"My dear, do you know where Master Suetonius is staying?" I asked Merula who was deep-cleaning a vase and really putting her back into it. She paused, open-mouthed at my question.

"Sue who?" she replied.

"The old man who snorts like a pig when he sleeps." I explained and her eyes lit up.

"Oh yes, yes," she pointed above.

"Second floor?"

She shook her head, her pointing more and more furious.

"What, the sky?" I said.

She shook her, this time pointing down. "The roof?" I asked.

"Yes, yes, the roof," she said happily.

"Did you eat breakfast yet?" I asked, "Take from my fruit basket in the room. Atia doesn't have to know."

The servant-girl gasped at the name and went back to her vase-scrubbing. Poor girl. What manner of torment was Atia exacting on this creature? Even Suetonius wasn't spared of her odd humor, it seemed. The man could barely walk and she had him climbing three flights of stairs to the rooftop. I admit, it was a little funny.

By the third flight, my legs were burning, my heart thumped nearly out of my chest, and I was reduced to crawling like a lizard with my hands up the last few steps. All the while, I could not stop giggling knowing the Suetonius had made a similar climb. He must have started crawling much, much earlier no? I suppose Atia and I had a similar taste in humor than I'd like to admit. O' Mars, strike me down now. This didn't bode well for my future. Her personal lapdog, to messenger, and now being entertained by her impish nature.

I leaned against the door that opened to the terrace yard, taking a quick breath before intruding upon the old scholar. Sweat that had collected on my brow dripped down my cheeks and salted my lips. For the hundredth time, I weighed my option to run away. To climb back down, take a mule to the gates and hop on the next caravan headed for the coast. But then I'd be leaving Jirikoy to fend for himself in that pit of snakes and vipers and flesh-eating rodents.

The chubby gladiator turned business man was ever so optimistic. Naïve, yes, but he seemed like a person who saw the good in patricians. Maybe his freedom had clouded his judgement. He couldn't see Flamma and Shams for who they were. Or was it desperation?

Flamma had promised Jirikoy a loan; an investment for his business. "They will see your worth as I do, good man," Flamma had said, patting Jirikoy on the shoulder in front me. Shams had the usual look of a bored youth who'd rather be anywhere else. I'd tried to pull Jirikoy aside but he'd assured me that he knew what he was doing. "Flamma knows our struggle. He will convince someone to invest, like Chief Abed or even Tariff Court."

He'd carried on before I could warn him of the hornet's nest he was walking into. I have to get back, I thought. Not just for Jirikoy's sake, but also Hurek, his wife Ollia and their unborn child. I had stacked up many regrets in my life, but by Jupiter, this wouldn't be one of them.

My knees cried as I dragged myself up and leaned into the door, using my weight to fling it open into the blinding sunlight. The terrace had a view of the entire city, but my sights were set on a hut-like structure on the far end, with palm leaves as shade. It wasn't too bad, now that I thought about it. Sleeping under the stars as the coolness of the night settled in and the occasional breeze drifting out from the Palmyran oasis.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

"Master Suetonius?" I paused in front of the shackled door, it's lock just a loop of hooked rope. "Are you awake?"

After a few moments I heard the boar-ish snoring, the short squeals as the old man inhaled in his sleep. I sighed.

A thief I must be, then.

I slipped off the rope and stepped inside, careful not to let the door creak. My sandals shuffled quietly across the sandy stone, taking in as much of the room as I could while sneaking like a child about to steal some sweets from his grandfather.

Suetonius grunted, shifting in his surprisingly small bed. The room itself wasn't too large, with a quaint desk space covered in loose papers, letters and scrolls. I ignored the odd smell coming from a heap of dirty laundry at his bedside and began shuffling through his papers.

"There," I whispered. A draft of an Acta Diurna, announcing the next ranked matches. There were many footnotes and doodles along the edges, but my eyes honed in on Hurek versus Baba Haza. "Sons of Dis, I can't let that happen." A rematch with that raging Persian would be a dangerous waste of time and blood. Might as well fight an unranked gladiator than face him again. No, Hurek must fight the highest ranked man possible, and that was the unassuming Shams. The youth seemed easy picking compared to Haza. It would have to be that.

Now I finally understood the point of this breakfast with all the city patricians. This was everyone's chance to negotiate and position their champions well before more ranked gladiators began showing up from across the realm. Atia would have to negotiate better for Hurek. A rematch would serve no one. Maybe Haza would-

"What?" I said, forgetting to whisper as my eye caught the title of another report. Call of the Legio I Italica.

That was my son's legion. There had been a campaign? My heart beat faster and I threw aside whatever it was I'd been holding and read the report. Every. Single. Name.

A campaign to Gaul or Britannia could either be a triumph or a decimation. The called names were all too real. And they included Officers. Optio of this family... optio of that clan... no one had been spared. Eventually the my son’s cohort was named in the legion, and halfway through I saw his name. Optio Lepidus Cicero, son of Marcus Cicero.

I threw the scroll aside and rustled through the rest of Suetonius’ desk, coming upon a letter with the seal of the Temple of Baal. Sure enough, it was addressed to Atia, from Suetonius. And it was dated a week before I’d left Rome.

Your Ladyship, I received your request and can assure you that the Tribune will be sent shortly upon the commencing bracket of the Palmyrene tournament dated…

I flipped through the long letter quickly, my eyes scanning for anything suspicious. I wasn’t sure why my heart was suddenly beating out of my chest, but a part of me always suspected I wasn’t selected out of pure coincidence. Near the end of the letter, my name appeared…

As for a replacement for your royal biographer, I have a name in mind. Marcus Cicero. This scholar will be yours alone by the summer. He’s an adept writer and scribe, proficient in short-hand and easily manipulated to do your bidding. He has been known to voice his opinion but does not have the courage to act on it. He meets your requirements and has little to no influence or strong familial ties left in the city. He has a son, but I can have the boy disposed of in the upcoming campaigns of our Lord…

"Who goes there?" Suetonius croaked, and I turned to find him sitting upright, clinging to his sheets like a frightened mouse. "Declare yourself!" he rubbed his eyes.

"Optio Lepidus?" I said my son's name, and my voice was surprisingly steady. Despite the coldness quickly spreading from my chest to the rest of my body. Only my heart pumped with a resounding thump, reminding me I was still alive.

"Optio who?" Suetonius cried. "I don't know who that is. Away with you!"

"Lepidus," I whispered again, and found myself standing over the old man as he tried to shuffle out of bed. "Optio Lepidus, Fourth Cohort."

Suetonius stared up in confusion, "Optio Lepidus?" he mouthed, "you're that plebian runt? I thought you were... wait, what are you doing! Let go of me!"

My hands were around the man's throat. His cold, wrinkly old throat... I could feel his windpipe as I squeezed, his beating vein straining to pump blood to his brain as I clamped it shut. Suetonius was mumbling something but his eyes fluttered, he croaked, spat, his hands clawed at my face and I felt some pain but it was too late.

I shook the man as he died and there was someone screaming in the distance... and my throat burned.