The Consul took a mouthful of mushrooms and washed it down with wine. Dunya had first brought water, but the Consul seemed more stressed than ever, and demanded something stronger. Tiberius did not like how he spoke to her, but for now, he could say nothing. The lounge was small and unimpressive, and the blue cushioned sofas smelled of spilt wine. Tiberius didn’t care to make it presentable.

“Almost as good as what I have at home. Why aren’t we in the courtyard? It’s a lovely day.” The Consul said, wiping his mouth.

“Well… There was a small fire, a candle had fallen over, burnt my table and chairs.” Tiberius replied wearily, remembering his rage only hours before.

“Best get that sorted. Your slaves being good to you?” Corvinus asked.

“Yes.” Tiberius said simply, his body becoming rigid at the word.

“And how is Caprenia? Well, I hope?”

“She’s all right I suppose, she’s gone to stay with her brother, apparently he’s worried about their father and they’re making plans to move him to one of our houses.” He lied. Hearing her name was painful, and it was all he could do not to grimace.

“Ah, well, I hope her father is doing better.” Corvinus said between mouthfuls. “But black pits, she’s left you alone in your time of grieving? This place should be filled with music and laughter, your face could certainly use it.” His friend replied, trying to lighten the mood, and failing. “But I was very sorry to hear about your sister, these slaves truly are unruly, and my law will punish them in the eyes of the gods.” He said triumphantly. Tiberius fumed, face turning red, it was all he could not do to lunge over the table and strangle the man. Instead, he held himself, his jaw tight and his body stiff.

“How is a loss of hope for these slaves going to help? Desperate people do desperate things.” He said.

“These are desperate times my friend. The law will be a ship we can sail into to steadier waters, and perhaps in the future it can be repealed, anyway, what’s the-“

“-I don’t believe I would have lost them without it.” Tiberius said simply.

“Best leave politics to others, you never had a mind for it. Do you remember when we were in the Hinterlands, and you’d knocked over the-“

“-You mean to tell me what I can and cannot discuss in my own home? Don’t be a fool. I’ll talk about whatever I damn well please Corvinus.” He exclaimed angrily, interrupting again. The Consul looked like he was in shock. He slowly set his fork down on the table and looked at Tiberius with a cold gaze.

“Careful Tiberius. We’ve been friends for a long time, but I could make life very difficult for you if I wished it.” He threatened, face hard as stone.

“You think my life could get any harder? Any more miserable? That law killed my sister and her children.” He said.

“I told you to be-“

“And it’ll kill thousands more, you know it. I’ve no love for slaves, I only care for Dunya and her son because I owe them that. You knew this would cause trouble, and now it’s done to someone you know you can’t face it. I remember once I offered my sister’s hand in marriage to you. What a fool I was, and thank the gods you’d already found a bride!” He was shouting now, and one of the Consul’s guards came into the room.

“What’s all this?” He said, looking as dull as a potato. Consul Corvinus waved him away and looked at Tiberius with ice in his stare. The guard left them alone.

“You accuse me of responsibility for your sister’s death. But you know full well that the law is necessary, and eventually, murderous slaves would have killed them regardless.”

“They weren’t all murderous, there was a girl of 16, pregnant, but that law spurned her into action.” Tiberius said.

“And now you seek to justify their actions! Do you side with your sister’s killers after all?” The Consul said, and immediately regretted it. Tiberius reached over the table, grabbed the back of his head and pulled him close.

“You always were a cowardly little worm. You only got made a Centurion because you were silver-tongued and from a good family. I loved you once, but never as a soldier.” He said.

“T-Tiberius, please…” The Consul whimpered.

“You’re a fool and a craven. You nearly got us all killed at Turica. You may be a big man out there on the streets, but in here there’s just you and me.” Tiberius said, letting go of his hair and standing over him. Corvinus had always been afraid of him. He knew it. Whenever he was angry, Corvinus was afraid. The Consul stood as well, but shorter than the man he once called brother.

“You will regret this Tiberius. I am not a man you wish to make an enemy of.” He said, his voice small and seeming to trail off.

“Get out of my house, and take your yapping dogs with you.” Tiberius commanded, and the Consul left the room. His confidence seemed to return once away from Tiberius, and his voice boomed.

“Come, we are leaving, I’ll not be insulted like this.” And Tiberius heard footsteps marching out. He followed and slammed the door shut behind the guards and slaves.

“Bastard.” He said as silence fell. Dunya walked out of the kitchens.

“What happened?” She asked.

“The Consul decided to accuse me of siding with my sister’s killers, so I grabbed the back of his head and made him soil his breeches. Bastard.” He said, repeating the word. Dunya looked afraid.

“You assaulted the Consul? They’ll come for you, they’ll lock you up.” She whispered, walking over.

“No. Even he wouldn’t stoop that low. And he knows if I ever got out I’d kill him.” He said, not lowering his voice like she had.

“Why did you do that Uncle? You knew it was stupid.”

“If he hadn’t proposed that bloody law, my sister and her children would be alive. It’s that simple, and now the Republic will bleed.” He said, voice bitter. “And soon I might not be able to free you or the boy. I don’t know when that law will come into effect, but I need to get your brand off before then.”

“I’ve heard that people are already refusing to do the ritual. It’s the Consul’s effort to prevent mass-freeing.” She said, looking afraid and full of sorrow. He placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Damn that man. Then we’ll find you someone who will, no matter what it takes me, if I must join the bloody Ironfoots for it.” He said, and she held his hand with both of hers.

“Thank you, Tiberius. You are a good man.” She said, and let him go. No, I am not. He thought, as he walked to the door and out into the streets.

He was bound for the brothel, where he hoped he would find Portia. But he didn’t plan on having her this time. He walked the streets of the Aveline, passing several dark alleys. Near one of them, he stopped and saw a man being mugged by 3 others, one of them a Catfolk. Tiberius might have done something in the past, but no longer. The man didn’t look very wealthy, or he might have stopped, but he carried on with a shrug despite the man shouting to him for help.

Eventually, he stood outside the old brothel, Madam Eshel’s. The building was surprisingly grand, with an imposing stone façade, worn by the sands of time, exuding an aura of ancient charm. Inside, the atrium was decorated with frescoes and pillars, a large wooden desk set to one side in front of a fresco of the Goddess of Beauty, Erasta. The woman sitting below it was an unfortunate comparison. Madam Eshel was a short, fat old woman, hailing from the swamplands of Mastilia to the south. Her mouth was topped with an unpleasantly moist moustache. Since it was still morning, the place was mostly empty, and Madam Eshel was surprised to see him again so soon.

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“Mr. Sejanus? Portia will likely be sleeping now, since you woke her. She won’t be woken again.” She asserted. Tiberius had always regretted giving his real family name, and imagined what his father might say if he were still lucid. Tiberius threw a gold coin onto the counter and marched on, and the Madam went silent with a taut smile.

He proceeded up the stairs, still smelling of sweat, and headed down the long dark-wood corridor to Portia’s room. The scent up here was sickly sweet, to cover up the smells of a less savoury kind. He opened the door brusquely, to find Portia in a nightgown, chatting with one of the other girls. He didn’t know her name.

“Tiberius, good god man you have the stamina of a bull. I’m afraid I’m rather tired out.” She drawled. Tiberius was about to respond, but the other girl did first.

“I wanted to say I’m so sorry for your loss Mr. Tiberius, I know they are smiling on you from the White Mountains.” The girl said. Tiberius gave a curt nod and turned back to Portia.

“I’m not here to fuck you. I’d like it if you’d come spend the day at my house. I have food and wine, and my slaves will tend to you.” He said awkwardly. That did surprise her, and she put down her cup.

“My my, a day at Tiberius’s manse? Won’t your wife mind?” She asked.

“My wife and I fought last night. She has gone to stay with her brother for some time.” He muttered, she looked at him sadly.

“You poor thing, leaving you like that after what’s happened. I’d be happy to accompany you for the day Tiber. I’ll get dressed.” She said, and he nodded but paused.

“Good, but… please don’t call me that. It reminds me too much of her.” He said, and she nodded her apologies. The other girl smiled at him, sadly and sweetly, as Portia pulled on her boots and a pale green dress. When she was finished being laced up, she took Tiberius’s arm and smiled at her friend with some excitement. The girl gave her an encouraging look.

“Enjoy yourselves!” She said after them as they walked down the corridor.

When they were outside, Tiberius was glad her dress was not as garish as the usual prostitutes liked to advertise themselves in. It made her look elegant he thought, she always had a face that belonged more to nobility than the lower class. They proceeded through the Aveline, arm in arm, and before long were back at his two-storey home. It was modest but tasteful, as Portia commented on outside. When they entered, Dunya was sweeping up and talking to her son who sat on the floor nearby. She looked surprised to see Portia. The boy spoke first.

“Who’s that mummy?” He asked, and his mother replied with a bewildered expression.

“This is my friend, Portia. She’s going to be staying here for a bit, because her husband has argued with her.” Tiberius lied. Dunya tilted her head to the side with an eyebrow raised, and Portia gave a little wave to the boy, approaching him.

“Aren’t you a handsome young boy?” She said, turning back to Tiberius, mouthing the word ‘Yours?’, and nodding when he shook his head.

“I want to be a soldier when I grow up, but my mummy says I can’t because it's dangerous.” He said, mispronouncing a few words. Tiberius approached from the side and saw her face lit with a smile.

“Well, it can be, but I’m sure once you’re old enough you can decide what you really want to do, unlike me.” She said and began to walk towards the stairs. Dunya still seemed suspicious of her, and Tiberius gave her a sad look. He followed her upstairs and walked into the master bedroom. It was strange to see her sitting on his wife’s bed, and part of him almost told her to get up.

“You know, I would adore a bath. Would you like to join me?” She asked.

“No thank you, I’m going to lay down. You have the run of the house and are free to do as you wish, you are welcome to a bath. I’ll be asleep for a few hours, and then we can spend some time together. Only…” He paused, and she raised her eyebrows at him. “When you return, could you lay in bed with me for a while, and…” He struggled to say the words. “Stroke my head for a bit? Hum something? It helps me sleep.” It shamed him to say so, but it was true, and Caprenia hadn’t done it for a long time until Claudia’s death. She smiled at him.

“Of course I will Tiberius. Whatever you need, I’m here.” She said, and stood, beginning to undress.

“I like to think we’ve become friends over the years, wouldn’t you agree?” She asked, and he nodded. “Then perhaps later I can regale you with some of my woes if it doesn’t trouble you too much. They’re far lighter than yours, and there are a few funny tales in there. Over wine?”

“Yes, that will be a good distraction.” He replied, and he stripped to his breeches and laid down, waiting for her return. When she finally did, she did as he asked, and it soothed him to sleep quickly, as he looked at her sad smile.

He was on the battlefield again, as he often was in his dreams. His companions were young, the age they had been, but he remained his aged self. They were lined up in shining crimson armour. He also noticed that his companions from the tavern and the eventual house raid were with him, along with a man he once called brother, Corvinus Gravius. They readied themselves, spears in hand, for a charge from the enemy. They were clad in the grey-blue steel of the Rodin, with their strange helmets of masks with angry expressions. This had been one of the minor skirmishes between Rodina and the Republic, long before the war of today. The enemy smashed into their line, and several of his companions went down, including the future Consul, killed by a taller man who was now before Tiberius. Tiberius swung upwards at the base of his masked helmet, knocking it skyward. Underneath, he saw the dark skin and pointed ears of a man from Alamun, out of place on the battlefield. It only took him a few seconds to realize it was the man who had claimed responsibility for his niece and nephew’s murder. He drew his spear back to stab him through the face, but found his arm barely moving forward, as if the air had turned to jam.

“Only a matter of time before I see you again old man. The black pits await you, but I shall never die.” The elf said, before plunging his longsword into Tiberius’s chest. He screamed out in pain and fell to the floor, his mouth filling with mud again.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, and suddenly he is awake. He found himself in bed with a dark figure and thrust his hand forward to take it by the throat. As she struggled for air, he saw the terrified face of Portia. He lets go of her.

“Gods, I’m so sorry Portia, I was on the battlefield I…” He said, and she put a finger to his lips.

“It’s all right, I heard you try to scream.” She reassured him, and she looked like she was trying to smile. “It’s been a while since you’ve been that rough with me.” She said, feigning laughter, despite the fear in her eyes. He tried to laugh too, but struggled, and simply turned to sit on the edge of the bed. She sat up beside him.

“Do you want me to hum you to sleep again?” She asked, and he shook his head.

“No, I’ll just face him again. I need drink, and lots of it.” He replied, and she nodded in hearty agreement, as they stood up together.

“Face who?” She asked.