There are some days that seemingly arrive with Saturn's blessing; promising a quiet morning, a restful afternoon, and maybe a somber evening where I could go visit Jirikoy's burial and offer my condolences to Ollia. I could even get some time to pour over my journal, maybe write some poetry for my son. Surely, I could have a day of rest? So tired... I was just so tired.

I could barely throw the sheets aside and drag myself out of bed, resigning myself to listen to the noise of the bustling town from the open window. Thespian cries and laughter drifted in from the amphitheater situated across from Atia's palace. How were they so jovial and energetic this early in the morning? Or was it afternoon already?

I groaned and almost didn't hear the soft knock at the door. "Who is it?"

Some mumbling of a servant-girl.

"What's that?" I cried, unsure of whether I was actually awake or speaking in my dream. "I am taken with the gripes, leave me be!"

The voice replied, something about breakfast and Atia and the slaves and then some more mumbling. "By Jupiter, please have it not be anything." But of course, it wouldn't be a usual Palmyran summer's day without needless politicking and violence. I missed Rome, it was true. I'd settle for Pannonia even at this point.

Some more harried knocks.

"Coming, coming" I said.

The disturber of my peace turned out to be a young maidservant who I'd always seen on piss-pot duty, day and night. I'd asked around and discovered that the poor soul had once served Juno, my predecessor, and since been tormented by Atia for no specific reason other than pure spite.

She stood at my door with a large tray of bread and fruit, a choke-able piece of watermelon (nice try, Hades), and one glass of milk. I could see her arms straining against the weight so I took it from her quickly before it spilled all over the floor. "One more thing, Master...uh... Cicero?" she said.

"Yes, that is my name."

"I was told to tell you that they have been imprisoned!" she said, throwing her hands dramatically, and the bangles on her arm clattered in emphasis. "You must go, now!"

My half-asleep mind must have been muddled that up, for I was certain there was a subject in that sentence that had escaped me. "Sorry who?"

"The slaves!"

"Like Hurek? Imprisoned by who?"

"Whom," she corrected me proudly, "I have been learning my letters, and Master Flavian says that grammar is very important, it forms-"

"Stop! Look at me," I said, snapping my fingers, both for her sake and mine, "Who was arrested?"

"All our slave fighters!"

"By who?"

"By-"

"By whom! Yes, yes," I cut in, "was it the Vigils?"

The girls shrugged.

"Atia, where is she?"

"Mistress is at the Temple, so Castor told me to inform you and bring you breakfast."

Just one day... just one fucking day is all I ask... I swiped the glass of milk from the tray, mapping the way to the Vigil compound in my mind and judging whether I'd have the time to gulp down the fruit and... Ah, so that is how Hades would have me choke? Clever bastard...no, I must skip breakfast for now. Who knows what trouble the Nokchi have gotten themselves into. And on the day of Jirikoy's funeral! Poor Ollia.

I looked down at the maidservant, who was still eyeing the food tray on my table. "What's your name, girl?"

"Merula!"

"Have you eaten, Merula?"

When she shrugged, I pulled her inside and sat her down on the table, "eat up, and don't mention this arrest to anyone else, understand?"

"Mistress says I can only eat porridge."

What a demon Atia was. "She doesn't have to know, alright?" I replied.

Merula's eyes lit up and I was, for a moment, taken aback at my privileges and how many simple tastes and pleasures I took for granted in my life. I watched Merula pick up a single grape, gingerly. She sniffed it and gave it a suspicious lick, before putting it in her mouth. I could see the attack of flavor that she wasn't used to as she cringed, but which did little to dissuade her from stuffing the entire grape branch in her mouth.

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"I'll leave you to it, then, Lady Merula," I said, patting the girl on her head, "be a dear and tell Castor that only you will bring me breakfast from now on."

Merula nodded, hiding her mouth with her hand, a little embarrassed. "Yes, Master."

"Cicero, call me Cicero."

***

The Vigil "courthouse" was located by the city's main agora; a market square that held law offices and stalls for the upper class society. It was attached to the city's militia barracks, no doubt an attempt to claim itself of the same ilk. But the Vigils were just a glorified night's watch trying to play soldier. They had long been used for chasing pickpockets, closing gates, and most of all, hauling buckets to fight fires.

Under Nero's policies, however, their role had shifted to armed thuggery and chasing runaway slaves; just being an overall nuisance to the ordinary citizen (or worse to the second-class citizens). It gave me little pleasure to climb their marbled porch and bang on the large wooden doors. A barrel-chested footman with a large club answered, staring down at me like I was a species of animal he was unfamiliar with.

"Don't squint at me, oaf," I snapped, "who in this damned hall can free Atia's slaves?"

"Atia," the man replied simply, chuckling after a moment at what I figured was a disturbed look on my face. I hadn't expected a smart-mouth, that was for sure.

"Swallow your wit and take me to your Prefect, or what ever the fuck you call him."

"Manners, scribe," the man rumbled, "I am Brutus, and I answer my own door. Come."

He left the door opened and disappeared into the dimly lit office. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark chamber, as most of the shutters were closed and only some candles flickered in the corners. The only other light came from a brazier burning at the end of the hall, lighting a massive cage where shapes were huddled beyond. I figured them to be the Nokchi brothers and Hurek. The only face I could pick out was of the tall man leaning against the iron bars, casting a shadowy glare across the room. Septimus Merkov. The oldest Nokchi, and Jirikoy's brother-in-law. What a terrible day for the family.

I quickly turned to Brutus, who'd settled behind a large desk, complete with stacks of papers, ink bottles, stylus and waxed tablets. Amongst all the writing tools, he placed his war-club at the front, and gestured for me to sit.

"I'll stand," I said shortly, "you care to tell me why you have Atia's slaves in your cell?"

Brutus shrugged, "procedure."

"Procedure?"

"Who are you, scribe," Brutus said as he pulled out a knife and began cutting into a pear. My stomach grumbled and I hoped he couldn't hear.

"I'm no scriba, you will address me as Master Cicero," I said, deciding to take a seat after all. There was no point standing like a servant, and I had a feeling Brutus would not be so easily commanded around. "So tell me of this... procedure."

Brutus nodded, took his time to chew and swallow his bite, then said, "a slave in Palmyra is generously given ten days of rest a year. To be signed and approved by the city-master."

"Cato handles these trivial matters himself does he?" I asked.

"As his lictor, these requests will come to my desk."

"Ah, so the Vigils are lictors now?" I said, "how apt."

"Do not mock me, Cicero," Brutus said, placing his blade down but not entirely letting go. "Rules are rules. Not only have your slaves exhausted their days of rest, and ignored basic procedure, they continue to evade their work in clever little ways. Consequences come with Jupiter's blessing."

As he spoke, I could feel disgust rising in my stomach like bile. Not just for this, but every single institution of ours that bartered human life. The lack of empathy was appalling. And I'd been a part of it all, hadn't I? I bit my lip despite my urge to prattle on the several insults that were taking form in my mind one after another. Brutus wasn't an oaf, and I must be careful. Despite his rugged features and thuggish swagger, his toga was tied with a practiced hand, and he had letters in front of him with identifiable seals. If this brute liked to play magistrate, perhaps he also spoke the language of a magistrate? His name was familiar, after all.

"Are you Brutus Geminus by any chance?"

"Aye," he replied and went back to tearing at his pear.

"The Slave-Hunter they call you," I continued, combing my memory of the first bracket results. A man called Brutus, of the Vigils had earned a victory. "You're admitted into the tournament aren't you?"

"What of it?"

"Well, Rumina's tits smile upon you today, Brutus," I said, "for I have an offer-"

"No negotiation," Brutus replied, "the fee for their bail is set at hundred denarii per head. Atia and Cato can negotiate themselves if they want to. I follow procedure."

"You can let Hurek out at least, can't you?" I couldn't keep the desperation from my voice. The second bracket of the tournament was days away, and Shams was no doubt training this very moment, while Hurek sat rotting in this cell.

"No negotiations," Brutus repeated, spitting out a seed.

"Primarch Rank Twenty," I blurted.

"What?"

"How about I set your next fight in the tournament as a contender-ship for the twentieth spot on the Primarch ladder?" I continued, "I can do that you know. I have Suetonius' ear at my disposal." Quite literally.

I could see gears turning behind those shrewd, squinty eyes. "So if I win..."

"You will be ranked twentieth in the realm," I replied.

Brutus set down his knife and worked his jaw, no doubt mulling over the possibilities. "I choose my own opponent."

"Fine," I held out my hand, anxious to get an agreement.

Brutus grinned; a vicious looking thing on his face. "That one," he added, pointing towards none other than Septimus Merkov, the tall Nokchi who took the signal to spit in our direction. But that only made Brutus chuckle, and he caressed the handle of his club with a dreamy look.

"Well, I'm glad we can agree on a … procedure."

Brutus took my hand, and I could feel my integrity leaking from my pores. Oddly enough, it didn't come with much shame. A traitor's heart is a wonderful thing; so unburdened and single-minded. I'd gotten Hurek free for training, and that's all that really mattered in this moment. Honest and fair competition be damned.

***