"You must help me, Marcus. Our empire is in, well it teeters on the edge of the unknown." Sculla did not know which he disliked more; that the young senator Crassus had clearly practiced the line, or that he delivered it as if it just came to him.

Crassus moved across his study chambers to the wine set on the long marble topped table. Sculla leaned on a cherrywood armoire near a window. He stood at the meeting place of the cold night air and the heat of four burning oil lamps, which basked the room in a warm yellow hue. Their slight, unpleasant smell told Sculla that Crassus had set them to burn too hot with too short a wick. He heard the nervous clink of the wine bottle's neck against the rim of the glass. Poor Crassus, cannot even handle his own lamps.

Sculla's eyes drifted out the window as he considered the young senator's role in everything moving forward. A smile threatened to curl the ends of his lips, but he restrained. His eyes flicked to Crassus, who raised the wine bottle and an empty glass out to him. Such a simple act done sloppy and lazy. It is all too much for him.

"Ahh, no, no. I am far too old for such things at this hour. I have grown to prefer the boiled teas of The Bryer as of late. You should try the mint and camomile. It is good for the nerves." Sculla turned to the window and allowed the senator to ramble.

Crassus returned the bottle and glass to the table. The bottle tipped and spilled only a little wine as he had nearly drained it already. He muttered a curse and stood it before taking a few uneasy steps across the study. He paced with no pattern as he spoke. "Of the emperor, though. Our good Aiden Severus," Crassus struggled to give the customary bow at the name of the emperor. Marcus watched his attempt, with a small amount of pity. Crassus set his glass down on a small table at the back of a blue upholstered sofa. Sculla smiled inwardly at the mismatched wood of the furniture. An unplanned house. Fitting.

"I just can't believe he would do such a thing so public! There is talk in the streets of–"

"There always is."

"Right, yes. Well indeed, as you say."

It was a small disrespect, one the senator would not normally stand so easily, but Sculla knew the man had, in a small way, enjoyed being interrupted. He knew Crassus would not dare wake his new wife with some late night shouting match, for his previous marriage had failed and the young senator could not bear another social stain. It also gave him a chance to consider his words.

Crassus continued, subdued, "Have you considered the effects this will have on the provinces, senator? Those riders, all of them, cling to life at the mercy of, well at the whim of a mad man."

Mad man. Sculla shot the senator a knowing glint of a smile. He found the senator lost in his drunkenness and returned to gazing out the window. "I'm afraid I have not considered the wider implications of our Emperor's actions. Very astute observation by you, senator. Well done."

More slurred nonsense poured from Crassus. Sculla heard only the color of pride at the feigned compliment. He watched a handful of boys, perhaps thirteen, stalk up the empty street. They led a younger boy, seven or eight, down the pale moonlit street. Sculla recognized one of the older boys.

"It is late, senator, and far too cold for your son to be out."

"Geta? Why, he is in his room as we speak. He always goes to bed early. Always." Sculla watched the boys disappear into a shadowed alleyway as Crassus came to the window.

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"Good. A man must take care of his family. The family is the building block of our great Novissime Empire."

"Why, yes, Marcus. In fact, I believe I told you that."

"Indeed?" Sculla turned to him with an unrestrained look of derision. "Well, I grow older by the minute, and my mind is not what it used to be." He took a few hurried steps toward the door. "I am not as sharp as yesteryear, what with the late hour and all. Crassus, write a letter to Helena, of Vencia. Hers is a wild island and I fear it will be the first to react drastically." Sculla paused at the door, waiting for the only words that could be said.

"I will have Lady Livia write to her then? Her words will carry more weight–"

"Write it yourself. Send it at first light with a courier. Be sure yours are the first words the Consul hears. If I know Helena half as well as I think, she will not heed the words of Aiden's plaything."

Crassus said nothing. Sculla looked over his shoulder to see him struggling to piece it all together.

"Senator! A simple letter." The snap brought Crassus back to his wits. Before he could respond, Sculla left.

The crisp night was not too cold for Sculla, though it was enough to put a stiffness in his gait, but he was in no hurry now. As he hobbled along he eyed the corner the boys had disappeared behind. It was a clear night and the moon was full. Sculla always thought the city of Oram had been built to be taken in on nights like this. The white stone of the buildings' pediments atop their doric columns appeared to glow in the moonlight. The grooves of their engravings were deepened by the shadows. The effect accentuated the efforts and skill of their creators.

Sculla admired their beauty until he heard Geta and the four older boys laughing. A moment later he saw them exit the alley. The little gang exchanged no pleasantries as Geta separated from the rest and left in the opposite direction.

Geta almost ran into Sculla before he stopped and looked up from his feet. As a senator's son he recognized the fine white robes and the pin on Sculla's shoulder. Geta straightened up out of the sudden, respectful fear. Sculla offered the boy only an expressionless stare. He let the sounds of the other boys escaping fade into the soft whistle of the night's wind.

The two stood alone in the moonlight, Sculla had seen the boy here and there, yet tender spoke to him. He knew Geta recognized him in the same way; a passing acquaintance.

"Be calm, boy. Is your hand alright?" Sculla asked.

Geta slipped the bloodied knuckles of his right fist behind his back. "Well, I am. I just fell, is all. So don't worry about it."

Sculla allowed the boy to see his eyes dart to the corner. "I'm not worried at all."

"Good. Well, there's nothing to be worried about anyway."

Sculla pierced the boy with an impatient glare.

"Sir." Geta added.

Sculla let his victory over Geta consume the moment before he spoke. The boy stood ghostly white under the pale moon. His dark eyes widened and never left the ancient senator. "I know, Geta. There is nothing to worry about. And there will be nothing to worry about." Sculla pulled a folded letter, sealed with official purple wax from the front pocket of his robe. "Though I will require something from you."

Geta grasped for words but found none. Sculla answered him all the same.

"Yes, Geta. At first light your father intends to send a letter north. In whatever way you see fit, you will ensure this is the letter that gets sent." He gave another nod to the corner and placed the letter against Geta's trembling chest.

"I don't understand."

"Yes you do." With the strength of a man, Sculla pulled the boy's right arm from its hiding place and gripped Geta's bloodied hand. He forced the helpless child to take the letter, then continued on his way.

Sculla slowed his pace enough to hear the click of the door as Geta entered his father's home. Then Sculla quickened toward his estate outside the city, eager for respite from the rapidly cooling night.