to slaves and plebs alike. Claudia was envious for a short second, but consoled herself that she had managed a similar feat without the class training.


"I am in agreement, however I have already begun to smear Castor and the Senate. When I leave the temple, I am to be attacked by my slaves, dressed as lictors. There will be no way to trace it to us besides the convenience of the action, though that should not matter. The plebs will not question it and the Senate will be able to do nothing to convince them otherwise without playing into our hands. I am going to use my soldiers as I see fit within the city, though I will refrain from out-and-out propagandizing until we deem it prudent. Let us go read the will".


~***~


Titus was having a bad day. Sure, he had just gotten a job from a very rich man and was sure to come into money in the foreseeable future, but that does not mean he would like it. Men like him enjoy the status quo. Whatever keeps shops open, men drinking and whoring, and folks gambling kept him happy. Chaos in the city was not to his long-term benefit, and posed a danger to himself personally. Usually, lofty senators didn't give a pig's shit about a gambler and racketeer, but with times as they are anyone with a modicum of power needs to choose a side, and from where Titus sat both sides looked equally fucked.


The day only got worse when he heard the familiar braying of Tarpeia. He turned and put on his biggest smile, looking the charming beggar the right folks liked to think he was. Most didn't want an iron-hard man of violence, they wanted someone they could gull and reason with.


"Tarpeia, my dove, you look as lovely as ever. Let me say I am so sorry for your loss, and know that I am at your service for anything you need."


~***~


Marcus was tired. A day of talking with scribes, bankers, lawyers, slave-owners, acting troupes and more criminals than he could count had left him exhausted, his voice sore. Once this whole affair was over, he would retire. The Senate could keep its politics and arguing, as long as it stayed there. Once democracy was secured, he was out. He may love democracy, but he certainly hated it at times, and was more than slightly tempted to simply leave it to die. But his ethics compelled him otherwise, damn his conscience. He had finally managed to return home, just after the sun had set, and contented himself to drink, eat, relax, and wait for Castor to join him. He made the most of his break from politics for a time, wishing he had the chance for a bath. He stunk of the common people.

 

[Lucyfer]

Aemilia smiled as she rose. Smearing Castor and the others was just fine. If that weren’t occurring, it would be worrisome. She had been concerned more that Claudia would begin too much campaigning, particularly in the name of Periander.


The people shouldn’t know before Aemilia knew. “That all sounds well, but try not to end up with bed rest from your slaves,” she did not motion for Claudia to follow, but rather made a gesture for her to wait a moment, “I’ll bring Marcellus here,” and out the door she went. It did not take long to find a priestess, and relay the message that Marcellus should bring the will to where she and Claudia were.


She returned shortly, and resumed her seat just seconds before Marcellus showed up, the scroll with him.


Both women appeared rather calm. Dry eyes. He couldn’t help but wonder what sort of stuff they were made of, since Domitian’s wife, Cassandra, had arrived in tears. He turned the scroll so the seal was visible, “It hasn’t been tampered with,” he said, though Claudia would know if it had been.


He broke the seal, “I give to you the last will of Domitian,” he said, and then read. “After legacies have been paid, Aemilia Decima Pullus will inherit ¾th of my estate, and Claudia Cornelia Sabinus and Cassandra Periander will inherit 1/8th each. I leave to the people of Vestra my gardens across the Forn river for public use, and 3 gold coins to each free born citizen of Vestra,” it was there, of course, that Aemilia truly smiled. That would dent Periander’s wealth, but it would be well worth it. “I adopt Aemilia Decima Pullus as my heir provided Cassandra produces no legitimate heir.” And of course, Cassandra would not.


“I knew he’d not be negligent. We need a crier to announce Domitian’s gift to the people.”


~***~


Tarpeia put on a smile when her call was answered, the flattery and good words flowing easily from the criminal. It was why she liked men such as him. They didn’t just do their job, but they did it in such a lovely, amicable fashion. “I hope that’s true, Titus,” she spoke when he said he was there for her, “For I’ve quite a need, and it’s one of those things I simply cannot do myself,” a chuckle, “no artist, you know. I was hoping I could have the use of some of your men to paint the Via Lata.”


~***~


Castor took the time that Marcus gave him to try and was the blood from his hands, and remove it from his whites. Sophia promised if he left it to her, it would be gone. So, he did. She encouraged him to go to Marcus.


“Marcus will know how to proceed.”


Castor had to hope so, because as he soaked, he realized he might indeed be hoping for too much from the people.


The quiet unnerved him.


He left his family in the care of well-bribed guards and then left, wearing a traveler’s cloak with a hood to obscure his identity, just in case. He also wanted to take the long way, to see if he could hear, or see anything at all that would indicate the feelings of the city, besides the sense of loss that permeated it.


He did send a messenger out to Marcus, to let him know that he would be over soon.

 

[Pentagon]

She had known the contents of the will, of course. She had seen it written, one night in Domitian's estate, right after returning from Helvetia. One eighth of Domitian's estate was a very small amount, however, and she was not happy with her lot in the deal. Certainly, it was a great deal of money for a plebian of any rank to hold, surely equivalent to large piles of gold. However, she had long since learned to think like the rich. To Claudia, wealth was measured in "Possible months of fruitless conquest" or "Proportion of triumph", or even "Days of games held". One eighth was not as significant on this scale, especially with a large portion of it removed to pay the people.


"I can handle a town crier. With the will now read, what are your suggestions for our actions for the rest of the day? In particular, what do you want to be done to Periander's body?". Claudia was careful not to give too much deference to the girl in front of her. She was no Domitian, and even Domitian was not deserving of the loyalty she had given him. Keep her an equal in all things, even those in which she has a greater breadth of knowledge, and fewer problems will arise down the road.


~***~


Of course she was here for that. Couldn't be that the Gods would smile on old Titus, couldn't be a job he could do on the side, get some spending money away from that Fabius wretch. No, with Periander's corpse not yet cold, he had to burn one bridge or another. He motioned for Tarpeia to give him a second. He needed to figure out which side to back.


Periander's side looks right fucked to him. A disadvantage in wealth, a disadvantage in troops, a complete lack of political positions...


And then Titus realized he couldn't tell top from bottom about Senate politics. Magic, for all he knew, and these days more than ever. He was pulling wool over his eyes if he thought he had even a small chance at knowing who would come out on top at the end of it all, and so he changed direction. What would benefit him regardless of circumstance was wealth: with an even chance either way, as far as he knew, and a decision to be made right now prohibiting asking an expert, money was just about the only thing he could rely on. Ignore loyalty or respect, he needed to make like a squirrel and prepare for winter, even if that meant putting some nuts in his mouth [he made a mental note to write that one down, use it for later.].


"Well, you've caught me at a bad time. I just had Marcus Fabius Germanicus round, offered him dinner. He refused, but we came to an understanding about me doing some painting work myself, you know. We never mentioned price, but I'll be paid near two thousand Sestercii in Republican silver for doing the job. Now, you know you rank much higher in my little heart than that git Fabius, but I'm a businessman, and I rely on my word being strong as iron, clean as gold. I can't very well go back on it in these troubling times, not without serious incentives, you must understand".


He was lying, obviously. Two thousand Sestercii was extortionate for what amounted to a few night's work for two dozen men. Titus expected somewhere around one thousand sestercii, and that was only due to the severe circumstances. Regardless of what reality was, he doubted Tarpeia would be confident enough to call his bluff, especially when she had plenty of coin to spare to simply pay him off. He waited for her response with a [hopefully] compassionate look on his face.


~***~


Marcus reclined in his garden, a slave to his left playing the harp, a bowl of nuts at his hand, and a rather interesting history at his face. He needed to relax, recuperate and think through things clearly, and he decided to do so by enjoying himself for a time, waiting for Castor to join him whenever the man decided to.

 

[Lucyfer]

By any definition, what Domitian gave Claudia was a slight. Aemilia considered again if it was loyalty to Domitian, or loyalty to the ideals, that kept Claudia here. “I will discuss the matter of his funeral with Cassandra, after I’ve spoken with Marcus.” There was still a decent chance he would try to have the body treated like that of a tyrant. Aemilia wouldn’t allow that.


There were other possibilities as well. She’d have to see unbalanced Marcus was. “Neither of us are keen on wasting time,” Aemilia again rose, glanced from Marcellus to Claudia, and said, “Arrange that crier immediately. The outcry of the people should come naturally when they hear how generous Domitian felt like being.” Three aureus was ridiculously generous for all the free of Vestra.


Of course, as Domitian himself had said, he’d spend his last sestertius if it bought him a crown. His words. She’d not repeat them. “I will go to Marcus. I do not expect to encounter any violence, but if you wish to come, Claudia, you may. If you have other matters to tend to, then I will not hold you up.” Aemilia glanced down at the letters. She could return and finish them later. “See that those are taken care of, Marcellus. I will return later,” she’d know better how to conclude some of them.


~***~


Tarpeia pursed her lips at the words Titus told her. She could have matched, or even bested, the offer that Fabius made to Titus, “Oh, I understand,” of course she did.


She understood as well as Titus was going to understand her next words, “Truly, I do, and I do forgive you for this nasty business one such as yourself is involved in. I would never want you to lose face amongst your peers,” Tarpeia couldn’t care if he lost face. She didn’t really care if his word was as good as gold, “It’s just my daughter I worry about. You see, she’ll take offense of anyone who stands opposite of her father.”


She weighted the word carefully, and to make it painfully clear who she meant, she added, “And she won’t be inclined to mercy,” a click of the tongue, “She saw how her father was rewarded for his mercy towards Marcus. Nasty little turncoat, him.”


And yet Tarpeia smiled, “Of course, I’ll speak well of you to her. Perhaps, if you can’t completely go back on what you promised that git,” a shrug of the shoulders, “you’d be willing to simply include some graffiti in support of Domitian, alongside that…other propaganda?”


~***~


Silence.


Castor would have appreciated violence, cries, shouts, celebrating—anything, to the oppressive silence. There were criers crying to the houses. No doubt people heard what Marcus paid them to say, about how the Republic was saved and Domitian was a tyrant. No official actions had been taken, but that would happen soon.


Perhaps then, the people would start to come around. ‘I wonder if Marcus has decided when the senate might meet to do such business.’ He heard no criers declaring the next senate meeting.


He found his way around to Marcus’s home, and stepped into it, went the atrium and there found a slave. “Where might I find Marcus?” He had been here before, so he expected he would be recognized.