I was looking on the bronze plate that was so well polished that I could see my reflection in it, half bemused, half disappointed. Primus, the Secuanian born servant that took care of the villa for the last ten years was holding the mirror patiently, even if a weak grimace and a slight shake showed that his arms were tired from it.
“Are you good, amor?” Felicia asked me, as she was taken care of by Melania, who was preparing her hair in a honeycomb style, after she dyed it with a mixture of henna, beech ash and berries, all mixed with vinegar, earlier in the day. I nodded.
“Yes, I’m just looking at my reflection and I wonder who is that,” I say as I smirk, thinking of how this winter I will turn 57. “I used to be so handsome,” I mutter, a bit disgusted. “Now I look like an angry old man,” I commented, which made Felicia laugh.
“Time has passed, but you look better than ever,” she said as she rose from the chair where Melania was preparing her hair and came close to me, resting her hand on my shoulder.
“Time has truly passed. I think that is what I regret… Seeing it pass so quickly. I think I just miss having Julia and Durans around the villa too,” I said and I gestured to Primus to put the bronze mirror down, as I returned to the wardrobe where a rich dark green tunic with silver and gold decorated motifs was waiting for me.
“Julia I dearly miss, but at the same time, I am extremely proud of her, and her marriage with Praetorian Praefect Constans Sittius. She really shows the patricians of Secuania what means to be a Sestinian woman from Ebria: dutiful, faithful and diligent,” said Felicia and then paused for a bit. “I am sure Felicia Minor will grow up to be the same,” she added and I nodded.
“True, Julia’s marriage was like a gift for us sent by Sol himself, for it truly gave us an alliance with the 2nd most important man of the Diocese of Secuania. I’m sure Felicia Minor and Durans too will rise to the occasion and the model of their older sister,” I said and I was ready to continue, but Felicia sighed and I turned towards her after I put the tunic and then Primus came to ensure it looked perfect, while also adding a necklace with a gold solar symbol, and then prepared my linen trousers. “Is everything fine?” I asked my wife.
“It’s just… I’m thinking of Durans and how we just get his letters with all sorts of commendations and appreciation from his professors. Quirinus was the same, fifteen years ago and look how it turned our,” she said. I turned towards her, and I could see that she had on a beautiful yellow dress with golden elements, and a necklace with a beautiful ruby. I looked at her a bit mesmerized, because it reminded me so much of her back when we married. And then I smirked.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing, you’re just the golden harvest of my primaveral tunic,” I say and she starts laughing as she looked at my green tunic, and then came to hug me. “You worry too much. Back when I was Quirinus’ age I was the fear of all the women in the lupanars of this city,” I say, maybe a bit too proud of myself, as I laughed inside, of the days of a crazy youth. Felicia shook her head in my embrace. “Probably when you were ten years younger than Quirinus is now, for when you were Quirinus’ age, you were back in Sestinum, and you left me here with a daughter of five, and a toddler son. You were made consul by the senate and then magister militum, and then you were away for five years, in dreary Uladia, fighting off Deiran barbarians,” she said. That made me smile. Those really felt like the days in which I could move mountains if I wanted so, and making barbarian Caitii, Deirii or Varinii fear again the white labarum showing the black eagle and the sun above it of the Sestinian Empire felt like I made all the ancestors of the gens Sergia proud of their legacy. That image of invincible youth, turned back to modern day old age and to the legacy I leave behind: a dutiful daughter who married probably the future Vicar of Secuania, a drunk and whoring son whom I have to do my best to mature, if this family will ever have a future, a dutiful son that as much as he is diligent, I sadly see no military career for him and a very shy daughter to whom I have to organize a marriage and I feel I will never be as lucky as to find the same match as I did to the eldest one. I sighed then too and this time, Felicia laughed. “Age truly sits upon our shoulders like giants,” she said.
“May the permanent eclipse take them,” I muttered and she laughed. “Quirinus will do better, he just needs responsibilities. It was my mistake I left him to idle so much,” I said. We broke from the embrace and I went to put on my trousers, the jeweled leather belt to keep them and the tunic together and the richly decorated leather shoes, while Felicia put on her hair net, some pearly earrings and some sandals and then we went out of the cubicula, the matrimonial bedroom of the villa.
Outside, on the courtyard, underneath one of the orange trees that were planted in the green area, stood Felicia Minor. At her 15 years, she still had her tutor that came to the house to teach her literature, calculus and how to play instruments, but I felt I was getting late in getting her betrothed. She was wearing the typical style of clothing of a young, unmarried woman, which was a white silk dress with gold threads, and she had a dark blue shawl that was covering her head and her shoulders. She stood on a stone bench, playing absently with the strings of her lyra. While Macro was guiding other servants into preparing the atrium and the vestibulum.
“Felicia, did you see your brother?” I asked her and no looked at me a bit startled.
“No, pater,” she said with a meek voice, shaking her head.
“Sol be damned,” Felicia Ateria cursed. “I will need to check on him,” she said and then went past her daughter and towards the other bedrooms. I just shrugged as I never understood why she was so nervous when we had guests. She probably took it from her mother, as I do remember old Ateria being the same every time I was visiting them, about 40 years ago.
I sat on a couch in the atrium as I waited for everyone to be read and for the Caelii to arrive and my ran towards the petitioners from this morning. Some merchants were moaning that sea lanes from Bagradas to Vallum weren’t as safe as they used to be, the local tribune of the plebs wanted to talk about the encroachment of patrician latifundium on the lands of the citizens and the overuse of slave and servant labor, and what got me the most concerned, the local Pontifex, came to decry the lack of protection against the zealots who nearly stormed the Solarium this morning, hellbent on transforming themselves into the scorching fury of Sol. This movement will need to end, before it will weaken us and we’ll see the Varinians or Orontides swarm us while we’re busy fighting ourselves. I took a deep breath and sighed. As much as I am just the Aedile know, it seems people know of the influence I carry and continue coming to me, bypassing the Vicar and the Prefects. I just hope that Hermeneric, that bastard, has any authority over everything, and we’re not just adrift as a society and a nation, because if we are, it will be the end of the world.
“We’re ready!” Felicia Ateria said as she came, nearly pulling Quirinus after her. He was wearing a blue tunic, which was on the longer side, ending at his knees, rather than just beneath the waist, to replace the trousers, with a silvery band at its extremities and some complex silver and gold embroideries around the neck. It stood perfectly on his more athletic form. He used some of the earthy and mossy perfume that I brought for him back when I was the last time in Sestinum, whose smell brought me some memories of the younger days. I looked at him, and ignoring his face showing frustration, probably because his mother pushed and rushed him, I couldn’t but not feel that he looks exactly like the person I used to see when I was seeing my own reflection, at least, before today. A mixture of both pride, looking at my son, and also shame, that I couldn’t push him to be better went through me.
Felicia Ateria ran around the atrium to check if everything is okay and right as she came back and checked on Quirinus and Felicia Minor again, a series of loud bangs could be heard on the wooden gate in the vestibulum. We all approached it, to prepare for the welcoming. Macro opened the wide gate and a lictor, wearing a white tunic and holding a fasces stood on the door.
“Make way for the honored Gaius Caelius Marsus, Consul of Sestinum and Quaestor of the Sacred Palace!” he shouted, respecting the protocol. In response, Macro stood aside and allowed the two lectors to make a corridor from the a lectic, on the street, into the vestibulum. From it, pushing the silk curtains aside rose Gaius Caelius, known formally for his cognomen as Marsus. He was a man the same age as me, and an old friend. He got fatter than I remembered him the last time I saw him, in Sestinum, He had a round face that was clean shaven and a balding head, even if the very little hair he had was snow white already. He was wearing a richly decorated tunic, more typical of the Sestinum higher classes. Following him was Olivia Aemilia, his wife, who was about ten years younger than him, but as my gaze went from him to Felicia Ateria, I must say my wife, even a bit older, and even if she had the vibe of a hawk, she was maintaining and holding herself much better.
“Salve, Flavius!” Marsus said, omitting or simply not caring of protocol, where normally Macro should have introduced us as the hosts, and at least until the welcoming ceremony was over, he should have called me by my cognomen, but as he approached, I greeted him back and responded to his friendly hug. “Felicia, every time I see you, I am always a felix vir,” he continued as he kissed my wife’s hand and then laughing, clearly proud of his pun, to which Felicia laughed politely. As she approached, I welcomed and kissed Olivia Aemilia’s hand, but my attention was caught my Marsus’ happy voice. “Young Quirinus! Handsome and athletic as ever. Probably broke the hearts of all women in this Dioceses,” he said, laughing. Quirinus wanted to follow protocol, and wanted to kiss Marsus’ hand with his signet ring, but the latter rejected it and hugged him. “And you must be young Felicia! I’ll say, you are as beautiful as your mother,” he continued. After this show, the lictors turned around and moved unto the street, where they were to wait for the rest of the evening, while Macro closed the gate.
We moved inside, in the atrium, where we sat on coaches as the servants started serving some cheese, flatbreads and olives as appetizer.
“So, Gaius, I’m very happy to finally see you again, as I think it’s been some good years since we’ve seen each other,” I said as we all lounged on the couches and started taking some bites to snack on, and two servants started playing some music, a very slow lyre and pan flute in eastern, Arcadian style.
“It’s been five years, when you came to Sestinum to tell the Emperor and the Court that you want to be replaced as Vicar of Ebria,” he said and took a bite of salty cheese and flatbread over which he drizzled some honey. “I really thought I’d lost you that day, because, come on now, Flavius, what is this shit? Aedile of Vallum? Retirement? This is clearly beneath yourself,” he continued. “I really thought you’ve gone insane. You should have seen that day, after you left, the huge feast Hermeneric organized,” Marsus added.
“He organized a feast because I wanted some years ago to retire from the rotten and miserable imperial-wide politics?” I asked and Marsus gladly nodded, pointing towards his wife as his mouth was full.
“He invited every court magistrate to it and celebrated what he called the final political suicide of the Ebrian… whelk,” Olivia said in his stead, making a pause before the last word, which she clearly was ashamed to use.
“What an impudent worm!” Felicia Ateria commented. “Imagine that, a faeces stained Varinian, ending up as Magister Militum and now mocking one of the oldest patrician families of this country. He doesn’t even have a gens,” she continued disgusted and spat an olive pit with exaggerated gestures to show her disgust. That made me, Marsus and Quirinus chuckle, while Olivia and Felicia Minor blushed.
“Oh Sol, your wife is just something else, Flavius, she could trample the whole senate and then beat the administration of the Sacred Palace into running smoothly again,” Marsus commented, laughing heartily.
“He doesn’t have a gens, if he’s Varinian, so that means he has no surname?” Quirinus interloped, before Marsus managed to continue.
“You know, they have that religious ceremony where the priests call for the blessing of Sol for your term and everything?” Marsus asked and Quirinus nodded. “One needs at least a gens name for that, so he used a patronymic. He called himself Hermeneric Agiling, so the son of Agila. The priests Sestinised him to Hermenericus Agilus, but people just call him Hermeneric,” he explained. Felicia muttered some more curses, but mostly to herself.
By this time, the appetizers were all consumed, and the main courses have arrived, being brought by Macro, Melania and Primus, with the kitchen staff waiting in the courtyard, ceremoniously, the approval from us. They served chickens stuffed with fruits and leeks, marinated in spices and garum, lobsers made in butter and other shellfish, all lavishly decorated with all sorts of vegetables and herbs and the main event, a hare that was decorated with wings to resemble Pegasus. Using the hand for heating was left behind as in the main meal, silver plates and cutlery were used, while Macro stood besides all of us to ensure that our goblets were filled with a special passum from Meridia, a very sweet wine coming from Bagradas, the capital of the southernmost and desert diocese of the Empire, which was diluted with water as it was near syrupy and then spiced with cumin, coriander, fennel and caraway.
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“You know, one needs to actually leave Sestinum and visit the Diocese capitals to see some real Sestinian culture around, for food like this, you can barely find it so flavorful and great as it is here,” said Marsus, who was clearly enjoying the meal. We ate mostly in silence, something that always meant that the food was great, as per an old Sestinian proverb: “It is respectful to make conversation at dinner, but when the food is too good, it is impossible”.
“Gaius, sorry if I am intrusive,” I say as I took a bite from the breast of the chicken that was served with the leeks and the fruits cooked withing it. “But, why are you here?” I asked, and it seems that the bluntness of the question took everyone by surprise, with the exception of Quirinus, whom I always had to remember how commended he was for his perception at the Quintilian, so he was just unphased by it, rather than not observe the change in the environment’s tone.
“Dear Olivia here felt that after a scorching summer in overly crowded Sestinum, she would enjoy spending autumn and winter back with her family in Vallum, and I have come with the goal of auditing the procurator, because the imperial treasury did feel a reduction in tax revenue from Ebria and from Meridia,” he said.
“Of course there was a reduction in revenue, if there are pirates around the western fringes of the Viridian Sea… most of the revenues came from taxing commerce through the Diocese’s borders,” I say and Marsus nodded.
“To be perfectly honest, I know that and I don’t care as much of your procurator, because I do imagine that even if you don’t want the attention a Vicar has, and preferred the petty role of Aedile of Vallum, you still are the main man if one wants to discuss the administration of the Diocese of Ebria. Thus, I imagine that you do receive enough in gifts from other others which are on paper higher ups, but I imagine they are your loyalists and thus you care for the Diocese to run smoothly, so this audit is mostly just a pretext to come and talk to you, personally,” he said, this time more serious, and after he finished eating the hare’s leg, he pushed the silver plate away.
“I want you back, Flavius. The palace and court are filled with all sorts of sycophants who don’t care at all of the emperor or of his mother, Maura Placidia. They are all there because Hermeneric is throwing around bribes and political positions here and there with no care in the world for the sake of the Empire,” Marsus said, a bit theatrical. As he was speaking, I looked at the others. Macro was just waiting patiently with the wine jar, my wife and Olivia Aemilia were nibbling on some shellfish, while Quirinus put the plate away too and was fallowing Marsus closely. I nodded in approval and let out a quick smile, but I was thankful he didn’t see it.
“And what do you want me to do?” I asked and Marsus rose his hands and let them down, thumping on his thighs in exasperation.
“I need you to be a counter to all that,” he said, like he was explaining it to an idiot.
“The last time I did that, Maura Placidia, who was regent for Lucanus who barely was a year or two old at that time wanted me away, because I was seen as a threat to her son. They sent me to Uladia, on that sad island, to fend off Deiran raiders and invaders, and when they didn’t need me anymore, the senate gave the office of Magister Militum to someone else, and then immediately they abandoned the Diocese, which is now just a collection of city states where civilization is collapsing and humans are returning to their barbarous ways, as more and more Deirans and Caitmen swarm that sad island like there’s no tomorrow. In other words, the last time I cared for the empire, I spent more than 5 years up there waging war, and then the senate nullified all my efforts with a simple decision,” I said and as much as I felt, now that I stopped, that this exposition might have been a bit too dramatic, and yet, the annoyances and hate that filled me for such a long time for the senators from 20 years ago, made my blood boil and I couldn’t stop.
“They replaced me with a series of cacata magisters, until they now found Hermeneric which seems to have been perfect, but they all seem to forget, that 20 years ago, his father, that animal, Agila, was the Varinian petty king who was paying Deirans to raid to the west, in Uludia, instead of his shithole of a kingdom,” I said, feeling my heartrate thumping in my temples. “So these idiots, who were played by a merda, who kept the empire in an informal war pushing Deirans on Uludia, probably were paid themselves by him to replace me as magister militum, abandon Uludia, who then Deirans paid him back as they raped and pillaged the province and now his own son is Magister Militum,” I conclude, taking a deep breath. I was probably red faced of anger, as I could feel anything in me burning. Quirinus was following closely with a frown, while Felicia Minor looked confused and the two other women, probably knew it but they continued eating.
“It is a theory,” Marsus said, and sighed.
“Am I wrong?” I asked, still hyped up, but beginning to calm down.
“Probably not, but you can’t stop this just with causality,” he said.
“When we were there, we found Varinian minted coins, with Agila’s pigface on them, on Deiran nobles,” I said.
“It was an extremely weak point of the empire,” Marsus said.
“You know what the difference is between then and now?” I asked and he looked at me intrigued.
“Things are the same, the only difference is I am living a quiet life in Ebria, and somehow the Empire still holds itself together,” I said and Marsus slowly nodded, in a defeated approval. “But can you imagine, Gaius, the Sol damned shame. The Empire lost one of the six dioceses, leaving it with only five. A sixth of the Empire was just abandoned, because while we won militarily, we just surrendered politically,” I say in disgust. As if to a sign, the women finished eating too, and Macro began cleaning up the plates. “I was ashamed to be Sestinian, back when I returned to Ebria as its Vicar, 20 years ago, after all that. Even more when I heard, 5 years ago that this stercus of a Varinian became the Magister Militum. I look at Quirinus and at Felicia Minor and I think of Julia and Durans and I simply wonder, what Sestinia are we leaving them and what can they do for it to be a Sestinia for their own children? This nation existed for seven centuries and now, we let corruption disintegrate us, and eat us alive, like worms disintegrating a cadaver,” I say, defeated.
“It is why I’m here. At the behest of some of the senators and of, surprisingly, Maura Placidia,” Marsus said. “We have built a coalition, to get rid of Hermeneric and the corrupt senators and to reimpose the realities of what it means to be Sestinian to this Empire. Come to Sestinium, spend the autumn there visiting your house and maybe old friends and if you will be around by the 1st of January, we will vote you Consul,” he proposed, in a surprisingly authoritative voice.
“Consul?” Felicia Ateria asked, surprised. Marsus nodded, but waited as the kitchen staff came with the desert, some honey cakes and a pear souffle.
“Consul, to really give you gravitas in the face of these traitors,” Marsus said.
“I am a bit confused. I could understand some senators, but why is Maura Placidia too in this? She used to be the one hating me the most as she feared I will take over the Empire from her son. Why is she supportive of this?” I asked as I took a cut of the souffle and started nibbling of it.
“She still is extremely protective of her son, and she clearly loved seeing you leaving Sestinum, but Hermeneric was something that she didn’t expect as a result. I don’t think she cares much of politics, or better said, her only politic is her son, so she doesn’t really care how that reverberates in the empire, being the happiest when the magister militums were changing every 6 months to a year immediately after you left. But now, now it’s no game, she finally found someone that is at least as scary as you,” Marsus said, chuckling a bit at his own mocking comment at the end. “The thing is,” he continued, this time serious, “that Hermeneric is no pushover, especially when we have just some bureaucrats and administrators by our side. We need you, because your name still carries gravitas. Every Sol damned soldier of the eagle and sun banner will hear that the hero of the Uludian war has returned to politics and he will start to think that people with a real backbone are back in Sestinum,” he concluded.
“But, why now?” Felicia Ateria asked as she finished her desert and Macro filled her cup with more wine. “There were so many occasions in the past decade. What is happening now, that is so urgent?” she insisted.
Marsus stopped for a bit to think and then sighed. “I know you may condemn me for being too late, but I still hope it’s better late than never. What made me think that it is now or never is the apparition of this new zealous fringe within the faith. In Sestium, just as we left, they lynched a professor who said that the Sun and the starts and the Moon are rotating around Gaia. They were extremely angry that he put the planet over the Sun as astronomical importance. In Meridia, down south, they set up columns in the desert sand and climb them up and stay there and pray until they have a heatstroke and die. Here, when we arrived, I understood that there were some issues too,” Marsus explained but he was interrupted.
“Yes, the Pontiff came to me to talk about it. It seems they wanted to destroy the statue of Sol in the Solarium, because they found it blasphemous to have the god of the sun presented in human form,” I explained and Marsus nodded.
“Exactly, the Pontiffs are scared that this will hit the faith hard. They too want someone who can bring back some good old iron fist authority, because the nation whole looks like it’s a sheep pen with no guard dog and everyone is running amok, while the wolves already infiltrated it,” Marsus said.
“Speaking of that, how is the Emperor? I left Sestinum after the Emperor’s first anniversary. He must be 21 or 22 now,” I said. Marsus looked around, as if he analysed all of us, seated at the table. And seemed reluctant to respond.
“Excuse me… I would rather not talk this with respectable ladies such as Felicia Ateria, Felicia Minor or my dear Olivia. I feel it’s a bit… shameful for a woman to hear all of this,” he said. I subconsciously rose an eyebrow inquisitively. Felicia Minor looked a bit surprised, and I could see my wife already preparing to tell Marsus to go on, for she clearly won’t blush, but it was his wife, Olivia, who rose.
“I’d say, ladies, we should go to the courtyard and enjoy the cool evening and some music, and let the men discuss unsavoury details,” she said. Felicia Minor followed her but my dear wife, as always showed her displeasure, rolling her eyes, but deciding to be a good Sestinian woman, making me and Quirinus, who were following her, to chuckle.
“Okay, so it’s bad, if you pushed the women away. Spill it out,” I said and Marsus was still reluctant.
“You know Flavius… It’s bad. It’s a mockery. The Emperor is living in some form of parallel world, isolated by everything and everyone. He puts on his mother’s clothes and paints his face, going around the palace and ask for customers, like a puella from a lupanar,” he said, clearly uncomfortable.
“What?! The emperor, a lupa?” Quirinus asked, shocked and maybe a bit too loud for everyone remaining at the table.
“Be quiet, or at least quieter!” I ordered. He looked at me and gestured towards Marsus as if to make sure I heard it too.
“Don’t get me wrong, we all know how it is… needs are needs. You do remember our younger days in the academy too, Flavius, but a Sestinian man needs to be a man, irrespective of whom he sleeps with, or else he loses his virilitas. It’s shameful for a free man to be on the receiving end as an adult, but for the Emperor… Sol almighty forgive me,” Marsus muttered. “He is an avid gladiatorial and chariot race fan and he even married a gladiatrix and two male charioteers,” Marsus continued.
“Why is nobody stopping this?” I asked.
“Maura Placidia just ignores all his extravagances and attacks everyone who criticises him, and even if she isn’t seen as strong or is as respected as she was two decades ago, when you don’t have much autoritas, you don’t really want to anger her,” Marsus responded.
“How did he marry a gladiatrix and two male charioteers? I thought the priests would marry only free men with free women or slaves if they master is okay with it,” Quirinus said.
“Officially yes, but it seems that when you are the Emperor, you can do a lot of things,” Marsus commented, slightly defeated and a bit blushing too.
“Hermeneric isn’t stopping this?” I asked, a bit annoyed.
“Hermeneric is probably enjoying it, as every new episode where the Emperor is shaming himself is keeping the people from discussing his own corruption and keeping the gaze of the population, and its disapproval towards the Emperor,” Marsus said.
He stopped for a bit, as if he was exhausted. I looked at Quirinus who was shocked and looking at me, expecting me to say something and then at Marsus, who signed and closed his eyes. In the back, Felicia Minor was playing the lyra to the enjoyment of her mother and Olivia.
“May Sol scorch them all!” I curse. This startled Marsus but I kept my eyes on Quirinus. “Starting tomorrow, you will come with me to the Administrative Palace. I will ensure this autumn that you are able to protect our interests here, while I will take Gaius’ offer, you understand me?” I asked and he wanted to say something but I interrupted him. “Do you understand me?” I asked again and he nodded.
“I have an idea,” Marsus said with his eyes lighting up a bit. “Our sons, Aegidius and Durans, will soon finish up in Patricium, at the Universitas. What if we take them with us and make them retinues of the Emperor?” he asked.
“It could work and provide some much needed influence from people closer to his age, I just feel the bad apple won’t spoil the bunch,” I muttered as I could feel the exhaustion from the day creeping up on me.