#julia from new rome

[cabin7quotesandtweets]

This one involves some context: this takes place 6 years after Trials of Apollo, meaning that Harley and Cassius are 14 and Georgina and Julia are 13. This is mainly just me answering my question, "What would happen if the four 7-8yos of the Greco-Roman series got to interact and be besties when they were older?"

Very much TOA spoilers:

Extra profiles (the messages are on Georgina's phone, so she's the first person, and our resident probably Apollo kid)

Harley! (@harley_creation) — son of Hephaestus, appears in Heroes of Olympus and Trials of Apollo

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Cassius 💯 (@cass_cassius) — one of Nero's twelve adopted children, godly parent unknown

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Note: we don't actually know how Cassius ended up in Nero's care, but it isn't unlikely that his story is similar to Meg's, like I made it.

Julia 💜💗❤️ (@trunisfriend) — legacy of two unknown gods, parents were killed in the first attack on New Rome from the Triumverate army, adopted by Terminus

this post on my main account explains her profile

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[missadangel]

The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x OC)

All Chapters List

VII. The Wedding (+18, Smut, MDNI)

 Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia… 

Where you are Gaius, I am Gaia…

Domus Severiana…

The night before the wedding.

It had been five days since the fight, during which time General Acacius had paid Domus Severiana a visit on two occasions. The exact date of the wedding had also been agreed upon. Your dowry had been arranged by your half-brothers and was in alignment with the General's – your future husband – expectations. Tomorrow promises to be an eventful day in the Domus Severiana, as weddings are usually held in the home of the bride's family according to Roman tradition. After the wedding ceremony, you and your husband would be conveyed to your new home, the General's villa, in a carriage. Fortunately, you were not a stranger to there. You had already spent some time there, although not as his slave this time, but as his wife. You were pleased to be leaving this fascinating place, particularly as you did not intend to spend any time in the same place as Caracalla and Julia. However, with Geta, was a different story. Perhaps he was the only one you would miss, as you felt a certain bond with him. He seemed to feel similarly towards you, but it was challenging to discern his feelings. It seemed like a puzzle that could never be solved. 

On that night, in your room in the imperial chamber, on your big bed, you were sitting with Decima, chatting, perhaps for the last time. The slave girl, Geta's favourite, had brought you a bucket of verbena for your bridal wreath-like crown. She had offered to make you the crown you wanted, but you were having trouble deciding on the colour and were seeking their input. 

"Perhaps pink would be a good choice?" Decima picked up the pink verbena.

"I'm not sure," you replied, shaking your head doubtfully. "It might not match the colour of the veil.”

"Since your dress will be white, maybe it should be a lighter colour," the other girl suggested, taking a lighter pink from the bucket.

You picked up a white one from the bucket and placed it on your saffron-coloured veil, which was laid at the end of the bed. "I think white is a simple and pure choice. So, the green leaves will complete it."

"Ah, just like a bride, a wonderful choice, my lady."

"Yes, it's beautiful." Decima agreed.

Before you could say anything, Geta burst into the room with a big smile on his face. The girls stood up and greeted him.

"You seem really focused on those flowers, like it's a matter of life and death. Would you also help me with some strategic documents? It's so hard to focus on them," he said sarcastically.

"Isn't that your responsibility? After all, you're the emperor," you teased him.

"Oh, but it's so boring," he replied with a frown.

When he jumped on the bed, next to you, you were startled but not by the shaking he caused.  "Hmm, white, nice." He was lying on his side, propped up on his elbow, supporting his head, picked up a white verbena with his other hand.

"What are you doing? I have a wedding tomorrow and I need to get some sleep."

"Oh, right, that's why I came here." He said, pointing at you.

"What do you mean?”

Geta turned his head towards the door an yelled. “Come on in!” 

A young man, who appeared to be a slave, entered the room and approached you, his movements slightly hesitant.

You looked at Geta in shock. "What is he doing here?"

But you were not alone, Decima and the other girl were also quite surprised.

“There won't be time before the wedding.” He said arrogantly.

“What are you talking about?”

“Undress.” Geta ordered him.

“What! No, don't!” You shouted at the slave. He grabbed the end of his tunic, unsure of what to do.

"I'm doing you a favour. Do you really want to ruin everything on your wedding night?"

"A favour?" Is that what you consider to be a favour?” You spoke a little louder than you intended to.

However, Geta didn't seem to care. "I'm not suggesting you sleep with him, but it might be helpful to study the man's body, especially the important parts." He pointed to the young man's pelvis.

You jumped up from the bed, feeling embarrassed, your cheeks burning.

"Thanks, but I don't think that's necessary."

Geta sat up in bed, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Are you sure? Look at you, your cheeks are all red. You'll certainly faint when you see the General Acacius naked." 

His loud, ringing laugh was the final straw that broke your patience.

"I'm not a virgin!" you exclaimed.

Everyone in the room looked at you in surprise. You felt extremely embarrassed. You turned your back towards them, feeling ashamed to look at their faces.

Geta clapped his hands. "Well, well, well, my sister is not so innocent after all." He approached you. ”Caracalla will be disappointed though. He was thinking of giving you to the Temple of Vesta to become a virgin priestess." He laughed.

You turned towards him. “What?"

"To piss off the General, that's for sure. Anyway, you're not a virgin, so it's not an issue.”

"I don't think that's funny at all,” you said angrily.

"It seems there's more between you and the General than I thought.” Suddenly his face was serious. “Since you trusted him enough to dare to give yourself to him before marriage.”

You averted your gaze from him, not because you felt guilty, but because you didn't want to discuss such intimate matter with him.

He really didn't like your serious face, especially when you looked away from him. He leaned towards you with a playful smile. "But if you'd like to observe anyway, I mean, before the wedding, my body is in great shape. Not as muscular as his, but still."

'Can you please leave my room?' You pointed at the door.

'I understand your pre-wedding nerves and I forgive you, otherwise you can’t treat me like this,' he said smugly. 

“You started it," you murmured.

He seemed relieved. “Have a good night, sister," he giggled, and walked out of the room, his slave following behind him.

Once they were gone, you threw yourself on your bed and sighed deeply. “I hate him.”

Decima and the slave girl were giggling. 

Decima sat on the bed next to you. “I was thinking of talking to you about the wedding night, but I don't think I need to. I mean, since you're not,” she said, her voice trembling. She must be remembering painful memories from that house.

“Decima, I'm so sorry,” you voice cracked.

“No, you don't have to feel sorry for me, please. But can you tell me exactly how far you and the General have gone?" She gave you a suggestive look.

“Well, it happened once, you know.” Your cheeks were starting to flush again.

“So you're still inexperienced, my lady.”

The slave girl opened her eyes wide as you both turned your heads towards her. “I apologise, I was out of line, my lady.”

“How do you mean?”

“She's right,” Decima said. “There is so much for you to learn.”

So it turns out they were right – everything had happened so quickly that night. And you still dreaded the wedding night like a virgin. The last time you remember, he was stopping himself from going any further and was really patient and gentle with you. But you were still feeling like a virgin, not physically for sure, yet emotionally, novice to all the pleasures that the male and female body can experience. Thinking all of these, a new concern arose inside you, the inability to satisfy your husband's expectations as his wife. Like that's all you need, really.

For the rest of your last night in the palace, you were relaxing in the marble tub, breathing in the steamy air mixed with the floral aroma, while Decima's gentle fingers rub your legs. After a few embarrassing conversations, you savoured your last night as unmarried woman, since, from tomorrow you will be a married one. 

As the memories of your time with Marcus came to mind, you wondered when you first fell in love with him. When did it happen? Was it when you first saw him and felt a peculiar attraction? Or was it the first time he touched you? Each time he was kind to you? Perhaps it was when he smiled warmly at you? Or the first time he kissed you? You smiled to yourself. It seemed a little silly to choose between your beautiful memories as if you were entering them in a competition.

You were certain from the first moment you saw Marcus, you loved him. And it grew more and more every day. You suddenly realised how much you had missed him. The last time you saw him, he was talking to Geta and Caracalla about marriage as if it were a strategic issue, and you just watched them. You hadn't even had a chance to talk properly or touch him. 

Once you had finished your bath, you lay down on your bed. Your eyes lingering on your veil, which lay over the armchair next to the small table. As the sweet breeze from the window caressed your hair, you closed your eyes and dreamed of tomorrow.

Wedding day…

In the early hours of the morning, the streets of Rome were filled with a festive atmosphere. A group of people gathered around the Palatine Hill for the wedding of General Acacius and Princess Aurelia, eager to witness the momentous occasion. They patiently awaited the arrival of the carriage carrying the General to the wedding venue, hoping to catch a glimpse of him or the imperial family. 

You opened your eyes slowly and became aware of a number of voices. The first thing you heard was a sound that could be described as shouting. This was followed by a hum, which seemed to be the sound of a crowd, the swallows flying past the window, and then a knock on the door. As you gradually sat up in bed and yawned, Decima entered the room, accompanied by three slave girls carrying your wedding dress. 

“What's all that noise?” you asked Decima as you got out of bed. “Emperor Geta and Caracalla have had an argument I guess.” The slave girls put your dress on the bed.

You looked at her, surprised. “What's the argument about?”

“I'm not sure, but it's nothing to do with you or the wedding. Don't worry.”

“Then you must know why.” You said, eyeing the other girls, noticed that Geta's slave wasn't with them.

“I wasn't going to tell you not to worry about it on your wedding day, but I think Emperor Caracalla took an interest in Emperor Geta's favorite slave and it didn't go down well, so there was tension.” She was helping you undress.

“Is that why she didn't come with you?”

“Would you like me to ask her to come over?” she asked as she helped you into your long white silk tunic.

“No, I don't need to, but I hope she's all right.”

Decima rolled her eyes. “Perhaps you should stop worrying about someone else. Today is an important day for you.” She smiled softly. "You're the bride, remember?"

You giggled and nodded. She was right, but you couldn't help thinking that something might happen to the slave girl because of those two. 

With the assistance of the slave girls, you were nearing the end of your dressing process when Geta arrived a short while later.

He clapped his hands. “Sister, you look gorgeous.” Then he crossed his arms and inhaled deeply. “General Acacius. That lucky bast-.”

“Brother." You silenced him and frowned.

He pursed his lips, suppressing his laughter.

“Why didn't your slave girl come to help me?”

“Because she was busy dressing me,” he pointed to the white toga with gold embroidery he was wearing. 

She arrived at the door a moment later, holding your floral wedding crown. 

“Look, here she is. Come, girl quick!” Geta beckoned her over. “General is about to arrive and it's time to put the veil on.”

“Your highness, first we must put on the belt,” said the slave girl. 

Two of the other girls placed a thin belt around your waist, where the Heracles knot would be tied, and tied it one time. Geta's slave was combing your hair at the same while pinning a few to the sides with hairpins.

“Tie plenty of knots.” Geta grinned. 

You rolled your eyes. “Don't be childish.”

“Your Majesty, if the groom can't untie the knot-“

“I know, it's bad luck,” he grinned again. He was giggling like a child as he tied a few knots in the belt around your waist.

“That's enough!” You pushed his hand away. 

“Looks like the Glorious General Acacius will be trying to undo the knots until morning.” His laughter echoed around the room, and everyone could hardly keep themselves from laughing. You were almost one of them, biting your lip hard not to. 

Before long, you heard footsteps and one of the slaves came into the room, out of breath. “Your Majesty, my lady, General Acacius’ carriage has arrived.”

You felt a sudden rush of butterflies in your stomach when you heard his name. 

“Time for the veil,” Geta ordered the slaves. They draped the long saffron-coloured veil over your head. Decima wrapped the end of the long veil around your arm to keep it from getting tangled around your feet. You grabbed the part hanging from your arm with your hand. The yellowish colour of the veil made it a little difficult for you to see clearly. It was like looking at the sun at sunset, with everything bathed in a yellow glow. You bowed your head a little as Geta's slave placed the flower crown on your head. 

“Wonderful!” Geta smiled and held out his arm to you. “Shall we?” You took a last glance at your room, hesitating for a moment before taking his arm. Decima looked a little sad, so you gestured for her to embrace you, the veil preventing you from moving freely. She came and hugged you, and you felt a little uneasy about leaving her there.

“You know, it's not too late. If you're unsure about... I’ll tell him.”

You gave Geta an aggressive look, despite the veil, you were sure he saw it.

Then you took his arm in a hurry. “We can go now.”

“Impatient, sister?”

You rolled your eyes and felt your long eyelashes brush against the fabric of the veil.

“After all, you’re old. Around twenty-six? I think you're fortunate to have found someone to marry.” He smirked.

"Ha-ha. How funny.”

As you left your chambers, you heard the murmurs of guests coming from the main courtyard. You walked out with short, confident steps. As you descended the stairs, you saw Caracalla standing there. Geta turned his head away from him. Were they sulking at each other?

Caracalla eyed you up and down. “I liked the tempting idea of keeping the General waiting, but the guests will gossip about us,” he chastised you with a laugh. When he held out his arm to you, you looked at him in surprise. “How dare you keep my arm waiting?”

Geta could joke, but Caracalla could do more than that. He could joke and at the same time manage to chastise and sarcasm. You took his arm, despite your initial hesitation. As you walked between the two of them, you looked at their faces out of the corner of your eye. It was a strange but nice feeling.

Soon you found yourself in the main courtyard where you were greeted with applause. It seemed that the guests recognized you from a distance thanks to your yellowish veil. Your eyes searched the crowd for Marcus and were momentarily distracted by the flowers hanging from the upper balcony. But you continued your search with determination.

“Where is mother?” Geta asked.

“I sent her away,” Caracalla snapped.

Geta looked at him angrily. “Are you mad?”

“Stay out of my business.”

“Stop it,” you hissed. “Don't ruin my wedding.”

Geta leaned towards him, whispering behind your back. “This isn't over, brother.”

Whatever had happened between them and wherever Julia had gone, you really didn't care right now. You were too focused on Marcus, who was waiting for you at the altar. He looked magnificent in his white toga virilis, (special toga worn by the groom). Your consciousness was clouded by the exhilaration you felt, and the voices of Geta and Caracalla sounded like grunts to you.

The only thing you really saw was Marcus' face, it filled your vision, for a moment you could think of nothing else. His eyes were a buttery, burning dark brown color, his stunning face was almost severe with the depth of his emotions.  And then, when he meets your gaze, a breathtaking smile appears on his handsome face. 

You felt like you might have fallen from the exhilaration and excitement if it hadn't been for your half-brothers holding your arms. Fortunately, the seemingly endless march was over and there you were, right next to Marcus, your General. 

Flamen Dialis (the high priest of Jupiter) began his speech to preside over the wedding. 

“My emperors, and honored guests, welcome to the wedding of General Marcus Justus Acacius and our Princess Septimia Aurelia Marciana.”

With soft applause from the guests, the slaves brought in a lamb adorned with flowers, its bleating echoing throughout the courtyard.

"Great Juno, Goddess of marriage and fertility, accept this gift of life from the great house of Emperor Publius Septimius Geta and Emperor Lucius Septimius Bassianus Caracalla.”

You chose not to look as the lamb was sacrificed, glad that the veil blocked your view. With a gesture from the high priest, Marcus held out his hand and asked Geta and Caracalla the usual question. 

“My Emperors, do you promise to give me this woman, your sister, to be my wife?"

Geta and Caracalla glanced at each other, and then back at Marcus. 

“I promise.”

“Promise.”

They vowed.

You didn't realize you were crying until your tears soaked the fabric of your veil. You blinked, trying to see Marcus' face more clearly. Geta and Caracalla placed your thin hand in Marcus' large, warm palm. As soon as you touched his skin, that familiar feeling blessed you. He stroked all your fingers with his thumb, as if to calm you. The High Priest seemed satisfied and turned to Marcus. "General Marcus Acacius, she is yours.” He announced.

Geta and Caracalla took a few steps back, you took a few steps towards Marcus. He gently lifted the veil from your face and placed it over your head. You smiled with joy as you could see his gorgeous face more clearly. It seemed unbelievable, but this amazing man was now yours and you were his. Marcus took your hand gently and placed the golden wedding band on your fourth finger. You playfully caressed the ring -with the symbol of clasped hands on it- with your pinky finger. Here's one more thing to get used to.

“Seal it with a kiss.” The high priest gave consent.

Marcus gently grasped your shoulders, bent his head towards you and kissed you tenderly, adoringly. In that moment, you forgot everything else: the time, the place, the guests, and the reason you were there. All you remembered was that he loved you, that he wanted you, and that you were his.

“Let's witness the contract!” The high priest raised his arms and the guests applauded.

Marcus and you both broke the kiss with great effort, you even heard someone clearing their throat. You were almost sure it was Geta. Marcus pulled himself back to look at you, seemed amused, a smirk appeared on his face. There were giggles and murmurs coming from the audience, but you refused to look away from his face to see them.

The sweet evening breeze wafted gently around the Domus Severiana, carrying with it the sounds of a small crowd enjoying a wedding banquet under the soft lights. Marcus was conversing with Octavius in the vicinity of the fountain, while you were sitting in the fancy seat that had been reserved for you and Marcus, next to the imperial seats of Geta and Caracalla. Your half-brothers barely spoke to each other during the banquet, their mother Julia was nowhere to be seen, but nobody seemed to care. Macrinus, however, was looking at you out of the corner of his eye when he was talking to Geta. When he finished talking to him, he came over and smiled at you.

"My lady, I would like to congratulate you."

"Thank you, sir."

"I wish you and General Acacius every happiness."

You looked away. "I see Sir Gaius was not able to attend." 

A thoughtful expression crossed Macrinus' face as he realized the implication in your voice. 

"He asked me to convey his sincerest congratulations to you.”

"I'm not sure, I don't think he's sincere.”

"I beg your pardon, my lady?" He leaned a little closer

"I wonder if you were aware of his plans?" You shook the glass in your hand, your eyes fixated on the movement of the wine in it.

Macrinus cast a quick glance at his fellow emperors and leaned towards you.

“Can you please explain how you mean?”

“He told me a little about the plan for the throne, almost in a threatening tone,” you replied. Then you looked at him in the eye. ‘You didn't know?’

Marcus saw you two looking at each other with serious faces, so he frowned and ended his conversation with Octavius. Macrinus' face was hard to read. Whatever he was feeling, he was hiding it well. You were determined to solve him though.

"Whatever Sir Gaius has said, my lady, I can have no such thoughts,  I am at the service of your brothers, and of you too, surely.”

“There is no need for that, Sir Macrinus.” You were startled by Marcus's harsh voice. He stepped between the two of you, protectively, right in front of you, his shadow falling across your face.

“As her husband, I am the one who must look after my wife, Lady Aurelia, and I am grateful for your services thus far.” Marcus spoke with a tone that brooked no argument.

Macrinus smiled. “Of course, General Acacius, congratulations again, now, if you excuse me.” He turned and strode to the other side of the hall.

When Marcus turned back to you, he looked concerned. He sat down beside you and leaned in. “Did he say something to bother you?”

You shook your head. “No, he just congratulated me.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow.

“It's nothing to worry about, really,” you smiled at him.

He put his arm around you, "We'll talk about this later." His free hand went straight for the food on the table. “Did you eat enough?” He stuffed a grape into your mouth. “You'll need your strength for tonight.” 

You almost choked on the grape as he smiled crookedly. 

Geta's loud laughter startled you. When you looked at him, his favourite slave was feeding him some food too. Caracalla was also very busy romantically with his own slave. When you turned to Marcus, he was staring at you under his eyebrows. There was desire in those brown eyes that melted like butter and made your throat go dry. 

Then Marcus's face turned serious as their laughter continued. He turned his head and looked at your emperor half-brothers. “I think that's enough of the banquet.” He looked back at you with a soft expression this time. “Is my beautiful bride ready to go to her husband's house?” He gripped your hand tightly.

'Husband' word made you giggle. “I am very ready, General.”

He smiled and kissed the top of your hand then stood up, pulling you with him.

“It seems our happy couple have decided to take their leave,” Geta noticed you two. 

“With your permission, your highness,” Marcus nodded.

The slow music picked up to match the pace of the ceremony, which marked the bride's departure to her new home. In keeping with tradition, Marcus grabbed you by the legs, threw you over his shoulder, and ran across the courtyard towards the gate, carrying you outside. The guests watched this cheerful moment with laughter and applause.

While Marcus was carrying you over his shoulder, you tried to look around, but all you could see was your veil sweeping the floor. As he stepped out of the main gate, you were met with a surprise: applause and the sound of your own name being called. Marcus set you down. The crowd chanted both your names. They threw you rose petals, and you smiled and greeted them. The guests inside, Geta and Caracalla, had followed you, also greeted them. One of the slaves handed Geta a bowl full of red rose petals, which he proceeded to shower over your head. His earlier mood had been far more cheerful, but now he was serious. It was as if he was sad, but it was hard to be sure. Caracalla folded his arms, not bothering to touch the rose petals. You were taken off guard when Geta suddenly hugged you. You felt Marcus tense next to you. Geta looked at Marcus with an air of command. “Take good care of my sister, Acacius. Or there will be consequences.”

It was common knowledge that he was an emperor who liked to issue threats and give orders, and Marcus was aware of this, but no one was used to seeing him do it to protect someone else. It was clear that there had always been tension between them, but there was something different in the way they looked at each other, something you could hardly make sense of. 

Marcus grabbed your hand and looked at Geta with a sharp gaze. “Lady Aurelia is now my wife and under my care, she will be well looked after, you can be sure of that, your highness.”

Geta pursed his lips as if thinking about something. “Well then, you can go,’ he said then, pointing to the carriage.

“Be gentle with her, won't you?” Caracalla laughed hard.

Of course, shameless jokes were part of the tradition and your brothers were the experts at it.

Geta smirked. “Good luck,” he said, gesturing with his hands to his own waist, alluding to the belt around yours. 

You rolled your eyes at him and got into the carriage with Marcus's help. He lifted your veil as you got in and helped you to sit down. He called over Octavius and had a quick word with him. You were curious about what they were talking about, but you couldn't hear it clearly over the music and the crowd. When Octavius left, he came into the carriage and sat down beside you. He ordered the coachman to get the horses moving.

As the carriage moved, he held your hand and placed it in his. He traced the outline of the ring on your finger with his thumb. Then he lifted your hand and kissed each finger. You heard another carriage moving just behind yours. You turned your head and lifted the curtain with your free hand to look out.

“Another carriage?”

“I believe it's an imperial dowry,” he said sarcastically.

You looked at him, confused.

“Your brothers are sending you lots of clothes and jewellery,” he explained.

“Must be Geta.” You thought so.

“They have no boundaries when it comes to spending coins.”

You chose to remain silent because he was right.

“Still,” he grasped your chin gently and turned your face towards him. “My beautiful wife deserves it all.”

Before you could react, he kissed you passionately. His arms wrapped around your waist, and you felt his impatience. You inhaled his masculine scent and felt a moistness between your legs. Gods, why does this road never seem to end? You thought.

Villa…

By the time the two carriages drew close to the General's villa, the sun had finished its work for the day and was beginning to set. As he left, the sky darkened, and the moon rose soon after. The moon was bright and illuminated the night, almost as bright as the sun, especially tonight.

When the carriage finally arrived, Marcus stepped down and offered you his hand. You took his hand with a smile, but you had forgotten the veil you had wrapped around your arm and you stumbled on the steps. Marcus wrapped his arms around you and put you down effortlessly. Like you were a little girl. 

Octavius had already got out of the other carriage and came over to greet you. You turned your head to look at the other carriage. You were astounded to see Decima standing there, smiling. 

“But how?” You looked at her in surprise.

"Your wedding present, part of your dowry." Marcus explained. “I asked Emperor Geta to give her to your service, and he agreed.”

“Marcus, I don't know what to say. I'm so grateful.” 

He smiled in response, then took your hand and led you to the courtyard entrance of the villa. “Now we have to complete the ceremony. Are you ready?”

The ritual of entering your new home was a Roman custom that was not very common in Egypt. As a result, you were not familiar with this part of the ceremony, yet Geta's slave had informed you of a few details.

“Please guide me.”

He gave a nod. When you got to the door, all the General's slaves were waiting for you there. Two slaves were holding torches at the front. As you passed through, you noticed Norell and Tullia and wanted to give them a hug, but they were looking at you a little solemnly. Right, the ritual wasn't over yet. They both lifted you up and carried you over the threshold. You walked to the centre of the courtyard and realised how much you missed this place. It looked a little different than usual with the lighting and decorations, but you were home.

Marcus stood right in front of you. Norell handed him lucerna (an oil lamp), Tullia a jug with water in it, the symbol of life.  You took them from his hands carefully and, with his gesture, you raised them up for all to see. The slaves applauded softly, and you smiled. Then Norell and Tullia took them back from you. Marcus approached you and whispered, 'You know what to say here, don't you?’

You gave a little nod. It was a sentence you'd run through in your mind a few times already.

“Ubi tu Marcus ego Marca, where you are Marcus, I am Marca.”

He responded “Ubi tu Marca, ego Marcus, where you are Marca, I am Marcus.”

And the contract was fully signed, you were officially his wife. 

“Welcome home, my wife Aurelia,” he said with a warm smile.

It was like music to your ears to hear your own name come out of his mouth with the word ‘wife’.

"Welcome, Domina,” the slaves greeted you.

You smiled at them, and as Norell smiled back at you, you wanted to go over to talk to her, but Marcus' expression almost changed with the emotions he was feeling. He grabbed your hand and pulled you to the stairs leading to his room, or rather your room now. You could feel his impatience in the way he touched you. Your heart thudded audibly against your ribs, and your breath seemed to get stuck in your throat. 

He closed the door firmly behind you two. You could feel his eyes on you, but you refused to look at him. What was this sudden nervousness all about? You looked at his bed and saw the rose petals that had been sprinkled on it. Then, he rushed forward to snatch you into his arms, taking your breath away. You giggled, “Did you miss me?”

What a silly question, Marcus thought.

"Yes," he growled, and pulled you hard against him. "I can't think of nothing but you. Dreaming this moment was the only thing that kept me patient." Marcus's strong arms were wrapped around your waist, pressing himself against you. When he felt you tense under your dress, he reacted with a slight frown. 

“Why are you so tense? You made it through the first time well.” He brushed his lips against yours. “If I remember correctly, you liked my kiss?” His kiss was forceful, deep, overwhelming. He had got that wrong, he realized dazedly. He was the one who liked your kiss.  More than liked.  He loved it. He was radiating a strange intensity today. You could feel it under his lips; he was screaming his longing to you through them.

He slid his hand to your thigh. “I remember you liked my touch too,” now he was touching you where you wanted him most. You bit your lip. He grinned as he felt the moisture forming beneath the fabric. “I see you want me, but I want to know what makes you nervous.”

You swallowed hard, unsure of how to tell him how you felt. 

“Are you afraid of me?” His voice was so soft.

You met his eyes. “No Marcus, I'm - I'm afraid what if I cannot satisfy you or please you as your wife.”

Marcus's smile was broad, cheerful. You blinked your eyes as you looked at him in confusion 

“You will learn, my love.”

He ran his fingers up your arms, caressing your shoulders, your collarbone, your chin, “We’ll both be learning each other’s likes,” then took your face in his hands, "Each time,” he smirked, his gaze dropping to your lips. He kissed your lips softly. His mouth was hot and sweet on your own.

Marcus broke the kiss to remove the veil from your head. It was getting in the way of his arms around you and feeling your skin. He placed it on the edge of the bed, a little hastily. When he came back, he took your hands and put them on his shoulders, just above the shawl on his white toga.“Will you do as my wife?”

“Sure.” You took hold of Marcus's plain white shawl and slowly removed it from his shoulder, then waist. He now wears only his plain white tunic. You placed it on the bed neatly. You gasped as his hands wrapped around you from behind. He kissed the nape of your neck gently but needily.

“Turn around to look at me.”

You did as he said. His hands went to your belt, his smile fading as he realised the knots. It was exactly the reaction you thought he'd have.

“Why did you tie so many knots?”

“Apologies.” You bit your lower lip.

"He did this, didn't he?" He narrowed his eyes. He grunted when he saw the answer in your expression. "He always manages to annoy me.”

Marcus untied one of the knots patiently, but there seemed to be more. While he was untying it, your eyes drifted across the room to Marcus' leather armour. Next to it was his sword and then you noticed the item that you thought might be useful. Marcus' pugio (a dagger used by Roman soldiers as a sidearm).

“This belt represents virginity, right?”

Marcus answered without looking at you, determined to untie the knots. “Yes?” Suddenly, he stopped and looked up. He met your gaze, following the path of your eyes. He turned his head in that direction.

“So I'm not a virgin after all. I mean…"

He laughed when he realised the implication in your voice. “I'm all ears.”

“Can't you just cut it off?”

“Gods must have blessed me with an intelligent wife.”

He took his pugio, unsheathed it and came over to you. “Stay still.”

You nodded and swallowed, wondering why this turned you on so much. Marcus grabbed your endlessly knotted belt with one hand and pulled, almost staggering you. With the other hand, holding his pugio, he cut your belt in one swift motion. You were startled when you felt the sharp surface of the dagger just slightly under the fabric. But it was over in a flash.

Marcus threw the belt on the floor. "There's nothing holding us back now.” He hurriedly put the pugio back in its sheath. And in the blink of an eye, you were in his arms again. You trembled with ecstasy in the dress which freed from the tightness provided by the belt. Marcus's impatient hands grasped the fabric of the dress at your shoulders, perhaps a little roughly, and skilfully undressed you. The dress fell to the floor, pooling around your feet.

“Undress me,” he demanded. Unlike his impatient hands, yours were slow, yet eager. You grasped the hem of Marcus' tunic in your clumsy hands, lifted it up and pulled it over his head, allowing it to fall to the floor.

As you looked at his bare chest, your eyes drifted to where he was last injured, and you looked at him as you stroked it with your hand. "It's not healed yet. I'll have to make some ointment.”

He grabbed you around the waist and pulled you hard against him.

“Do that later, now focus on the other thing I need you to heal.”

You looked away, and before you could turn your chin, he grabbed it in his hand.

“Wrap your arms around me,” he commanded.

You obey, feeling him between your thighs, growing, making you swallow loudly.

“Run your fingers through my hair,” he said, looking into your eyes. You already liked touching his hair so much, was he reading your mind? Marcus's breathing grew heavier as you ran your fingers through his curly, dark, partly gray hair. He grabbed your hips, lifting you slightly onto his lap. His strength was a huge turn on for you, feeling the way he was easily able to pick you up. Walking with your legs wrapped around his waist he carries you there and lifting you off of him. He laid you down on the bed carefully and then watched you. You felt the soft touch of rose petals against your skin yet didn’t care. You literally felt his eyes roaming over, from you hips up to your waist up to your breasts, and your cheeks surely turned red than they already were. But you didn't feel exposed. In a way it felt liberating to let him see you because you didn't have the urge to hide yourself from him anymore. The eager expression on his face made you feel beautiful and wanted. And then he kissed your neck, which felt even better, and you turned your head to the side to offer him more skin to kiss. He swirled his tongue on the skin behind your ear, causing you to moan. He continued working across your neck with his tongue, then pecked your earlobe and then moved to your mouth. He crushed his lips to yours. He felt your hands as you press against his back, clasping him to yourself. You ran your hands over his broad shoulders as he kissing you with unbridled passion, his lips moving over yours with a hunger you had never experienced before. Marcus was already healed when he felt your fingers caressing his wounds. The feel of your bare skin against his is beyond compare. It is absolutely glorious.

The moment he forcefully parts both of your legs with his knee, you look up at him wide-eyed. His face is intense, and you know soon he’ll take you. You don’t want him to stop, but can’t help to tense. You fight against his hold but it is as though you're fighting a marble statue.

Marcus looks down at you sternly. His voice becomes commanding. 

“Aurelia, if you could just relax, we've done it before, this time it won't hurt,” He whispers into your ear. You did what he said and let him take you. Your immobile under his control, extremely turned on. 

“I wish to please you,” he says, his hot breath caresses you belly. He slowly runs his hand downwards, reaching that intimate, soaked place between your legs that he has touched before. A satisfied groan builds in his throat. “Hmm. So responsive.”

A deft finger circles a sensitive spot gently and you bit your lip hard, feels good. You feel the need to writhe in response, but his weight is holding you down, unyielding.

He enters you with two fingers and his hand is so big that each time his finger is in, his palm presses your most sensitive spot. He curls his finger, massaging another extremely sensitive spot inside you. And finally, he puts his mouth close to that area and touches it with his tongue, while he caresses your breasts with both hands then pushing his tongue back in against your clit, then sucks, consuming you, relentlessly. You can’t suppress your whimper. And groaning loudly. He looks up at you. He was determined to watch you come and the closer you got to climax the heavier your breathing became. 

"Marcus," you moaned again. “P-please.”

He smirked watched your face contort and kept at it, licking and sucking, devouring you while your legs started to shake beneath you. Soon you reached the climax and felt as if you had ascended to the sky. Marcus kissed you repeatedly around your belly, proud of the feeling he had caused. He had a smile of triumph on his face, but now his body had become more impatient. 

“Now wrap your legs around me,” he was stroking your legs. You did as he said, already craving him more than you ever wanted him, your body squirming to be his. In a swift movement he grabs your hips and pulls you down and his full length is inside you. You moan and your breath hits against his chest. Your nails dig into the back of his neck, breathing harshly. You didn't expect it to happen so quickly, but this time it didn't hurt at all, maybe because it was too wet, dripping wet.

You weren’t with him for this part, but he was acutely aware of you every shaky breath. Somehow, despite his pleasure, he found himself moderating his thrusts without too much effort. True, he had to squeeze his eyes shut to concentrate.  The feel of you around him was like nothing else.  It was strange how aware he felt of the clench of your fingers at his back as he luxuriated in the tight, silky clasp of you. How often he felt compelled to press his lips to yours. 

When he felt his brow begin to bead with sweat, he groaned and told himself his exertions had gone on long enough. He needed to withdraw.  You don’t need to, a voice whispered in his head that sounded very like his own. She’s your wife, yours. He looked at your face to confirm, determined not to lose his self-control and cause you pain. Fortunately, he saw that you were far from suffering. He smiled confidently, thinking how beautiful you looked right now. He could see it in your face, so when he hardened his movements a little, he realized that you were moaning with pleasure. A smile of triumph spread across Marcus' face as you screamed his name over and over. His thrusts are becoming quicker now, but still not too quickly, and you know you will climax simultaneously.

You close your eyes and moan as you feel yourself begin the ascent to your orgasm. He is moaning as well, then he pushes himself as deeply into you as he can, triggering his climax. As you feel him throb inside you, filling you completely with his seed, you come hard, your moan becomes a howl, and Marcus presses his mouth to yours, causing your body to twist into lovely shivers.

He slides his tongue into your mouth and strokes yours with his, extending both your climaxes. Moaning into each other's mouths, you don't want this feeling to end, and you're certain he feels the same. As you ease down from your respective highs, Marcus breaks your kiss and looks admiringly into your half-closed eyes and smiles through heavy breathing.

"I can't believe how stunning, amazing you are," he whispered, running his fingers through your hair. “I love you Aurelia, my beautiful wife.” 

You smiled at his kind words.

“I love you too, Marcus.”

Both of you naked in our post-coital bliss, a military man buried inside you, the General, now your husband. You think it was the most romantic wedding night you could imagine. Not because he's so handsome and charming despite his age. But because he's your Marcus, he's perfect.

When he finally pulls out, it hurts, but only emotionally. You already miss the fiery connection between your bodies. He kisses you again and pulls you against his chest, wrapping his arm around you, as if he's trying to stop you from running away. You smile, he must have remembered what you did last time. He places his chin on the top of your head, your nose close enough to touch his neck, your nose caressing his jugular vein. 

The warm breeze whispers through the window, blowing out the oil lamp and allowing the bright moonlight to bathe your naked bodies in its glow. Once the sounds of love have ceased, you find yourself surrounded by the gentle chirping of crickets, the soft howl of an owl, and the calming rhythm of Marcus' breathing. After a while, your eyelids gently close, and you drift off to sleep, caged and imprisoned by his arms.

The Dream...

The moonlight was all you could see, blocking out everything else. The soft wind caresses your skin, causing you to shiver, but you are not cold. You ask yourself why you are shivering. Your feet, your hands – where were they? Everything was blurred. You opened and closed your eyes, your heart racing in your chest. But why? You open and close your eyes once more. Your hands are there, but your feet are off the ground.  You open and close your eyes once more. This time, the light dims, and you can see around you. You are relieved. You thought you were blind a moment ago.

But the relief doesn't last long because you remember where you are. You were here before. This meadow, this wind, this sky. "Save him." And that chilling whisper. You flinch and gasp as the owner of the voice suddenly appears. The goddess appears in front of you, her white skin glimmering like diamonds. This time, she doesn't resemble you. She draws closer, and when you recognize her face, you fall to your knees. This time, she allows you to feel the grass and flowers. Is it because she pity you?

'Mother?' your voice trembles. You've never seen her before, only her statue, in the tomb in the Domus Severiana. She is beautiful, in a way that is difficult to describe.

'Save him,' the same tone, with a hint of urgency and a touch of pleading.

You get up on your knees and look at her, ‘I did it, Mother, I saved him.’ 

Unsatisfied with your answer, she turns away, strolling in a circle among the grass. You're certain she'll pick another herb to give to you like she did last time. But no, she grabbed something from the grass, and when she lifted it up you jumped backwards for your dear life. 

‘Don't be afraid, child,’ she whispered. 

The viper she held in her hand was torn into many pieces and spread out through the grass, then into the soil. What? Why? How? You felt like you were losing your mind. 'He will need you, Rome will need you,’ she whispered again, ringing, echoing in your ears. Rome? Him? This overwhelming, all-consuming dream didn't allow you to speak or think clearly. He was your sole focus, and you made the conscious decision to ask questions for him, even if it meant losing your mind.

'Save him from what, mother? Please…” your voice cracked, you were panting, heavily breathing.

Without batting an eyelash, she grabbed your hands and lifted you up on your feet. Her eyes were fixed on yours, as if she could read your mind.

"You already know.” Her voice sharp. 

This time, she turned around, and her hair danced in the warm wind. You shook your head in defiance, demanding to know more. She reads your mind again. "Think, Aurelia."

In a gust of wind, the grass and flowers on the ground were uprooted, plucked, and gathered around your mother's silhouette. It was incredible, overwhelming, and it consumed all of your senses. You rushed towards her, but she had already disappeared among them as if caught in a whirlwind. Your feet were no longer on the meadow with green grass and flowers. Instead, you were on a dirt field, and you felt abandoned. No more moonlight, no more wind, only dirt ground. No more her. With her voice echoing in your ears for the last time, crushing your soul, blowing your mind last time, your dream was about to end.

'Think.'

please reblog, comment or like if you enjoyed thank you all <3

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[dclovesdanny]

Percy Jackson x Dead on Main

Jason, son of Athena, has been living in Camp Half Blood since he was 14. He had been through both of the wars as a soldier and strategist (though a lot of people assumed he was an Ares or Nemesis kid after his growth spurt.) He was now 19, and had been drafted as one of the representatives of the Athena Cabin in the camper exchange. He wasn’t expecting much from the trip, especially not a cute boy who introduced himself as one of the centurions of the fifth cohort.

Danny, legacy of Thanatos, Venus, and Vulcan, had fought in both wars. (though he wasn’t exactly involved much with Octavian outside of some misunderstandings that lead to a large portion of the monsters Octavian had hired being turned to dust) He was now eighteen, and part of the welcoming committee for the Greek transfer students.

Neither of them realized it, but both were quite well liked. More than half of Camp Halfblood had fought beside Jason, and at least two thirds of the camp had had Jason at their side as they mourned their fallen cabin members. More than 80% of New Rome owed one of the Fenton’s their lives.

Everyone watching them realized this relationship could make or break the relationships between the camps. Including the gods watching.

More facts for this au under the cut.

Every resident of New Rome had either interacted with Maddie Fenton (legacy of Venus, daughter of Thanatos, former centurion of the second cohort for five years), Jack Fenton (son of Vulcan, master engineer, inducted into the third cohort at 11), Jazz Fenton (served for a while in the fourth cohort, on track to be a therapist for demigods) or Danny.

Maddie was raised in New Rome. Her great grandmother was the daughter of Venus, and is famous for killing over fifty Cyclopes who attempted to kill a demigod (said demigod is the ancestor of Julia).

Jack was brought up by his uncle in Illinois and found out about his heritage after an incident with a hydra. He found his way to camp and ended up killing several monsters along the way.

Vlad is a descendant of Apollo and is Octavian’s second cousin (might be the wrong wording, Octavian’s mom is Vlad’s cousin).

Dick is a Hermes kid and is another representative that came along.

Sam is a descendant of Proserpine (idk how to spell it, Roman version of Persephone)

Bruce is an adult demigod who lives outside of camp and works with Chiron. He’s a grandson of Aphrodite (Thomas’s mom) and Athena (Martha’s mom).

Let me know if you want more of this au

[foundtherightwords]

Fallen Empires - Chapter 1

Pairing: Geta x OFC

Summary: Having done the unthinkable to secure his throne, Emperor Geta rules with ruthlessness and paranoia. Now, after escaping an assassination attempt, a badly injured Geta is saved by Daphne, a young widow, who takes him back to her remote village without knowing his true identity. As Daphne nurses the former emperor back to health, attraction blooms between them, and Geta discovers a soft side he didn't know he possessed. But can their love survive his thirst for revenge and his desire to reclaim power?

Warnings: violence, domestic abuse, non-explicit smut

Chapter warnings: mention of blood and injuries

Chapter word count: 5.1k

A/N: I started this fic all the way back in April, when we first got the news that Joe was cast as Caracalla in "Gladiator 2". I did a ton of research, read books and academic papers about Caracalla and his reign, the whole shebang. Then in July, we got the confirmation that Joe played Geta instead, but by then, I'd already written about 30k words and didn't want to throw it away. Since I never was going to follow the movie anyway (no spoilers here!), I thought, OK, if the great Ridley Scott wasn't going to be historically accurate, then neither am I! So I replaced "Caracalla" with "Geta", changed a few details, and here we are.

The biggest change I made is that Geta was the one that killed Caracalla, not the other way around (this is a historical fact so it's not a spoiler for the movie.) Their confrontation also followed history (which happened in the presence of their mother, Julia Domna.) The remainder of Geta's reign is based on the real reign of Caracalla - his various military campaigns, the war against Parthia, and his infamous assassination (attempted assassination, in this case) by Justus Martialis while peeing on the side of the road now all happen to Geta. Also, Caracalla is described as sometimes wearing a blonde wig, so my headcanon is that the ginger hair in the movie is a wig as well (sorry Joe, I know you were working that wig for all it's worth, but I can't take it seriously.)

Prologue

Once upon a time, two brothers founded the greatest empire in the world...

He and his brother had grown up with the tale of Romulus and Remus, as any child of Rome would. But unlike other children of Rome, he and his brother had also been told that they would one day inherit the empire that those two brothers had built.

Nobody told them the birth of that empire had come at the price of fratricide. Nobody told them that only one brother was destined to be emperor.

They knew anyway.

The only question was, after the blood had run dry, which one of them would be left standing?

He, for one, refused to wait for an answer. He would find his own. So when the Fates dealt him their blow, he fought back and reclaimed his destiny from them. And as he stood over his brother with the blade still dripping blood in his hand, as he looked at the shocked faces of the Praetorians, as he avoided his mother's horrified eyes, filled with the tears he didn't allow her to shed, he thought he'd done it. He'd had the answer.

"You all saw!" he shouted at them, daring them to contradict him. "You saw what he was going to do, how he was coming for me! I did what I had to do to protect myself!" No one said a word in response. Perhaps they thought, and rightly so, that it would be unwise to oppose a man holding a bloody sword. "He was a tyrant and a would-be murderer," he continued, indicating his brother. "There is to be no mourning of him." His mother flinched, her arms closing instinctively around her son's still-warm body, but she, too, said nothing. "I want his image removed from all paintings, coins melted down, statues destroyed, his name struck from records. Let it be known from this day forward that it is a capital offense to speak or write his name!"

His orders were carried out, of course. He was the Emperor now.

But in wiping all images of his brother off the face of the Earth, he also had to remake his own. They had been so intricately linked, so connected in the minds of the citizens of Rome, two sides of the same monstrous coin, that he had to become someone else to be seen as the true heir, as the sole emperor. Gone were the wig and the makeup. Gone were the flashy clothes and jewelry. He cropped his hair short, grew a beard, and dressed himself in the simple garb of a legionary. He went on campaign after campaign to expand the Empire. Caledonia, Germania, Alexandria, Parthia. He would become a soldier-emperor, like his father. He would become a conqueror, like Alexander the Great. He would build an empire, like Romulus. Because he, like Romulus, was the brother who survived.

Only he didn't expect the price of surviving would be so high.

Chapter 1

The smell of blood was in the air.

As he staggered over the rocky ground, he could smell it all around him, on him, in him, and there was no escaping it. The sharp metallic tang of it brought back unpleasant memories of battlefields, of death and screaming and decay. But this was no battlefield. It was quiet, far too quiet; there was none of the clashes of swords and armors, the panicked whinnying of horses, or the groans of dying men. The only sound was his own ragged breathing and the hammering of pulse in his ears. There were stabbing pains on his back and between his ribs, and it hurt every time he drew a breath. There was a pounding somewhere on the back of his head—he must have hit it when he fell down the slope, though he no longer remembered where that slope was. He no longer remembered anything except for a burning feeling of anger and hatred, almost stronger than the pains of his body, though at whom or what that anger was directed, he didn't know. And underneath it all was a threat of fear. He had never been afraid of anything. Yet now the cold breath of Phobos was on the back of his neck, driving him on, urging him to get away, as far away as he could.

His head felt heavy and light at the same time. More than once, he stumbled over a rock and went down on his hands and knees. That was when he realized he was clutching a dagger in his hand, a dagger sticky with blood—his own or someone else's, he no longer remembered either. He pushed himself up by the hilt of the dagger and continued on. His lungs burned, his skin was icy cold despite the warm spring sunshine, and his limbs were so numb he was afraid the dagger might slip from his fingers. He must not let that happen. That dagger was important somehow. And he walked on, over the rocks and the uneven ground and the thick undergrowth.

He came across a stream, its banks overflowing from the winter rain. He still had the presence of mind to tuck the dagger into his belt before plunging in. The water was much deeper than he'd expected. His feet went out from under him. The pains in his back and his ribs melted into one scorching spear that went through him from chest to shoulder blades, and he had no strength left to fight the current. A branch of driftwood floated past. He held on to it, by instinct rather than a conscious desire to live. Doing so hurt his chest, but the water cooled his pounding head and washed away some of the searing pain and the blood, so the smell no longer assaulted his nostrils. He let the stream carry him away.

So this is how it ends, he thought, feeling blood and life drain out of him. This little stream was to be his River Styx. Not for him the glorious death of the battlefield. Not for him the quiet, peaceful death after a lifetime of ruling and conquering. Not for him even the sudden, tragic death of a great man cut down in his prime. No, for him would be an ignominious death, befitting an ignominious life. Somehow he'd always known it. This was what the Fates had in store for him.

He never quite lost consciousness, though he didn't know how long he floated. At some point, the light shining through his eyelids lost its brightness, but he couldn't tell if it was because the sun was going down or he was dying.

Hands came down on his shoulders. It brought the pain back, and that was how he knew he was still alive. He'd stopped floating. Someone was hauling him up the bank of the stream, dragging him by the arms. So they'd found him, then. He was dropped unceremoniously over the rocky ground, where he lay motionless, waiting for the soft whisper of a sword being drawn from its sheath, for the final blow to end his misery, for eternal darkness to engulf him at last.

When it never came, he forced his eyes open.

For a moment, he thought he really was dead, and he was facing Charon—a dark shape loomed over him, with fire for eyes and a hairy, oddly-shaped head. The words of the Aeneid, learned from his youth, came to his mind unbidden.

A sordid god: down from his hairy chin;

A length of beard descends, uncombed, unclean;

His eyes, like hollow furnaces on fire;

A girdle, foul with grease, binds his obscene attire...

Now he knew he was dying. Since when did he start remembering poetry?

Something warm and moist brushed his face, a snort stirred his wet hair, and the illusion broke. It wasn't Charon that stood over him, but some sort of animal, perhaps a horse. The fiery eyes moved, and he realized they were a torch, held in the hand of a person—a real person, with a cowl covering the head, keeping the face in the shadow. Savior or executioner?

He twisted his head to avoid the animal's inquisitive nose. Even such a tiny movement hurt. A pair of small feet, clad in old leather sandals, stood beside him. A pair of slim ankles, brushed by the long hem of a dark gown. A woman's feet.

Gentle hands turned him over. He tried to focus. In the light of the torch, he found himself looking into a pair of green eyes, as green as the hills of Caledonia, as green as the forests of Germania, as green as the water of the Euphrates, eyes that soothed and calmed and took away his pains. 

And, as he looked into those eyes, Emperor Geta, the Imperator Caesar Publius Septimius Geta Augustus, uttered the one word he'd never thought he would say, in all twenty-eight years of his life: "Help."

Darkness took him then.

***

Daphne stared at the soldier lying on the bank of the stream by her feet. He was a soldier, that much she was certain of, despite his lack of armor. It was a good thing too, for he would've sunk to the bottom of the stream had he been wearing all those heavy metal plates. But what had happened to him? How did he come to be here, all bedraggled and bloody? Had there been a battle nearby that she didn't know about? Ever since the previous spring, when war with Parthia had broken out again, Daphne had seen her fair share of soldiers marching through the countryside. Her village was too small, tucked away as it was amongst the hills, to receive much attention from the army, but she'd heard complaints of people from bigger towns who had had their crops taken, their draft animals seized, and their lives disrupted by the war. Even her younger brother, Attikos, had been recruited by the army. He was now serving in a garrison somewhere in the north, and every day her family lived in fear that he would not come back. Daphne, whose own life had been disrupted by another war that took place nearly ten years ago and thousands of miles away, tried her best to ignore the battles that raged on just across the border, knowing there was nothing she could do about them.

But now, it seemed, the battles had found their way to her.

The soldier at her feet let out a groan, and her healer's nature took over. Putting the torch down, she slipped her hands under his arms and lifted him up. The soldier, though muscular, wasn't a big man, and Daphne was strong from all the climbing and walking she had to do every day, so with only some grunting and heaving, she managed to put him on the back of her donkey, Midas, who was hovering helpfully nearby. "Come, Midas," she said, and with the torch in one hand, she led the donkey back to their camp, in one of the many caves that dotted the bottom of the hills.

That spring, as soon as the pistachio trees began putting out their clusters of green blooms tipped with pink, Daphne had left her hut for her bi-annual journey to gather herbs and medicine, while hoping that nobody at the village would be so inconsiderate as to fall ill or go into labor while she was away. It was a journey she had been making with her grandmother since she was old enough to tell wild carrot from poisonous hemlock, and one she'd always looked forward to as a child. For days on end, the two of them would wander up and down the hills and valleys of the Balikh River, searching amongst the new growth that had sprung up after the winter rain, looking for leaves and flowers with healing powers. For Daphne, it had been like playing, running through the plants, gathering up armfuls of fragrant leaves and flowers, cooking on an open fire, sleeping under the stars or in a cave. It was the only playtime she ever had. In the autumn, they would come back for roots and seeds and dry branches, but she loved the spring trip the best.

Now, as a grown woman, Daphne still loved the journey, though she also understood why her grandmother had taken her along all those years ago. It wasn't because Daphne had been that much help, or because her grandmother had wanted to give Daphne a rest from helping her mother and taking care of her brothers. It was simply because the old woman wanted someone to talk to. Back at the village, there were always people coming and going, seeking help. Out here, with nothing but the sky above and the ground beneath her, Daphne sometimes felt as though she was the only person alive in the whole of creation. There was Midas, of course, but as sweet as he was, a donkey was not much company.

So it was with a strange sense of relief and gratitude that Daphne lowered the soldier onto the ground, stoked the fire higher, and cut open his tunic to look at his wounds. Yes, this was something odd and unsettling and perhaps dangerous as well, but at least she wouldn't have to be alone with her thoughts for the night. She would have company, even if he was unconscious, and more importantly, she would have something to occupy herself with.

The wounds—there were two, one on his back near the shoulder and one between his ribs, just below his chest—were deep but clean, clearly made by a blade. Whatever had happened to him, the soldier had certainly been favored by Fortuna. His cloak had softened the blow, and the blade had only gone through the fleshy part of his shoulder. At the front, the blade had also been deflected somehow and had slipped between his ribs instead of burying itself in his heart. There was no blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth, and his breathing was shallow but steady, meaning his lung had been spared. The soldier's trip down the stream had cleaned the wounds, leaving only a small trickle of blood.

Daphne opened her jar of vinegar, which she always brought along in case she found some plants that needed preserving, cut a strip of linen from the soldier's tunic, which was ruined anyway, dipped it in the vinegar, and carefully cleaned the wounds again. There was also a rather nasty bruise on the back of his head, but that would have to wait. Thank the gods she had her suturing needle and thread with her. She'd never gone on a long journey without them, not after the time she fell down a ravine and cut her foot. Had she been further away from home then, she would not have made it back. Yet another reason her grandmother had insisted on bringing along a helper.

The soldier's flesh trembled and twitched under the vinegar cloth. Daphne, bending over the wounds, didn't see him move. She only heard a hiss of steel and jumped back just in time to avoid the blade as it flashed in the firelight, right across her face. The soldier shot up, a dagger clutched in his hand, his eyes wide open, dark and enormous in the dimness of the cave. They were blank and unfocused, and she knew he saw nothing at all.

"Murderer!" he said in a hoarse whisper. "Traitor!"

Something hot and wet oozed down her cheek. Daphne clamped a hand to it and felt pain blaze across her cheekbone. The soldier's dagger had cut her. Had she been a fraction of a heartbeat slower, it would've taken out her nose or even her eye.

"You fool!" she shouted. Her grandmother would have something to say about the wisdom of arguing with a delirious man wielding a dagger, but Daphne had no time for wisdom at the moment. "You utter fool! I'm trying to save your life!" Blood was dripping down the side of her face, warm and sticky on her jaw.

The soldier wasn't listening. He was still ranting and raving about murderers and traitors, and something else in Latin, which Daphne couldn't understand. Then he tried to push himself to his feet, only to collapse in a heap by the fire. The dagger clattered out of his hand.

Daphne approached him cautiously, holding her injured cheek. He was motionless, though his chest was still moving up and down in weak, rapid breaths. Not wanting to take any risk, she picked up the dagger and tucked it into her pack, and, as extra precaution, bound the soldier's hands with some rope. Then, after wrapping some bandages around her cheek to stop the bleeding, she put more wood into the fire to stoke it higher, so its light filled the cave and reached even the furthest corner. Under that light, she sutured the soldier's wounds, using small, careful stitches just the way her grandmother had taught her. Once this was done, she went out again, torch in hand, passed the snoozing Midas by the mouth of the cave, and started searching the ground along the stream. She had seen some early-blooming goldenrods there—she never bothered to gather them, since they were abundant all around the hills of her village and in her own garden, but now she filled her mantle with the small yellow flowers.

The soldier was still unconscious by the time she came back. Good. She didn't want him awake and squirming and tearing the stitches. She crushed the goldenrod blooms and mixed them with vinegar into a bitter-smelling poultice, put it on his wounds and his bruise, and wrapped them in clean bandages. Some of the poultice she saved to put on her own wound as well, though the suturing would have to wait until the morning, when she could see her face more clearly.

With a sigh, Daphne sat back by the fire, trying not to wince as the vinegary poultice pressed into her cut. Her patient was lying peacefully enough, covered in her blanket, though he still writhed and grimaced from time to time.

She looked at him more closely, with curiosity. He was not a young man, though he was not yet old either, perhaps close to thirty. The same age as her husband, Galen, had he lived. But this man was no common foot soldier like her Galen had been. For all the ordinariness of his clothing, she could tell he was a patrician. It was there in the fine wool of his tunic, much finer than the coarse undyed linen of a soldier's, in the soft leather of his boots, in the gleaming buckles of his belt, in the carved ring on the little finger of his left hand. It was there in his face as well, in the high forehead framed by short dark curls, in the eyebrows that seemed locked in a permanent scowl above his fine-shaped nose, in the strong mouth and firm jaw covered by a neatly trimmed beard. Those noble features only heightened the riddle of the man, a riddle Daphne had no hope of solving any time soon.

Well, a good night's rest would bring clarity and wisdom in the morning, as her grandmother had always said. Leaving the mysterious soldier on the other side of the fire, Daphne wrapped herself in her mantle, lay down on the hard floor of the cave, and fell into a tired sleep, her cheek still smarting.

***

The fire had burned down to embers and the pale gray light of dawn was shining in from the mouth of the cave when Daphne was wakened by a shuffling sound. It was the soldier, who was pulling weakly at his bound wrists. His eyes were open, and though they were still dazed, some of the delirium in them had faded.

"What's the meaning of this?" he croaked. "Who are you? What have you done to me?!"

"Please, calm yourself," said Daphne, scrambling to her feet and holding up a hand. "I have to tie you up because you were tossing about. Calm yourself before you tear your wounds open. You're safe."

"Safe?" he repeated, almost to himself. "No... not safe... not safe..." The delirium was settling in again. She had to get a few things out of him before he lost consciousness or worse.

"What's your name?" she asked. "Which legion do you belong to? Is your camp close by?" He showed no sign of hearing her and only looked about the cave with wide, panic-stricken eyes. Daphne stepped closer and pulled her mantle down so he could see her face more clearly. "Is there anyone I can go to for help?"

His hand shot out and gripped her wrist so tightly it hurt. He fixed those enormous eyes on her. "No!" he shouted, though it came out little more than a rasping whisper. "Tell no one! Danger... must hide..." Then his eyes glazed over, and he dropped to the floor, fingers slowly loosening from her wrist.

Daphne made her way back to the other side of the dying fire and sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, rubbing her sore wrist. The soldier's fear was contagious. What had happened to him was no mere battle wounds, she could see that now. He had rambled about murderers and traitors... but was he the victim of murderers and traitors, or was he himself a murderer and traitor? Was he in danger, or was he the danger?

It was a two days' journey to the nearest town, Carrhae, and four days back to her village. The sensible thing to do was to bring him to Carrhae and leave him there for the authority to deal with. But with his injuries, he may not survive the trip. And even if they made it to Carrhae, a lone soldier, very possibly a deserter or even a turncoat, would not merit much attention. The magistrate there may leave him to die. Daphne wasn't sure she could live with that on her conscience. As she watched the unconscious soldier, she couldn't help thinking of her Galen, dead these eight years and buried somewhere in the cold, barbaric hills of Caledonia. What if something like this had happened to Galen as well? What if he'd been separated from his fellow soldiers and stumbled through a foreign land, lost and injured? And what if some woman had also happened upon him, but had decided to let him die because she thought he was too much trouble? What if this soldier had someone waiting for him?

With such thoughts circling around her head like a swarm of angry bees, there was no going back to sleep for her. As soon as the light turned from gray to white, Daphne went to the stream to fetch a pan of water, stopping briefly to check on Midas, who was contentedly cropping the grass around the mouth of the cave.

Her reflection in the stream made Daphne realize why the soldier had been so frightened upon seeing her. With dried blood down one side of her cheek, her eyes sunken from lack of sleep, and her hair all wild, she must have looked, to him, like one of the Furies. Returning to the cave, she tried to stitch the cut on her cheek as best she could, using the pan of water as a mirror. It was going to leave a scar for sure. Oh well. She had never been a great beauty anyway.

She then boiled the water to make some porridge for breakfast. As she ate, she dug around in her store of foraged plants and herbs and found some valerian, which she steeped into a tea to help the soldier sleep. He swallowed the tea easily enough, though Daphne knew what he really needed was some tincture of poppy, which was stored in a precious glass vial on the highest shelf back in her hut, four days away. But could she bring him back there? The villagers would not take kindly to a stranger.

Leaving the soldier in the cave, Daphne returned to the stream with Midas by her side. Mysteriously wounded men or not, she was determined to finish her trip. Throughout the morning, she worked hard on the bank, cutting down armfuls of young willow, as these large trees were of better quality than the scraggy bushes near her village. She took care not to stray too far from the cave and returned from time to time to check on the soldier, who remained unconscious. In the light of day, he was looking very pale. Whatever she was going to do with him, she had to decide quickly. Although his wounds were not fatal, he had lost a lot of blood, and if the wounds became poisoned, there was little she could do for him out here.

Daphne was busy stripping the leaves from the willow branches to get at the medicinal bark when Midas gave a warning bray. She turned around and saw two soldiers striding toward her from upstream. She quickly pulled the mantle over her head to conceal her face, while still keeping an eye on them. They were dressed much more elaborately than her patient, in chainmail and helmets, and carrying swords and shields emblazoned with a scorpion. Dressed for battle. What kind of battle could they expect here, in this lonely valley amongst these rocky hills of Osroene?

The soldiers had spotted her and were quickening their steps. She remained where she was, with her back to them, feigning oblivion.

"You there! Old woman!" shouted one of the soldiers in Greek. Old woman? They must have been fooled by her dark mantle and her hunched form. Part of Daphne was offended, but another part of her was glad. She didn't like to think what such beastly men would do to a lone woman in the wilderness. "On your feet! We have some questions for you!"

Daphne gripped her knife more tightly in her palm, concealing it between the folds of her chiton. With her other hand, she pulled herself up by holding on to a willow tree, making sure to keep her back stooped, trying to appear like an old, decrepit hag. 

"Have you seen a wounded man around here?" one of the soldiers asked. He was young, with a face like a rat. He took off his helmet to wipe at his forehead, revealing thin tuffs of pale blonde hair.

Daphne hesitated. These men could be her patient's fellow legionaries, and she could simply hand him over to them and not have to worry about him any longer. However, she was now seeing them more clearly, and the brutal, fierce look on their faces made her knees tremble. She could be handing her patient to his executioners.

"Wounded?" she said in a low rasp. "Why would there be any wounded men around here? Was there a battle? Have the Parthians invaded us?"

"Calm down, you silly old hag," the other soldier said. He was older and darker. A scar ran from his left eye down his cheek, making him look even more vicious. "There was no battle," he continued. "Our fellow soldier simply—had an accident while marching, and we lost track of him. We're trying to find him before he gets seriously hurt. If you've seen him, tell us, and the army will reward you handsomely."

A likely story. Those wounds were no accident. Daphne shook her head. "No," she said. "No, I haven't seen a soul."

The two soldiers glanced at each other in exasperation and something else, too. Fear? Worry?

"He can't have gone this far," the blonde soldier said. "If Martialis had managed to wound him before he was killed—"

"Quiet, you idiot!" the dark one hissed. He pulled his partner away from Daphne's earshot, but some of his angry words floated back to her. "This is your fault! If you'd gone with Martialis to make sure the deed was done, none of this would've happened! Now we're trampling all over this Gods-forsaken land, searching for a needle in a haystack..."

So Martialis—whoever he was, or had been, by the sound of it—must have been the one who attacked her patient. And then her patient had killed Martialis and escaped? Daphne wasn't quite sure what the soldiers' conversation meant, but she was sure that there was some conspiracy here, and those men were in on it.

Her heart stopped. The two soldiers had noticed the cave and were making their way toward it. If they found her patient, they would know she'd lied...

"I wouldn't go poking around in there if I were you, young masters," she called out. The soldiers paused near the mouth of the cave and turned back to frown at her. She bent down a little, so that her cowl fell over her face. "These hills are teeming with scorpions and venomous snakes, and they like nothing more than a cool, dark place like that to hide from the sun," she continued. "They would not take kindly to being wakened from their nap."

The soldiers drew back, peering into the dark of the cave warily as if they could see these snakes and scorpions lurking there.

"I told you, he can't have gone far," the blonde, rat-faced soldier repeated to his partner. "We would've seen him by now. Unless he'd fallen into the stream. And if he had, he's done for anyway."

The dark-haired soldier lifted his heavy mail away from his neck and looked at the sun, which was getting higher in the sky and burning hotter. "Yes, I don't think anyone can survive such wounds out here," he said. "Let's go."

They went back the way they came and eventually disappeared behind the rocky hills. Daphne let out a breath of relief. Carrying her bundles of willow bark, she returned to the cave, where her patient was still lying by the remnants of the fire, breathing his shallow breaths and wincing in his sleep. Daphne sighed. It looked like she was going to have to cut her trip short this year.

"Don't make me regret this," she said, though he couldn't hear her.

Chapter 2

A note on the setting: I know that based on the location of the story (Osroene, now southeastern Turkey), the people were more likely to be Mesopotamian than Greek, but I don't know much about Mesopotamian culture and the research overwhelmed me a bit, so I went with Greek for simplicity's sake. A later chapter does include an explanation as to why there is a Greek community in the middle of Mesopotamia (I doubt anyone would care, but I'm a stickler for historical accuracy, even in an alternate history fic.)

Taglist: @sheneedsrocknroll92 (as usual, if you want to be tagged, let me know!)

[blueiscoool]

Roman Emperor Caligula's 2,000-Year-Old Garden Unearthed Near the Vatican

The gardens overlooking the Tiber river in Italy once belonged to an infamous Roman emperor.

Construction workers in Italy have discovered a 2,000-year-old garden that once belonged to a Roman emperor.

The travertine walls of the garden overlook the banks of the Tiber, a river that cuts through Rome and sits east of Vatican City. The ruins were unearthed as workers constructed a new overpass at Piazza Pia, according to a translated statement from the Italian Ministry of Culture.

As archaeologists removed debris, they found a lead water pipe with the following inscription: "C(ai) Cæsaris Aug(usti) Germanici." Researchers determined that the engraving referred to Gaius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, better known as Caligula (aka "little boot," a childhood nickname given to him by his father's soldiers).

Based on the inscription, researchers think the garden likely belonged to the infamous Roman emperor. Not only was Caligula known for being a tyrannical and ruthless leader, he was also a sadist who humiliated his senate. Caligula assumed the throne in A.D. 37, and in A.D. 41 the Praetorian Guard — the officials who were supposed to protect him — assassinated the emperor.

This conclusion is supported by a passage in the ancient text "On the Embassy to Gaius," penned by Egyptian philosopher Philo of Alexandria. It describes how Caligula had met with a representative of Jews living in Alexandria, Egypt, at a large garden along the Tiber, according to the statement.

At that time, Jewish Alexandrians and the Greek-Alexandrian population were in a "crisis that had manifested itself with violence, brawls and episodes of religious intolerance." However, Caligula rejected the Jews' requests for religious autonomy, instead siding with the Greeks.

Alessio De Cristofaro, an archaeologist at the Special Superintendency for Archaeology, Fine Art and Landscape, a government agency in Rome, said the find is significant because Piazza Pia is in the same area as the "Horti Agrippinae," the garden of Agrippina the Elder, who was Caligula's mother.

The pipe is also similar to another one, found in the early 1900s, that's inscribed with the name Iulia (Julia) Augusta, the second wife of Augustus and the grandmother of Germanicus. Researchers speculate that the property was inherited by Germanicus and later passed down to his wife, Agrippina the Elder, before going to Caligula.

In addition to the pipe, archaeologists found slabs of Roman-era pottery and terra-cotta figures of mythological scenes that would have decorated rooftops.

By Jennifer Nalewicki.

[myownwholewildworld]

hi! another wip wednesday, woohoo! thank you so much to @almostfoxglove and @pedgito for the tags! 💖 so i come bearing goods... this is my new brain rot baby for freya's angst challenge, which i've titled the road to rome. i am pretty deep down the rabbit hole rn doing my research on roman history (albeit with some historical licenses). hope you like this lil snippet, i'm so excited! <3

*

“We’ll use her as leverage,” his friend thought out loud.

Dread sank to the bottom of his stomach. Caesar could be… awfully creative sometimes.

His thirst for power, for notoriety, was very well known among the political sphere that surrounded Rome. Caesar had amassed gold and immense power over the last six years on Gaulish land. Julius had told Marcus in the past that this seemed to worry his allies in the First Triumvirate. With Crassus’ death last year, it was only Caesar and Pompeius Magnus who kept the political alliance intact.

But Marcus knew Julius wanted more — he’d heard his friend spoke of future plans that could hinder the Roman Republic. Those talks strayed far from what Marcus thought Caesar stood for, but they were more recurrent now, bordering on coup ideology.

Where Marcus would stand when, or if, that time came… He wasn’t so sure. He’d supported Caesar in so many of his quests and conquests, it would feel like a betrayal to the only man who believed in him.

Perhaps it’ll never come to that, he always reminded himself.

“Leverage? How so?” Marcus forced his voice to sound flat, uninspired, when, in reality, an uncomfortable feeling settled in his tummy.

“Glad you asked, Acacius,” Caesar’s smirk only reinforced his fear. “Since Crassus’ death last year, I fear my alliance with Pompeius Magnus might suffer. Although I trust my sister Julia will keep him bound and loyal, I need to ensure more allies and reinforce the ones I already have,” his friend explained, sitting up on the chaise lounge. “You are to bring the hostage to Rome. We’ll marry her off to General Marcus Antonius’ brother, Gaius.”

Dread mutated within him, rage taking over.

If there ever was a man to walk this earth whom Marcus despised, that was Gaius Antonius. One year younger than his notorious brother, the man was as despicable as one could get. A drunk philanderer, Gaius could always be found in one of two places: in a private house drinking himself to death and gambling, or in a brothel satiating his lust. The man’s manners were lacking, his ill fame well-deserved. Always so confrontational, looking for a fight to entertain himself.

Everything Marcus hated culminating in one singular person. The times they had run into each other, Gaius had always been so condescending that Marcus had to rein in the need to gut him right there and then. Antonius’ younger brother had mocked him for his humble origins, telling Marcus it didn’t matter how hard he tried, he’d always be a farmer.

So delivering a woman—any woman—to that shitbag of a man… it didn’t sit well with him at all. It would be a life sentence for you — because if you didn’t die at Gaius’ hands, you might as well wish for a quick death.

And what was worst, Caesar knew all of this, but still asked anyway.

A true friend wouldn’t, Marcus ruminated but drowned such treacherous thought.

“That would take weeks, General. With all due respect, I’ve got other responsibilities that—” Marcus started his plea, hoping to be released from such a mission.

“You’re the only man I trust, Acacius. I wouldn’t ask otherwise,” Caesar cut him off, standing up in front of him. One of his friend’s hands landed on his shoulder, gently squeezing. “I confide this assignment to you because I know you’ll get it done. Your word, Acacius?”

Marcus was between a rock and a hard place. Fear gripped him tight, his throat running dry with unspent poison pooling on his tongue.

He didn’t want to do it. But there was no way out.

“My word, Caesar,” he husked, slightly bowing his head down.

The agreement that would seal his fate.

*

npt (sorry if you've already done it and i've missed yours!): @joelmillerisapunk @baronessvonglitter @iknowisoundcrazy @inept-the-magnificent @slimybeth69 @gothcsz @yxtkiwiyxt

[ancientcharm]

The last Princeps of Rome

Marcus Aurelius Alexander Severus was born in Arca Caesarea, Syria (present-day Akkar district, Lebanon) on 1 October 208. Unlike all assassinated emperors before him, the Senate mourned the assassination of this young Princeps for decades.

He was proclaimed emperor at the age of thirteen on 13 March 222, two days after the death of his predecessor Elagabalus. The historian Dio Cassius, who served as consul, describes Alexander Severus' character as calm and peaceful. He was characterized above all by his religious tolerance; He believed that "everyone is free to freely profess his beliefs." He had an extraordinarily kind attitude towards Christians and Jews.

During his early years, the government was really left in the hands of his grandmother Julia Maesa and his mother Julia Avita Mamaea who dedicated themselves to cleaning up the financial mess left by Elagabalus. His grandmother died in August 224. In 226 He married Sallustia Barbia Orbiana, with whom he had no children and two years later she was banished by order of Julia Mamaea.

Although his mother always held great power in many aspects, as the young emperor grew up he began to make his own decisions.

He faced the Sassanians who began to establish their new empire replacing the Parthians. In 230 they attacked the province of Mesopotamia. Alexander gathered an army to begin his military campaign in 231. In 233 Ardacher, king of the Sassanians, withdrew from the newly conquered provinces. Severus Alexander considered this a victory and had a triumph.

A year later, the Germans began to attack the northern borders of the empire. Alexander headed there with his troops and to gain time he sent gifts to the leaders of the enemy peoples. The soldiers took advantage of this to accuse him of a "cowardly" act. In fact the whole army hated him for not continuing with the policy initiated by the first of the Severan Dynasty (Septimius): paying exorbitant salaries to the army. Septimius Severus since the year 193 did this in his day to ensure the loyalty of the troops, as did his son 'Caracalla'. This made the army fill with an excessive ambition and began to see the position of emperor as something that could be taken by force. The young Alexander understood the danger and drastically lowered the salaries of the army: but it was too late.

On 18 March 235 the 26-year-old Emperor Alexander Severus was assassinated by his own soldiers in a camp near Moguntiacum (modern Mainz, Germany). They then killed his mother, and proclaimed Maximinus Thrax as the new emperor. Three years later, Maximinus was also assassinated, and the Senate was able to deify Alexander, something Maximinus had not allowed. Decades after Roman historians still believed that the assassination of Alexander Severus was a great misfortune for Rome, and they were right.

His death meant the end of the Principate created by Augustus in 27 BC, and the government of Maximinus Thrax was the beginning of 50 years of anarchy with 26 emperors along with countless aspirants to the throne; Except for one, all of them died violently. It is the era known as "The crisis of the third century" characterized by constant internal struggles that lasted until the arrival of Diocletian to power, who saved Rome from its total collapse- 200 years before the fall of the western empire- by creating the Dominate.

Head from a bronze statue of the Roman emperor Alexander Severus (222-235 AD), from Ryakia, Archaeological Museum, Dion

Photography by Carole Raddato (CC BY-SA 2.0)

[fideozepam]

The Price of Obedience, prologue

With the passing of Emperor Septimius Severus, the Roman Empire is delivered into the hands of his warring sons, Caracalla and Geta, under the vigilant eye of their mother, Julia Domna. In this maelstrom of tension in the imperial court, motions concerning the strengthening of empire power go hand in hand with what fate has ordained for Lusitania in the person of Camilla Marcellus, a young noblewoman chosen to tie her fate to one of the new rulers—an act that will change her life forever.

February 211.

The Emperor was dead.

Days that followed held breath to Rome, laden with whispers of power, treachery, and desires. Septimius Severus, once the flesh out of which an iron will held the vale empire together, gave into mortality on the cold battlefields of Britannia. To the heart of the empire returned his widow, Julia Domna, along with their sons, Caracalla and Geta, their every step heavy with legacy.

The city waited avidly for the next. There now sat on the same throne two unwilling heirs poised to struggle no further. There was tension in every marble corridor, even in every soft spoken conversation. Julia was sharp-eyed and calculating; she knew the balance was not destined to last.

It was on these stormy days that a quiet, yet monumental decision was reached: One of the brothers would take a wife to solidify the dynasty and project an image of unity.

Camilla Marcellus was far from the power struggles of Rome, in those sun-baked hills of Lusitania, and had no inkling that a decision had just been made that would sever the very foundation of her being.

[lady-selenee]

Morrigan vs Julia the Elder

So, I'm currently re-reading Acotar (didn't manage to finish the first book yet) and I'm also reading the Daughters of the Palatine Hill. And I've been thinking about Julia the Elder and noticing some similarities between her and Morrigan.

For the record, I do not like Morrigan. This is just me pointing out some similarities between them.

For those who don't know Julia the Elder is the daughter (and only biological child) of Augustus, the first Roman Emperor.

Childhood

So, we all know who Mor is. Keir's daughter, Rhysand's cousin. We know her, I don't think I need to explain on this as much of her childhood isn't even mentioned (from what I remember).

As I've said, Julia is the only biological child of Augustus. She is the daughter of his second wife, Scribonia. We can say that her life was unfortunate from the moment she was born. Why? Because, on the very day she was born, Augustus divorced her mother (most likely not because Scribonia had given birth to a daughter but because he wanted to marry Livia Drusilla, who helped him more in his political career, even though she was also married at that time and pregnant). As Roman law dictated, Julia was raised by her father, meaning in Livia's household. Now, Livia was a rather conservative woman (and extremely smart), and, despite literally being the most powerful family in Rome, the members of Augustus' family did not live lavishly.

Engagement / Marriage(s)

So, we all know Mor was supposed to marry Eris. However, to prevent that from happening, she slept with Cassian and managed to get out of the engagement. Of course, this generated a backlash from Hewn City, as Mor was seen as having sullied herself with an Illyrian bastard. Still, she managed to end the engagement. In the end, she was free.

Julia, though? Julia was not that lucky.

Again, she was the only child of the man who was Rome's Emperor in all but title (Augustus held the title of First Citizen because declaring himself Emperor would have given him the same fate as Julius Caeser). So, of course, Julia's future husband would be Augustus' heir.

And who was this future husband? None other than Marcellus, her own cousin (not even a distant cousin, his mother was Augustus' sister). Julia and Marcellus married but had not children. Eventually, just two years later, he died of a sickness (some theories claim that Livia, Julia's stepmother, killed him in an attempt to make the heir one of her own sons (with her first husband, not Augustus), but there is no evidence). Another few years passed, and the problem remained. Who would be Augustus' heir?

This time, Augustus, who had wanted Marcellus to be his heir (even prepared him for that role) when it became clear that he would have no son with Livia, made a very different choice. He chose Marcus Agrippa, one of his closest advisors, his most trusted general, and his best friend from boyhood. Meaning Julia married a man her father's age.

Not much is known about their marriage. Agrippa was often away, and this is when Julia started numerous affairs. It is recorded that, when asked how was it possible for all her children to look so much like Agrippa (meaning that she had no bastards), Julia said: “I take on a passenger only when the ship’s hold is full.”

It is believed that, despite her numerous affairs, she and Agrippa got along well enough, as they often travelled together. There was also an incident when Julia almost drowned in Ilium, and Agrippa heavily fined the citizens (although he withdrew the fine eventually). So, we can say they did not hate each other. And they did have five kids.

Agrippa did eventually die, falling ill, and Julia became once again a widow. After Marcellus' death, Agrippa had been the expected heir, but now he was also dead. And Julia's sons were too young, while Augustus' health was fragile. So, Augustus needed a new heir.

And this was Tiberius, his stepson (Livia's son), whom he adopted. So, Julia married her adopted/ stepbrother. Do you want to know another messed up thing about this? Tiberius had been forced to divorce his wife to marry Julia, and who was his wife? Agrippa's daughter (You haven't forgotten Agrippa yet, yes?), Vipsania Agrippina, Julia's stepdaughter. As you can imagine, this marriage was anything but happy.

Morrigan's Escape / Julia's Exile

We know that Morrigan leaves Hewn City to live in Velaris with Rhysand and the inner circle. In a way, we can say that things worked out for her in the end.

However, things did not work out for Julia.

Tiberius and Julia were deeply unhappy. It's also believed (it's more of a theory, really) that Julia's lifeline was Agrippa, meaning that he kept her from doing a lot of things which would cause her falling out of her father's graces. Now, Julia started even more affairs and possibly held a party in the Forum that wasn't your typical Roman party (more of an orgy, some think). Eventually, Augustus found out. And, when this accusation was joined by one saying that Julia was plotting against him, Augustus exiled Julia on an island, and her mother (Scribonia) accompanied her voluntarily. After a few years, he allowed Julia to return to the mainland to live in a villa, although men and wine were completely forbidden.

Julia's death

Augustus eventually died, and Tiberius came into power. At the same time, Julia's youngest son with Agrippa, Agrippa Postumus was killed. It is believed that this was Tiberius' doing, as he eliminated his only true rival. Unfortunately, after her father's life, Julia's fate took an even darker turn. You see, Augustus allowed her a certain amount of money, most likely for food, clothes and the like. Tiberius, however, did not. During the same year her youngest son died, Julia also passed away, possibly starving to death.

A moment for the irony, please. The daughter of the most powerful man in Rome died of starvation. Poor Julia. She deserved so much better.

I don't want to hear: she cheated on her husbands, she deserved it. She was raised in a very restrictive house (Augustus kept people away from her) and was married three times: first to her own cousin, then to a man her father's age, and then to her stepbrother.

Their relationship with their fathers

We know Mor's relationship with Kier. It's not good. Not even cordial. Can't blame her, though (not on this). We can clearly assume that Keir is a terrible father from what we see of his relationship with Morrigan.

It's clear that Julia and Augustus' relationship was very complex. Once, he declared: “There are two wayward daughters that I have to put up with: the Roman commonwealth and Julia.”

I think that (and remember this is my opinion, not a fact) Augustus did love Julia. However, he did not have much time for her. For example, he should have been the one to give her away at her wedding with Marcellus but couldn't do so, as he was away fighting in Spain (he asked Agrippa to oversee wedding preparations and to give Julia away, (yes, the same Agrippa she eventually married)). I also think that Augustus had a hard time deciding what exactly to do with Julia. Clearly, her affairs weren't very secret. At that time, Augustus was trying to pass some new marriage laws, making adultery punishable and divorce harder (probably one of the reasons he himself didn't divorce Livia, plus her political influence and, perhaps, even his love for her). It did not reflect well on him if his daughter was going around, cheating on her husbands. There was also the fact that Julia might have plotted against her father (one of her lovers was Iullus Antonius, Mark Anthony's son, whose father was perhaps Augustus' greatest enemy). From all we know, exile could have been the only solution Augustus found as to not be forced to execute his own daughter.

Conclusion

I do not know if Sjm inspired Morrigan from Julia. I've never seen people saying anything like this, mostly because Julia isn't very known. Women of her time (especially Livia herself (her stepmother)) are overshadowed by Cleopatra's existence (even Cleopatra Selene, who was raised by Julia's aunt after Augustus conquered Egypt).

As we can see, there are definitely some parallels here, although they may have not been intention. However, I think we can say that Morrigan can be considered (in my opinion, at least) a luckier Julia.

Yes, I did all of this because I love all the Julio-Claudian women (especially Julia and Livia, they're my faves). And they're all so underrated. They deserve more recognition, and I want to tell people so much about them that I made this post.

(This image of Julia is from the TV show Domina, where she is played by Liah O'Prey)

[sunnymusingsao3]

coal to diamond, sold to fools

Words: 2,042 Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence Relationships: Caligula & Octavian Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, The graphic violence is flashbacks to the onager scene, Octavian Lives (Percy Jackson), Octavian-centric (Percy Jackson), The opportunity to use Octavian in Trials of Apollo was so good and so squandered Summary: This is a Trials of Apollo AU where Octavian lives after the siege on Camp Halfblood. Disgraced and ashamed, he goes on the run, but his powers of prophecy continue to fail him while Apollo is AWOL. So, he begins to search for the god. Instead of finding him, however, Octavian finds the Triumverate. His reputation proceeds him, so he is held captive at first for his augury. As it turns out, they have no use for an augur who can't see the future, so Caligula puts Octavian to work: as his cupbearer. This is a scene set before Burning Maze, as Octavian struggles to reconcile with the fact that Caligula is simply better at playing his own game than he is.

Preview:

Caligula presents a contradictory sight, laid out languidly on a striped lounge chair in his captain’s hat and sailor’s garb, all while carrying with him the presence of a hunting great white. He should be relaxed, but Octavian’s swum with enough sharks to know that he already smells blood in the water, and his muscles are coiled and primed to strike. For a moment, Octavian’s knees feel wobbly.

The seas are smoother than usual that afternoon, as the sun blazes amber overhead, lightening a seemingly endless lazuline sky. The nearest clouds are so far away, they almost appear to be dangling inches from the horizon, as if they could drive the Julia Drusilla right through them if they chased them down. It’s picture-perfect, and that sits lopsided in Octavian’s chest as Caligula interrupts his thoughts.

“You used to be one of those Camp Jupiter disciples, as I understand it?” It’s a trick question: there is nothing Caligula doesn’t know about him.

Octavian sets down the Southside Fizz he’d ordered at the bar for him, centering it on Caligula’s coaster with only one tremble. And he answers the emperor-god’s question because he is too far beneath him to get away with not responding, no matter how obvious the answer is. “I was, lord.”

Caligula lifts his chin like Octavian has stroked his cropped, platinum hair. Octavian hates that they share that color. “I never liked any of you brats. It’s a miracle you’re so well-behaved.”

Gag him. The sea salt in the air smells bitter. “It was a rare few of us who learnt manners, princeps.”

Everything about Caligula’s smile is oily, from the crooked dimples at the ends, to his immaculately symmetrical cupid’s bow, to the stark thinness of his lips, stretched over too-white teeth. “Oh, I’ve noticed. Tell me, pincerna”— Remarkably, Caligula doesn’t seem to apply any effort in making the name of Octavian’s new career sound like how one would describe scum on the side of the yacht— “They taught you to wield a pilum, did they not?”

“It would be terribly against tradition if they didn’t.” Octavian replies dutifully, doing his best to imply a sense of deep respect for Caligula’s Rome– the one that the god-king seems to feel Camp Jupiter fails to emulate.

“Pick mine up.” 

[Read the rest on AO3]

[lysistratawrites]

ad astra per aspera - chapter 2

Dulce et decorum est pro cor cupiditatis mori.

Pairings: Ofc! Princess x Lucius Verus, Ofc! Princess x Marcus Acacius.

A/n: Julia seems to know well how to enjoy the time bro Caracalla is out. Haven’t seen the movie yet, but I prefer Lucius to not stick to the so famous “arma virumque cano” 😌

Warnings: smut, blood, mentions of slavery, mentions of prostitution, mentions of abuse.

Rating: Explicit (+18)

Tagging list: @novaursa @maegelletargaryen @mmkkzz

They have to be quick and act before the arrival of their eldest brother—he will have enough time to throw a tantrum and even display his anger at them both if it is his wish. Repalandecent and magnificent, they enter the box covered by the dais and this time Julia takes the seat originally belonging to Caracalla, throwing a side glance at Geta as any possible comment is masked by the people of Rome gathered there to witness the first day of munera, carefully scheduled to match with General Acacius’s celebration for his triumph.

“Princess” greets Marcus when he approaches her, taking her hand between his with care and leaving a soft kiss on the back, his brown eyes always upon hers. “Or maybe I should call you ‘Augusta’.”

She smiles, polite, observing the face of Rome, his dark locks carefully kept in place, grey hairs here and there giving him even a better look to her taste, more of a seasoned commander and experienced strategist.

Somehow, she has always liked that man.

“This may be my only chance to not lay under the shadow of nobody, legatus.”

“Then I must encourage you to enjoy it.”

She nods as her brother stands up, arms stretched as if he wants to reach all the corners of the amphitheatre, and starts with the usual speech for the opening of the season. With her back straight, she observes all her eyes can reach, and for a mere moment she gives herself the chance to imagine herself there usually, of people addressing her as ‘Augusta’ and not ‘princess’, of being the matron Rome needs and not the daughter she was assigned to be.

It had taken her quite a lot of work to convince Geta to contribute to the ludus with gold from the imperial treasury, pushing him to believe the great victors of before were celebrated by Rome, making herself put Marcus Acacius in the same sack as Scipio Africanus, Julius Caesar or even Marcus Aurelius.

What a fool.

She knows she has to enjoy the time without her brother present to work hard, with Aeneas and her dear Hala going here and there with messages and donatives to different personalities of the city, the pain from the last encounter with her eldest brother still lingering upon her body, making it an obligation to take revenge against him.

Once the duels with the beasts have taken place, with her answering vaguely the comments that flow from Geta’s lips as he gives up to his thirst for blood and looks like a part of him truly enjoys the show, her eyes are upon the gladiators, observing them with curiosity, and perhaps a hint of admiration.

“Are these new, Macrinus?” Julia finds herself saying, feeling Acacius’s sharp gaze upon her as if trying to decipher her thoughts from afar. The bustling arena around them fades into a dull roar as she waits for her question to be answered.

“Yes, princess. Prisoners from General Acacius’s last campaign.”

“Numidians.”

“Exactly. Strong and fierce, they make excellent contenders in the arena. It is believed that their spirit and resilience add to the spectacle,” Macrinus replies, his voice carrying a note of pride, as if the ferocity of these prisoners was a personal achievement.

The princess’s eyes sweep across the sand-strewn arena, and she can swear the man in chains from the general’s triumph is among them, stern face as he observes her again, his gaze unwavering, almost challenging. The memory of their brief encounter outside the gates of the palace flickers in her mind—the intensity in his eyes, the quiet strength that seemed to radiate from him even then, bound as he was. It was a moment that had left an indelible mark on her consciousness, a spark that refused to be extinguished despite the layers of royal duties and decorum that demanded her attention afterward.

“Maybe you can claim one for yourself later, dear sister” murmurs her brother, a sharp gaze upon her as he realizes her distraction. His words, meant in jest, carry an undercurrent of truth that resonates within her. She quickly masks her fleeting emotions, almost forcing a cackle, her cheeks fighing their best to not blush.

“We can share if you wish, Augustus.”

Brother and sister exchange a look, long enough to show the rest of the people gathered with them that she still is the pliant sister, the one to comply to her brothers’s wishes, the one to bend but not break under the weight of tradition and expectation. Yet, there is a glint in her eye, a silent promise of rebellion, a hint that she is not as compliant as she appears.

The mumbling behind her fades as the gladiators fight, blood and sand mixing in a ballet of violence and spectacle. The crowd roars, a beast made of a thousands of throats, hungry for the spectacle, the carnage. But her thoughts are elsewhere, her eyes upon the man whose gaze had burned inside her soul. He fights now, his movements a dance of desperation and skill, each strike a testament to his will to survive, to prevail. She watches, heart pounding, as he navigates the chaos, a warrior poet amidst the brutality of the arena. His blade glints under the merciless sun, a flash of silver in a sea of red. With every opponent he strikes, her admiration grows, intertwining with a fear she refuses to acknowledge.

“That man should be leading armies, not risking his life for the amusement of the masses,” she muses quietly, her voice lost in the cacophony of cheers that erupts around her. The intensity in his gaze does not falter, as if he hears her thoughts amidst the noise.

“And I thought you did not like the munera, sister” Geta groans, amused. His enthusiasm for the games had always been more pronounced than Julia’s, who finds the violence distasteful, yet intriguing in a manner she couldn’t quite explain. It is the strategy, the skill, the sheer human will to survive that captivates her, not the bloodshed.

They both approach the edge of the arena, their eyes drawn to the spectacle below. The gladiators move with a grace that belies their deadly intent, each maneuver a dance of death and survival intertwined. Julia watches, fascinated as the man with the defiant gaze beats every man who comes before him, his movements almost poetic in their brutality. There is an elegance to his violence, a beauty in the way he anticipates and counters his opponents. The crowd roars with every fall he executes, their cheers fueling the fervor with which he fights.

Only with the deaf thump of the last body on the bloodied arena, the gladiator turns to the box and raises his sword to it, like a sort of offering to those who had gathered to witness his might. Julia feels a chill run down her spine, her heart caught in the thrall of the moment. The intensity in his eyes, even from this distance, seems to pierce through the crowd, connecting with hers in an unspoken acknowledgment of his victory.

“You must be proud, Macrinus. The ludus will receive much renown from this victory. Your gladiator has proven himself exceptional,” the magistrate by her side comments, breaking the spell of the moment.

Julia nods in silence, her eyes on the man who now stands as the epitome of victory in the arena.

“That is no Numidian” she mumbles, feeling the presence of Lucilla near her, the matron’s hand upon her lower back, a gesture of support and solidarity among the women of their stature.

Numidians were praised five centuries ago, when they took part of the Carthaginian army who dared to defy the power of Rome. After that they fell into oblivion, more a people prone to take care of their crops and fish their meals rather than learn to swing a sword with such dexterity.

“Where are you from, gladiator?” Geta’s voice booms across the arena, breaking the momentary silence that had fallen over the crowd. The gladiator, standing tall and proud in the center of the sand-covered arena, turns to face Geta, his expression unreadable. The sun glints off his armor, a testament to his battles fought and won, yet his eyes hold a depth of sorrow that belies his formidable appearance.

“Obstipuit primo aspectu Sidonia Dido, //

casu deinde viri tanto, et sic ore locuta est: //

“Quis te, nate dea, per tanta pericula casus //

insequitur? Quae vis immanibus applicat oris?”

The gladiator’s voice is rough but clear, echoing off the stone walls that encircle the arena. The spectators, a motley assembly of citizens and nobles alike, fall into a hushed silence as they strain to hear the words exchanged in the center of the arena. A sigh escapes Julia’s lips as she recognizes the verses, his bright eyes not losing her face among the people gathered in the box.

“We have a poet fighting among gladiators, such a novelty!”

With a gesture of her hand Julia shushes Geta, letting the words of the gladiator wash over her, a poignant contrast to the violence that is expected to ensue. The man, armored only in the scars of past battles and a simple leather tunic is forced to leave the arena, his departure is marked by a hushed reverence, a collective breath held by those who had come expecting bloodshed.

“Princess” Senator Gracchus greets her by the entrance of the tunnel to leave the amphitheater once the munera has finished, his expression one of cautious respect mixed with a hint of curiosity. The man had shared a part of his political career with her father when they were young, serving under Marcus Aurelius “Such a way to start the season.”

“Nobody could have expected to have a gladiator quoting Virgil, that much is true.”

Around them an escort with Praetorian guards encircles them discreetly, offering them a sort of privacy. Julia’s eyes go to the senator’s, her mind still replaying the spectacle they just had witnessed.

“That man is hiding something.”

“I am afraid I don’t follow you, princess.”

She takes a deep breath, her fists clenching at her sides as she tries to set her own thoughts in order.

“No uneducated slave knows about Virgil.”

“Well, let us say that man is Roman, so what?”

“Senator, please indulge me and go to the markets yourself and ask how many commoners can recite the Aeneid out of thin air.” Gracchus throws a glance at her, big eyes hiding behind a veil of skepticism. The princess's insinuation bears a gravity he hadn’t anticipated, and Julia knows it. “Exactly.”

Roman nobility had always enjoyed a good fight between skilled gladiators, but it would be a stupidity to search for glory in a place like the amphitheater, close to death every moment there, seen like less than a commoner by the rest of the people, not allowed to even have a proper rest after the arrival of goddess Nemesis.

Or that man is the biggest fool on the Empire or he has something important to hide.

…

“Domina.”

She turns to observe her companion as she closes the door of the room, careful.

“Did you gave her the parchment?”

“Yes, Domina.”

“Good.”

If there is somebody she can fully trust it is her sweet Hala, her confidante since childhood, the only one who has been by her side constantly, almost since the beginning, since Caracalla had started to hit her out of nowhere. The servant smiles at her, softly, when she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a familiar gesture brimming with affection.

“What would I do without you, my dearest?” Julia mumbles, closing her eyes when Hala takes her wrist and gently kisses its inner part, raising goosebumps on her skin.

“I can soothe your troubles, Domina.” Hala’s voice is sweet, grounding, her lips fluttering against the soft skin of Julia’s arm.

“Hala” her voice catches in her throat, the whisper a plea caught between desire and hesitation.

“Just let me do.”

Julia is about to give up and surrender to the proposition when somebody knocks at the door, disrupting the moment between them. Any hint of desire gets trapped as she opens the door, one of the soldiers of the imperial guard standing still at the other side, his eyes on the front, as wanting to avoid her gaze, possibly thinking that she could have a nature as volatile as her brothers.

“You gave order to tell you when the meals had finished.”

“Is the emperor busy?”

“Yes, princess. The scorti are keeping the emperor and the rest of the guests entertained.” The guard’s voice is cautious, aware of the delicate nature of the news.

“Thank you. You are dismissed.”

She closes the door as the soldier leaves after standing to guard, and she has to take deep breaths to keep herself composed. It is the perfect time to take advantage and play her own cards. In order to gather any courage and take her interrupted arousal a bit farther, she cups Hala’s face and brushes her thumb gently across her cheek, only to kiss her afterwards, almost devouring her, as if trying to reclaim the moment lost. Hala responds with equal fervor, her hands threading through Julia's hair, pulling her closer.

Only when their lips part she takes a deep breath and with a reassuring nod from her companion she leaves her quarters, her feet carrying her through the corridors of the Domus Flavia with one target in mind, soldiers of the Praetorian guard stationed at both sides of the corridors, the safety of the imperial family as their priority.

Her target is lying on a triclinium as his eyes observe the scene before his eyes with a hardly concealed grim upon his face, half hidden behind a golden cup.

“Enjoying the views, Legatus?”

If he is surprised by her presence, he hides it neatly.

“What else can you offer me, Augusta?”

Augusta. Any of her brothers could cut his tongue for it.

“What about a walk? I want to speak with you.”

A last glance at the bacchanal before them is enough for the general to stand up as he nods, signaling his compliance with her request. She leans and takes the cup he has been drinking of and takes a sip from the wine left behind, feeling the heat of his gaze upon her as she turns, to which she answers with a raised eyebrow.

Julia Septimia is fully aware of the potential of the man who is strolling the hallways with her, of the obsession her brothers have with him and his ability to inspire and command, to fight and slaughter, but she also knows that there is something deep down him that mismatches with the ambitions of the emperors.

“I know Numidia has left a sour feeling in you, my brother thinks of it as a trifle, but the only bloodshed he knows comes from the munera.”

She feels empowered. She knows that her time is limited, and that there are huge chances that Caracalla may retaliate against her for anything, the wine and the teasing from Hala run through her veins almost fogging her common sense, blending with the echo of the verses of the Aeneid still lingering in her mind. She has to risk everything if she wants a chance to win.

And it starts with Marcus Acacius.

As they walk through the sprawling palace corridors, Julia’s thoughts race with possibilities and strategies, always with her nephew in mind, a way to get things back to normal as they should have been from the beginning.

“My duty is with Rome, princess. If I am needed to lead my legions against the Parthians, so be it.”

She scoffs.

“I am not my brothers, so please do me a favour and do not woo me.”

“Princess—“

“I can offer you something in between. I have started to talk about it with my brother, so it would only take the other bastard to accept it.”

“We shouldn’t be talking about this.”

A smirk curves the edges of her lips as they come into the gardens with the big marble fountain in the middle, resembling an oasis.

“This is my territory. The people you see here are loyal to me.“

She wishes she could fully trust it, to have somebody ready to protect her at all costs.

They make their way to the library, far enough from the bacchanal to be able to speak freely. Here and there there is a soldier, or a servant, making their best to ignore them but, at the same time create a diversion in case it is needed. Those were her father’s people, the ones who had kept their place for so many years that the brothers even thought some of them to be a bunch of fools.

“You called me Augusta by the amphitheater.” A pair of brown eyes observe her. “Why?”

A smirk tugs from the corners of Marcus Acacius’s lips, matching the confidence in his eyes.

“Look at me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t do better than your brothers.”

“It is my nephew’s right to sit upon one of those horrid golden eagles, not mine.”

Julia’s voice falters slightly with the weight of her words. She has told nobody about her wishes, and she cannot tell if she truly thinks the general is a trustworthy man or her impulse is talking instead of her brains.

“They are truly disgusting. I think your father fancied a throne much… Discreet.”

It isn’t needed an invitation for Marcus to sit once they have arrived to their destiny, and he observes him with a thoughtful pout upon his face, lost in contemplation.

The library is vast, lined with ancient scrolls and volumes, shadows from the flickering lamps casting patterns on the walls. One of the most important sources of knowledge in the entire empire, only accesible to a handful of people.

“Caracalla murdered our brother. Gaius was more fit to rule” she clenches her jaw as she speaks, pacing in front of him like a caged lioness. “He was wise and impetuous. He would have been a proper ruler after my father…” she raises her eyes to Marcus as she stops in front of him. “How was the empire before?”

Both know the answer well enough.

“I cannot grant you the temporary retirement you seek, but I can name you commander of the Praetorian guard. I need someone I can trust, someone not corrupted by the allure of ambition. Help me put my nephew on the throne and you can spend the rest of your active time in Rome close to your wife, and your retirement with a handsome pay being a lazy fuck in your villa along your loved ones.”

“Princess…” his voice wavers for a moment, struggling to keep steady. He considers her proposal, the weight of the decision pressing on his shoulders, and for a moment Julia is afraid of a negative answer.

“Somebody told me once that there are people outside this walls by my side, ready to support me if I choose to take action,” she continues, eyes glinting with a mixture of determination and desperation as she comes closer to him, looming over him despite her being smaller and thinner than him, easily beaten by him. “You called me ‘Augusta’ in front of my brother, knowing he could have had your tongue for it.”

He tilts his head to look at her, eyes half narrowed in the dim light of the room, and Julia can observe his features properly, shaped by the dancing lights of the candles around them, her eyes tracing the shape of his nose, the way the scruff on his cheeks adds a layer of shadow to his face, how he licks his plush lips as his gaze goes over her figure, the flickering lights playing with her garments and softly revealing her curves hidden under them.

“I am afraid I have lost my fidelity to Rome, princess.” He mutters, softly.

“I am not asking you to be faithful to Rome, but to me” she takes one of his hands, rough and big, and encouraged by something she cannot name drives it to her calf, letting his fingertips brush a yellowed bruise on her skin. “I need somebody to protect my nephew, legatus.” His touch goes further as her hands drive his up her body, and she ends up sitting on his lap, her breath mingling with his as she whispers, “The gods seem to see fit that I may not be able to do so for much longer” as she speaks, she reveals fading marks upon her body, silent witnesses of the outbursts from both of her brothers.

She leaves his hand free as she cups his face with both hands, her thumbs softly caressing his cheeks as he strokes her waist over her robes. His eyes search hers, filled with resolve and a newfound purpose.

“Princess, I cannot…” she leans over him and he lets her do, accommodating her on his lap, his free hand roaming under the clothes, his rough touch finding delight with the soft of her thigh “Your maidenhood—“

Julia’s lips find his jawline, leaving small kisses and teasing nibbles along it, her hips grinding against his, tempting him. When they kiss, he feels her urgency, her desperation for solace and strength, mingling with her desire, and a part of her mind betrays her and imagines she is not sat upon the lap of the most acclaimed general of his time, but the man with the piercing gaze and a hidden secret who prefers to fight in the arena and recall the tragic queen Dido of Carthage.

“That is something long gone” she whispers against his lips, her fingers roaming free in his dark and grey curls as he gasps when he finds how her folds are getting wetter with her arousal. “Fuck Rome if you please, Legatus. Fuck me under my brothers’s roof—“ she whines as his fingertips start to tease her, a rough digit rubbing long circles over her clit “Swear to me that you will do whatever it takes to keep the boy safe and your name will be remembered until the end of time.”

Her lips go down his neck as she awaits his answer, her mind half hazy with a desire half faked. One of her hands grasps his tunic as a way to ground herself into reality as the other tugs from his hair, earning a soft grunt from him, pushing him to tilt his head to leave her more space. A half pretended moan escapes her lips as the teasing digit comes into her, quickly meet by another one, and her hips go up and down them at their own pace, searching the bliss nobody but her lovely Hala had made her reach.

“I will do it” he pants, quickly removing his fingers from inside her and taking his erection to coat it with her arousal before teasing her folds again, making her whimper in need. “I swear to do all I can to protect you and the boy.”

[flying-ham]

Names in The Hunger Games series obviously hold a lot of symbolic meaning. Whether it be a particularly on the nose name for characters like Peeta or the complete absence of one for characters like Mrs Everdeen, Suzanne Collins puts a lot of thought and care into names. One that I haven’t seen people talk about so far is Livia Cardew.

Livia Cardew is a rude, cruel classmate that Snow despises. When we are introduced to her character, Snow thinks that she, "had always been prone to gloating," (tbosas). She is assigned Facet, a strong boy from District 1 with a good chance of winning the games, and Snow hates that she acts, "As if the plum assignment was solely a reflection on her, and not on her mother running the largest bank in the Capitol," (tbosas).

The character Livia Cardew is named after Livia Drusilla, wife of the first Roman Emperor Augustus and mother of the Emperor Tiberius. Livia Drusilla came from a powerful Patrician family in Rome, with her father inheriting a substantial fortune around the time of her birth. She was married prior to her marriage with Augustus, giving birth to two sons before her divorce and subsequent remarriage to Augustus. Although he believed these sons to be proof of her high fertility, Livia was only able to give Augustus one stillborn child during their marriage. Livia Cardew reflects the early life of her namesake Livia Drusilla, in that she comes from an influential banking family that helps her get ahead in society. The advantage she has being assigned the District 1 boy only widens the gap, making her a frontrunner to win the scholarship. However, just as Livia Drusilla loses her child with Augustus, Livia Cardew's tribute dies before the games even begin, removing her from the competition entirely. Moreover, Livia attempts to "steal" Clemensia's tribute while she is ill, "demanding new tributes be brought from the districts, or at least that she be given Reaper, the boy assigned to Clemensia, who everyone thought had been hospitalized with the flu," (tbosas). Similarly, Livia Drusilla campaigned with her husband to make her son Tiberius his heir after she failed to give him a son, though she was only successful after the death of his nephew Marcellus and disgrace of his daughter Julia.

Further connecting Livia Cardew to her historical namesake, it is implied that Snow marries her after the events of tbosas. In the epilogue, Snow thinks, "If he ever married, he’d choose someone incapable of swaying his heart. Someone he hated, even, so they could never manipulate him the way Lucy Gray had. Never make him feel jealous. Or weak. Livia Cardew would be perfect. He imagined the two of them, the president and his first lady, presiding over the Hunger Games a few years from now," (tbosas). Just as Livia Drusilla became Empress of Rome, Livia Cardew would become the First Lady of Panem. Livia Drusilla was seen as the ideal matron in the early Roman Empire, as a steadfast and supportive wife who oversaw domestic affairs like the home and children. In the same way, Livia Cardew is Snow's ideal wife, a girl with an advantageous family name and no emotional ties to get in Snow's way.

Finally, Livia Drusilla was often villainized by Roman authors the same way Snow villainizes Livia Cardew. Annals by the author Tacitus portrays Livia as a murderous, evil woman in cahoots with her son Tiberius to steal the Empire after Augustus' death. Over and over he reveals his own prejudice against women in ancient Rome, inserting his personal opinions into a work he claims is unbiased truth.  He often uses negative language to describe Livia Drusilla, saying that, “There was also [Tiberius’] mother with her female unruliness,” (Tac. Ann., chap. 1).  Tacitus’ choice to specify that Livia’s shortcoming relates to her gender highlights his lack of respect for women, and his expectation that all Roman women fit a specific mold. In the same way, Snow constantly thinks the worst about Livia Cardew, thinking things like, "Unlike Livia, Clemensia received news of her good fortune with tact," (tbosas). Livia Drusilla was often associated with poison (a "woman's weapon"). There were many rumors about her killing enemies of herself or Augustus using the very method Snow adopted as his own by the events of the original trilogy.

tl:dr Livia Cardew is based on Livia Drusilla, wife of the first Roman Emperor and holds a lot of similarities to the historical figure

[missadangel]

The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x OC)

All Chapters List

XII. The First Kill

Sic Semper Tyrannis

"Thus always to tyrants."

Brutus.

"You never forget your first kill," Marcus once said. One evening, you were sitting together in that meadow just after finished your knife training. "I've had to kill many, dozens, thousands. Some I felt no remorse for, some I thought they deserved it, some I felt pity for, but their faces are blurred in my memory in time. However, I could never forget the face of the first one. Although I was young, I remember it clearly, even now. For some time the silhouette of his face continued to torment me, even preventing me from using my sword properly.”

He took a deep breath as his fingers ran through your golden hair. “It's a peculiar thing, hard to overcome, right then and there, when you take his life, everything changes; the ground you walk on, the air you breathe, all of it becomes your enemy.”

As you looked at your own hands which were stained with blood and trembling, his words reverberated in your mind. You glanced at the man you had just killed, lying still on the ground. He was right. Everything has changed, and it will never be the same again.

Two days ago…

The atmosphere on Palatine Hill was one of palpable tension as the city awaited for the new dawn. You were trying to figure out the best way to extricate yourself from this troubling situation when you were involuntarily brought here by the guards, at the behest of your Emperor half-brother. Walking from the great courtyard into the great hall, accompanied by Flavius and two guards, you noticed that several soldiers were being forced to their knees by the guards. It appeared as though they were awaiting something or someone. They were attired in black cloaks over their armour, and you were uncertain as to why they were regarding you with concern. Might they be Marcus's men? Could this be the reason why he did not return home? Could he have been here too? As these questions continued to arise in your mind, you headed for the large door and entered as the guards opened it for you.

Once you had entered the great hall, the man called Flavius took his leave, accompanied by a few of his men, for some reason. You were not particularly curious about where he went, because the moment you saw Caracalla's face, your tension level spiked. You never thought that one day you would be judged by him in this hall. Caracalla stood in the centre, in his usual place, with Macrinus right next to him. What a surprise! You could imagine the strings he had woven around your brother, effectively turning him into a puppet. Geta and his mother Julia were on the left side of the hall. On the floor was the body of a slave, lifeless and bleeding, felt a chill run through you. You averted your gaze. As soon as he saw you, Geta uttered a silent curse and looked at his brother with a look of anger. “Really, brother? I told you, Aurelia has nothing to do with this!”

Caracalla stared at you, ignoring his brother. You swallowed when you realised he was holding the vial you had sent for Geta. He held it up as if he wanted you to see it. His face showed signs of fatigue and redness, which you knew could cause this kind of effect.

You were trying to stay calm. But your eyes kept drifting to the body of the poor slave on the floor. Caracalla noticed. “Oh, forgive us for starting without you.” He laughed like a madman.

“I have to tell you that you are making a mistake, brother,” you said calmly. You were hoping he hadn't noticed the quaver in your voice. “The things you accuse me of. None of that is true.” You turned your head to Julia, who was looking at you as she always did, defiant and angry.

“Lady Domna asked me to poison you, as she well knows. And I refused."

“Or are you going to tell me our brother Geta's lies too?” Caracalla snapped.

"Not lies, you fool, I'm telling the truth!" Geta shouted. He then inhaled. "Our mother is responsible for this. I can assure you that neither I nor Aurelia attempted to poison you."

Julia looked at her son, her eyes wide in surprise.

"What about this then?" Caracalla indicated the vial in his hand. "Last week, I had this dream that you were trying to kill me, and you were all involved." He pointed his index finger at each of you in turn. Macrinus stood silently beside him, weighing up the situation.

"As I said, my mother found a poison that will kill you slowly, which is why you killed this slave just now!"

Caracalla looked down at the dead slave on the floor. "That's right," he muttered. "I did." Then he grinned.

He looked like he was really lost, which made you almost feel pity for him. Geta approached him, seemingly used to this situation. "I asked Aurelia for help, for you, brother."

"Hah! So you admit that you plotted together to kill me!”

Geta sighed. “No you silly! You know that Aurelia is a medicus, so she found out what poisoned you and made a concoction that will cure you.”

“Lies, lies, lies! You're always lying to me!” He shouted at him, then pursed his lips. Geta rolled his eyes.

That's when you heard some muttering coming from outside. You figured it must be the soldiers. Before you had a chance to react, someone called out 'General', the great door opened, and Marcus walked in. You weren't sure which was more shocking. Seeing Marcus there like that, Flavius gripping his arm like he was a criminal, the bruises and blood on his face, or the fact that he was only in his burgundy tunic? Your chest tightened and your breath caught in your throat. It was as if someone was squeezing it.

“Marcus!” you cried out. Your ringing voice filled every space in the great hall.

Without a second thought, you strode towards him. You grasped his face in your hands and gazed at his bruises with concern.

"Aurelia, tell me you're alright." He said, also concerned.

"I am. But you? What happened to your face?" You touched the edge of his eyebrow where the blood oozing from. You couldn't hold back the tears.

"There's no need to be concerned, my lady."

"General!" Caracalla said loudly. "Or should I just call you Marcus now? After all, you don't deserve the title."

"How do you mean?" you asked him, taking Marcus’ hand in yours.

"You are mad indeed, brother." Geta muttered. “General has nothing to do with this.”

“Shut the hell up! Enough with your lies!” Caracalla wagged a finger at him. Then he turned to you and Marcus.

"A husband and wife have decided to commit a crime together. That's quite romantic.” He gave a little sarcastic clap.

“What are you accusing him of?” you asked, a little sharply. “He's a general who's loyal to you. The person you should be accusing is right there with you!” You said, pointing at Macrinus.

“Aurelia,” Marcus warned, squeezing your hand.

Macrinus smirked smugly. "May I enquire as to the evidence on which you have based your conclusion, my lady?"

Caracalla butted in. "You're not in a position to accuse anyone." I'm the one who decides everyone's fate here.’ He turned to his mother. "I will commence with Lady Domna. Or should I say ‘Mother'?" he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Then he went to the slave lying lifeless on the floor, bent down and examined him as if he was seeing him for the first time. "You disobeyed me. As if that wasn't enough, you tried to poison me using this rat." He stood up and asked the guard next to him for his sword. Once he had it in his hand, he looked at its shiny surface as if he were talking to it. Julia tensed up. "I can't send you back there without knowing what you'll do. I'm sure you'll be back though. So you'll be charged under the Roman law.”

“Brother!” Geta protested.

"I must protest! I'm the Empress, I can't be judged! I am your mother!" Julia yelled.

"That's why you are still breathing!" Caracalla barked. "You committed treason! I could kill you right now, but I won't! So, try to be greatful and don't speak another word!"

"It's a fair judgement, Your Majesty," Macrinus stated, pleased. You were certain that it was his opinion. After all, he had the majority of the Senate.

"Take Lady Domna to her room and keep her there until the trial," he ordered the guards.

The guards forcibly took her by the arm and led her out, despite her protests and shouting.

"As for you," he said, pointing at you and Geta.

"It would be best to simply let Aurelia go. I'm the one who asked her for help," he said, stepping between you and Caracalla.

Caracalla laughed. "How touching! What have you done to my brother, Aurelia?" His eyes shifted to you. Marcus clenched his jaw. The atmosphere in the hall was getting tense. "Well, here's the thing; she's the one who made this concoction, after all."

"It's not poison, on the contrary, it's a herbal remedy that will heal you." You explained.

Caracalla approached you and handed you the vial, pointing the sword he held in his other hand at you. "Prove it, then. Drink."

Marcus became visibly tense. Geta turned his head towards you. You swallowed hard. There was no harm in drinking the concoction you had made, you wouldn't have been afraid to drink it, only if you hadn't been carrying a child. "I can not," you suddenly said, closing your eyes and bowing your head.

Caracalla laughed hysterically. You exchanged a look with Marcus, you knew he understood why.

Geta turned to you, leaned in, “Aurelia, what are you-“

"I can't because I'm with child." You said. "The mixture could harm the child."

Everyone looked at you, and there was a brief period of silence. "How can I be sure you're not lying to me?" Caracalla asked.

Geta shifted his gaze to your belly, then turned to Caracalla and snatched the vial from his hand. "Give me the damn thing," he said and uncorked the bottle and drank the whole thing without thinking.

Everyone was looking at him in surprise. He threw the vial on the floor and looked Caracalla in the eye, who stared back at him with his mouth open. Geta licked his lips, spread his arms wide. "Look at me, brother! I am still alive, aren't I?" He smirked.

Caracalla looked at him, then at you, narrowing his eyes. This time he pointed his sword at Geta. "You two, you must be playing tricks on me."

"That's nonsense!" Geta yelled. Caracalla shook his head as if he had heard something. "No, a lie is always a lie. I refuse to believe it." The sword slipped and fell to the floor as he covered his ears with his hands. He stepped back. Macrinus approached him and whispered something in his ear.

"I think that's all we need for now. As you can see, Aurelia is completely innocent." Geta said.

"No way!" Caracalla spoke up. "She'll be staying here until this is resolved." He and Macrinus exchanged glances. He then looked at you. "I've decided that she needs to stay under home detention here at Domus Severiana."

"I must protest!" you said, loudly. Marcus gave you a little tap on the shoulder to calm you down.

“My decision is final!” He yelled at you then turned to Geta. “So, you, I'll have you tried for high treason, and I'll have you deposed from the title of emperor."

“You can't do that!” Geta interjected.

“Just watch me!” He gave him a stern look.

Geta clenched his fists.

"As for you, Acacius," Caracalla said, pointing his finger at Marcus this time. "There won't be a trial for you. I've got other plans. "In fact, I should have you beheaded or thrown off the Tarpeian rock.”

(Tarpeian rock: A steep cliff on the south side of the Capitoline Hill that was used in Ancient Rome as a site of execution. Murderers, traitors, perjurors, and larcenous slaves, if convicted by the quaestores parricidii, were flung from the cliff to their deaths.)

"For what offence?" Your body was shaking.

"Treason of course!" He shouted.

Macrinus intervened. "Your Majesty, your people respect or General Acacius and they have made great hero out of him. It would be unwise to have him executed. You might draw the public's ire to yourself. Angering them will only work against you."

"How do you mean? Should I let him walk free, Macrinus?" Caracalla shouted at him angrily.

Macrinus looked at Marcus. "No, of course not. I just want to say that there are other ways that the public will be satisfied with. And you of course, Your Majesty."

"And what are those ways, I wonder?”

You were getting nervous as he spoke, what was he planning?

“Games,” he said. “We could set up some fighting games, and Acacius could fight in the Colosseum to win his freedom.”

“No way!” You let out a cry of protest.

"Why do you object, or you do not trust your husband's fighting strength?" Caracalla enquired with a hint of irony. "It is a good decision, Macrinus I liked it."

You looked at Marcus. But he was staring at Caracalla. "What about my men? I demand their release, Your Majesty. They have nothing to do with my treachery." Marcus said the word treachery through clenched teeth.

"I deny it, Acacius! They are as guilty as you are, and they will take their share of your punishment and fight along with you in the Colosseum!"

"Your Majesty, I suggest that you reconsider this!" Marcus said loudly.

"Shut up!" Caracalla approached him. "That dusty ground of the Colosseum will become your grave, you will lose your reputation, your name will be forgotten! I will burn your villa to the ground with your slaves inside! And your wife Aurelia..." He eyed you up and down. "She will be confined for the rest of her life! Do you hear me?"

He gestured to Flavius, who grabbed you by the arm and pulled you away from Marcus.

"Don't you dare to touch her!" Marcus lunged towards him but the guards grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back hard.

"Marcus!" You reached for him, but Flavius was holding your arm tightly.

"Take your hands off the Princess now!" Geta shouted too, but Flavius ignored him.

“My name may be forgotten, but your name will be remembered with hatred for generations to come!” Marcus roared. “You will face the hatred of your people! Your reign will come to an end!”

“Get him out of my sight!” Caracalla shouted. “Throw him in one of the pits in the Colosseum with all his men!”

"No, please! Brother please!" You begged. Tears welled up in your eyes.

He didn't care.

“MARCUS!” You screamed at the top of your lungs as the guards dragged him out. Flavius then released you, but couldn't feel your legs and collapsed. Geta crouched, put his arm around your shoulder, you rested your head on his chest, sobbing, crying.

“Lock them in their rooms, I want two men at every door!” You weren't looking at Caracalla, but you knew he was talking about you and Geta.

First day of the games.

The Colosseum was host to a game that was somewhat unique today. The announcement of the accusation and sentence of General Marcus Acacius had been made public, and many people had gathered here in the early hours. It would be fair to say that the vast majority viewed this man as a hero. The loud shouts of the crowd mingled with the sound of drums and trumpets. For the first time, Marcus was not pleased to hear his name shouted by the crowd, despite being aware of their admiration. The reason was straightforward: his wife Aurelia was absent from the Imperial stand. They had taken her away from him. Caracalla and Geta were seated in their customary positions. It appeared that Caracalla wished to keep his brother, who had committed treason, close by.

However, Geta, like Marcus, was even less enthusiastic about being there for the first time. As Marcus and his soldiers saluted them before the fight commenced, Geta and he locked eyes. If only I could hear him at this distance, he thought. I wish he would tell me something about Aurelia. Then Geta nodded at him as if he could read something his mind. ‘She's alright,’ he mimicked with his lips. And that was it! That was enough for Marcus to feel strong and defeat everyone and everything in the arena. On top of that, he had his most trusted men with him this time, his soldiers. They'd fought side by side on the battlefield, and they were ready to do the same here.

"Octavius!" Marcus called out. He gave him a heads-up about the barbarian warrior coming up behind him. Octavius dodged the attack and, led by Marcus, they all took up an attacking position, targeting one barbarian warrior and quickly overcoming them. There were just two barbarians left. Marcus signaled to his soldiers to stay back and calmly took a step forward, challenging the remaining barbarians with his outstretched arm. They both charged towards him with their swords but missed. Marcus expertly dodged their attacks and cut them with his sharp sword. The crowd went wild. Geta laughed and applauded. For the first time, Caracalla responded to his laughter by cursing angrily. Marcus, with his sword bathed in a crimson red, made his way towards the barbarian, who was lying on the ground, apparently nearing the end of his life. He then looked at Caracalla.

Caracalla turned his thumb down. Marcus killed the barbarian with a swift move. As the crowd chanted Marcus' name, Caracalla sulked and sank into his seat. "Ugh! Too fast and too boring! Well, fortunately, this is a three-day game and we're only on day one."

"How exciting!" Geta teased.

Caracalla frowned and turned his head towards Macrinus who was already approaching. "Have your new gladiators arrived, Macrinus?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. They are preparing for tomorrow's game." He said, smiling at him.

"That's good. I hope tomorrow will bring the defeat of Acacius and his men." He looked at them with a hint of displeasure. Then he stood up. "Come, brother. It's time to leave."

Marcus was keeping an eye on them from a distance, his gaze shifting to Flavius, who was following behind them. He clenched his fists as he watched them until they were out of sight. He made a vow to himself. He was going to win these games, no matter what. He had to win the Emperor's approval to be free. Then he could leave here and get you to safety. After that, he could take care of Flavius and Macrinus. Even if he never became a general again, that would not matter to him. He did not believe that Caracalla would reinstate him, anyway. That night, staying in the same pit with the gladiators but in separate cells, he was thinking about all this and you.

You spent the entire day in a state of mental and emotional distress, seeking solace through prayer. You were rather concerned about Marcus, eager to receive any news from him. However, the guards at the door of your room would never let you out. You hated this room. Never expected to feel this way about it, nor to return here in this way. While you watched the birds singing cheerfully outside the window, you felt a longing to be free like them. You were also concerned about those in the villa and you prayed for them too. However, Marcus was on your mind constantly. Nothing made sense without him. You were feeling lost, incomplete. In the evening there was a knock at the door. Geta's slave had brought dinner. The girl noticed that the food on the morning tray had not been touched. She looked at you with a concerned and sad expression.

"My lady, please try to eat a little."

"I do not feel hungry," you murmured.

She glanced at the guards and then looked back at you. "If you could do it for your child." The girl was a little too insistent in her tone. You turned to her. She gave you a nod with her head. She indicated the plate on the tray with a gesture. You noticed a piece of paper under the plate. Had someone wrote you a note? You looked at the guards. They were standing at the door and wouldn't let it close when the slave girl was inside. You had to come up with an excuse. "Alright then. I'll eat, but first you help me get dressed. I need to change my dress." you said loudly looking at the guards. "Close the door, I need to get dressed."

The guards nodded and obeyed. You immediately took the paper from the tray.

"Emperor Geta wrote to you," she said quietly.

"Or perhaps it is about Marcus?" you asked, opening the little paper.

"I am not quite sure, my lady. He's in a similar situation to you, confined in a way. I couldn't even speak to him properly." You could sense the sadness in her voice, you touched her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Do not you worry. I'm sure everything will be alright and we'll be released soon." You felt like you also convincing yourself desperately.

The girl replied with a smile.

You turned your gaze to the paper to read what Geta had written.

"My dear sister. I hope you're doing well. I'm really concerned about you, so it would be great if you send me a response. What do you think of this solution huh? You must think I'm pretty smart, you do not? Come now, be honest." -Even so, he still managed to make you smile- "Anyway, Acacius and his men fought well today. You should have seen Caracalla's face when they won the game. It looked like a little monkey's butt. Whatever. Acacius, he's fine, don't you worry about him. If he wins the next two games, he'll be free. And I'm quite sure he will. Oh, and you never told me you were carrying a child, which I'm still upset about. Well, take care of yourself and the child, and eat your food. I'm waiting for your secret response letter. We'll be free soon, I promise. Kisses.”

Sighing, you crumpled up the paper and put it in the wooden box, closing it up. Fortunately, he had some good news. You felt a little relieved. You then looked around your room for some paper and a pen. The girl whispered to you. "Here, my lady," she said, pulling out the ink, reed pen and paper she had tucked into her belt.

"You are really well prepared," you said, smiling at her. She giggled. You sat down and the girl helped you to write a reply for Geta.

"Brother, I'm alright, please don't worry.  I must say, this solution is really clever and I am very grateful for it. Many thanks for the good news about him. I hope we'll all be free soon. I know you won't get anywhere near Marcus, but if you get a chance, I'd appreciate it if you'd tell him I love him. Please look after yourself around Caracalla. I await your letter about tomorrow."

You handed the paper to the girl. She tucked it into her belt to deliver it to Geta.

Day two of the Games.

The atmosphere in the Colosseum today was somewhat different from that of yesterday. It seemed that the crowd flocking to this giant structure was more enthusiastic today. 

Marcus and his soldiers were going over their plan of fight while sharpening their swords. A tougher fight awaited them today. The gladiators were well trained, but unlike them, this was their first time in the Colosseum. Before long, the drums started beating and they were announced.

“Honos et Virtus! (Honor and virtue!) For freedom!” They shouted together, tapping each other on the shoulder. With swords drawn, they made their way to the arena, accompanied by the sound of drums and  the enthusiastic cheering of the crowd. It was pretty unlikely that they could pull off a fight like this on such short notice. But since Caracalla had declared them criminals, he'd ordered that there should be no interruption, one day after another. No matter how strong or experienced they were, it wasn't something an ordinary soldier could take easily. However, losing wasn't an option for Marcus. He encouraged them accordingly and spurred them on. Before start, and saluting emperor, Geta and Marcus shared a look that was just like yesterday. Marcus smiled in response to Geta's positive gestures.

“Oh, this is so ridiculous,” Geta muttered. “I feel like I'm flirting with a girl.”

“What was that? What did you say?” Caracalla leaned in towards him.

“Nothing, just thinking out loud.”

“And you call me mad.”

“But you are,” Geta said. “You're treating me like a caged animal. Locking me when I've done nothing wrong.”

"Be glad I didn't kill you," said Caracalla arrogantly. "Since I've tried it before and I can do it again."

"What did you say?" Geta looked at him with wide eyes.

Caracalla laughed. "If Aurelia hadn't saved you that night, you'd be with the Gods now. You would be dead."

Geta preferred to look at him in astonishment rather than watch the game. Of course, he had thought about it, but he could not digest his cold-blooded confession. At that moment he realised that everything was in vain. That he still saw him as his brother, that he respected him a little. To go to Aurelia for him. Suddenly he found himself feeling guilty. Tasting these new feelings, he set himself a goal: to kill him. No matter what, today or tomorrow. He had to die.

While Geta was planning to kill Caracalla somehow, Marcus and his soldiers kept up the fight against the gladiators. Despite the gladiators outnumbering them, they were able to prevail over them by watching each other's backs and acting in a spirit of brotherhood. Caracalla gave a thumbs up, decided that the remaining gladiators be to live. That came as a surprise to everyone. Macrinus seemed really pleased, and Geta noticed. They all had some injuries, including Marcus himself, but they weren't too severe. Marcus had a small scratch on his cheek. Octavius had a cut on his calf, and the others had cuts on their arms and legs. They were also pretty tired. They were in need of a rest, but they knew that Emperor Caracalla wouldn't let them. That night, as Marcus examined his brothers' wounds, he was filled with concern for the following day. It was possible that Caracalla and Macrinus had something big in store for the final day.

It was just after midnight when the sound of the iron gates opening was carried away on the breeze that had picked up the dust from the stone walls. Marcus and the others were soon aware that Cato and a soldier were approaching, and they rose to their feet immediately.

"Cato! It's Cato, sir!" Octavius said in a cheerful manner.

Marcus grasped the iron bars. "Cato? What are you doing here?"

Cato looked sad. "Sir, I am very truly saddened by all this."

"Cease weeping now, Cato," Octavius chastised him.

"Have you heard anything from the villa?"

Cato shook his head slowly. Octavius was growing impatient and reached his arm through the iron bars and grabbed his collar. “Speak!"

Marcus touched his shoulder as a warning. Cato took a deep breath. "Sir, when I went to the villa, I found that it had unfortunately been plundered, the soldiers you had positioned there had been murdered.”

Marcus slammed his palm against the iron bars in frustration.

“What about the others? The slaves?” Octavius asked.

"I'm not sure, but none of them were there."

"They must have been detained." Marcus hissed. "Along with all my property, everything I have."

Octavius kicked the bars angrily.

“I was watching Palatine Hill, the Domus Severiana,” Cato said. Marcus looked at him. Cato continued. “Lady Aurelia, I couldn't see her, but I'm certain that she's there.”

"She's under home detention," Marcus said his voice cracked. "Keep watching there. I need to find out how often Flavius and his guards go there and what they do. I need you to keep an eye on things for me until I get out of here. Can you do that?"

He nodded. "Yes, sir!"

The soldier who'd been keeping an eye on the corridor during the conversation came over to them. "Sir, General, I need to get Cato out of here before the guards at the gate realise."

Marcus nodded. "I am indebted to you." He said, and the soldier nodded in respect. Then he turned to Cato. "Cato, be cautious. Whatever you do, don't let Flavius notice you.”

"Yes, sir. I'll pray for you to win tomorrow," he said, looking at each of them. He threw his arms up. "Hodie Ruditapes Leo!' (Today the lion roars!)"

"Hodie Ruditapes Leo!' (Today the lion roars!)" They all repeated, their smiles confident and assured.

As you read Geta's note that evening, you noticed a difference in his writing style compared to the previous day. It seemed more serious. You were curious as to why and felt a little frustrated that you were not allowed to talk to him freely. Yet, you were really grateful to him for coming up with this solution.  It was like he'd given you a breath of air when you felt like you were stuck in this room. Fortunately, there was more good news. Marcus and his soldiers had won. The only thing left to do was get through tomorrow. If Marcus were to emerge victorious from the games tomorrow, it would mean that Caracalla would no longer have the authority to detain him. So maybe you could be freed and return to the villa together before the trial. You had to find out what happened there and see if everyone was well. In accordance with the law, everything you have to be confiscated, including your slaves. It might even be the case that they could have been sold to other people. The mere thought of that made your chest hurt. However, this is not a possibility at such short notice, and certainly not before a decision has been made by the court.

Sitting on the large bed, illuminated by the moonlight that filtered through the long window, you read the short note that Geta had sent you, thinking of him as you traced your thumb over the word 'Marcus'.

You sensed that he was thinking of you too. Actually you were certain. You implored Jupiter, as you rubbed your belly with a hand over it. "Please, my lord. I beseech you. I pray that you spare him to me, to our child. Be his constant companion and his strength in fight, refuge in every adversity. Guide him, my lord, that he may return to me safely."

Day three of the Games.

Present day.

"Remember, we have to win no matter what. If we lose, we will not only lose our lives, but our families, their future and reputation."

They nodded, but their eyes betrayed their doubts. Some of them were exhausted and deeply wounded. Marcus knew that if one lost, they all would. He had to give them what they needed: strength and courage.

“Brothers, do you remember those words I spoke to you two years ago on the Libyan front?”

They looked at each other and nodded in aggrement. He went over to the soldier who was struggling the most and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I mentioned a dark place inside us, a place that can give you strength even when you feel you have none left. You're injured and you're feeling drained. It was just like that day. We were outnumbered that day and it looked like we were going to lose. I don't think any other army would have been able to win with such a small number of people. But we managed to beat the odds and find a way to win. We'll do the same today." He went over to another soldier and looked at him. He had a wound on his arm. "Now I want you to discover that dark place inside you. He turned to another soldier. "Felix. I see you're badly wounded in the leg. Does it hurt?"

The soldier looked at his leg. "Yes, sir."

"Do you feel that place? Do you hear that voice screaming at you that you're going to lose?"

He lowered his head. "Yes, sir.”

"Do you think you can run from here to the gate? Or will it make the wound in your leg worse?"

He looked at him uncertainly. "It could be a lot worse, sir."

"That's not the answer I'm seeking, Felix!" he shouted at him. “When you get to the arena, you'll need to run and be quick. The warriors trying to kill you there will jump on you to finish you off as soon as they realise that you're scared.” He gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Our mind rules our body and it rules this dark place! It cannot direct the body of one who is afraid! Because he is doomed to lose. When you die over there, you will only lose your life. Your family however, will lose their citizenship and be known as the family of a traitor. Your friends will lose a brother. I will lose a good soldier! Now, tell me, will you confront that dark place, face your fears, fight along with us to win?" Marcus looked into his eyes. Felix inhaled and nodded firmly. “I will, sir!”

Marcus smiled. "Good. I trust that you will. From now on, it doesn't matter what you like or don't like, what you're upset about, what you think you've been wronged, your fears, your anxieties, nothing matters." Marcus raised his index finger. "Only one thing matters: Survival. Now tell me. Will you fight by my side and survive? Are you with me?"

The soldiers looked at each other and nodded, and then they all drew their swords and raised them.

"We're with you, sir!"

"Yes sir!"

They all shouted in unison with enthusiasm. Marcus raised his sword. “Vae Victis!”

The soldiers repeated it back to him. The sound of their voices echoed off the stone walls. A little later, the sound everyone was waiting for was heard! The iron gates opened with a loud noise as their names were announced. The sound of drums, pipes, the voices of the crowd, whistles and applause filled the air. Everyone was brimming with excitement as they sat in their seats at the Colosseum, eager for the final game day. Geta and Caracalla were sitting in their usual seats. Macrinus came up to emperor and whispered something in his ear. Geta tried to focus on what he was saying, but the noise made it difficult to hear.

"Today will be the end of Acacius." Caracalla said to Geta, in an excited tone.

"You speak too precisely, brother. They've only just begun!

“This is the end! There's no doubt about it." He snapped. "His end. He is going to die today.” His hands were shaking. Geta squinted at his hands then his face. “I will get rid of him no matter what.”

At that moment, Geta became aware that something was being planned. He was fairly certain that Macrinus and Flavius were involved. But what could it be? He considered the option of killing his brother at that moment. However, he was unable to give orders to the guards.  He knew his own end was near. Just after Marcus. Maybe even yours. Caracalla was completely lost. He has to be the one to die today, but how? Geta thought.

Marcus and his men were in fine spirits as they engaged in combat with the gladiators who had previously fought and whose lives Caracalla had graciously spared. However, before long, two hatches opened on the ground of the arena, and a loud roar was heard as two tigers suddenly appeared. Caracalla was visibly amused and expressed his approval with a hearty laugh and a clap of his hands. The crowd expressed their delight with enthusiastic shouts.

“Where did these tigers come from?” Geta was rather puzzled.

"Didn't you like my surprise?'"

"I thought we'd run out of wild animals?" Geta grunted.

"And I thought we could make do with these until the rhino was brought in. They were only brought in last week. Macrinus went to great lengths to get them from Libya."

Geta squinted at him. "I am sure he did.”

Marcus got his men together and gave them a few strategies. After all, none of them had ever fought tigers, so they tried to stay calm. The gladiators had a similar plan of action. The two groups were ready to attack each other, using the tigers as a dangerous tool. The gladiators advanced towards them with shields and spears. Marcus and his soldiers numbered six. Gladiators were four. However, one of the gladiators was so enormous that he could easily be counted as two men. Marcus had given his men another tactic about him: attack his leg first, so they could finish him off as soon as he fell to the ground. That was it. A moment later, Octavius lunged at his leg with his sword. And managed to cut deeply. Before long, the other soldier did the same, and the big man collapsed on the ground. But not before he'd punched them in the stomach and face. During the attack, Marcus lost one soldier, leaving him with five remaining. The battle was so intense that it was difficult to catch your breath. Everyone was exhausted and trying to outwit the enemy while dodging the claws and teeth of the tigers, which was harder than ever. After one intense battle, Marcus and his soldiers were down to four. As he saw the exhaustion on their faces, Marcus felt the first stirrings of fear. But he persevered and fought on. He managed to cut down one of the gladiators and one of the tigers.

The crowd went wild with excitement. His success gave the remaining soldiers the encouragement they needed to keep fighting with everything they had. And soon the cries of victory were heard in the arena. The gladiators were all defeated by the glorious Roman soldiers and their General. The crowd cheered his name with delight. They gave each other a big hug and saluted the crowd.

And, It all happened so quickly.

"Now!" Caracalla shouted angrily. Geta turned his head towards Flavius, who raised his arm and looked at something, then lowered it as he gave an order to someone in the crowd. Out of the blue, Marcus was hit in the arm by a bolt from nowhere. If Octavius hadn't been a bit closer, it would probably have gone through his throat. Marcus let out a cry of pain. The crowd fell silent. Geta got to his feet. Caracalla looked at him, his hands clasped in delight.  He laughed wildly. The soldiers called out to their general. Then they quickly looked in the direction of the bolt. It was someone planted in the audience. It was against the rules. It was completely unacceptable. Caracalla was determined to see Marcus dead, so he came up with this plan.

However, he was soon disappointed to see that Marcus had broken the bolt and pulled it out of his arm. He was seething with rage. The soldiers picked up shields from the ground and formed a protective circle around their general. The crowd caught the attacker with the crossbow and beat him up. Caracalla got really angry and swore as he saw his plan fail. Geta looked at him and laughed cruelly.

Caracalla looked at him angrily and stood up. The crowd was chanting Marcus's name.

“I think that’s enough. Now It's time to set him free, brother. He has well earned it.”

He was aware of it. He looked at Flavius and the other guards and, with some reluctance, gave the order to open the great iron gate. Octavius, who was holding Marcus's arm, looked at him with concern.

"Sir, it looks like you've got a bit of a rough injury."

"No need to worry about my wound, brother. We survived. We won! That's all that matters." He smiled.

The soldiers looked at him. 'We won, sir!' Marcus gave them a tap on the shoulder, one by one. "I'm proud of you all."

Before long, the iron gate opened and Caracalla entered the arena as his name was announced. Geta was right behind him.  Marcus' smile faded. He considered grabbing the pugio from the ground, as this could be his only opportunity to kill him. However, if things did not go as planned, it could have unfortunate consequences. Besides, he had to think about his soldiers as well. At his command, they all dropped their swords and bowed their heads.

“Acacius, you really are a hard man to kill. You put me in a dilemma.”

He also noticed the pugio on the ground, covered in blood and dust. If he could get to it, he might be able to kill his brother right there and then. But he shouldn't let on. He glanced over at Marcus. He could see right through what he was up to.  He looked at the guards, who numbered eight. Could he take them down? No, he'd have to be declared free first. He decided to wait.

Geta bent down and picked up the pugio.

“Would you like one of the tiger's teeth, brother?” he said, looking at Caracalla, trying hard to hide his intentions.

Caracalla gave a shrug and seemed confused. “Alright, but first I must announce the verdict the people are waiting for.”

Marcus and Geta exchanged glances. And the decision has been made.

Caracalla cleared his throat and announced his decision in a voice the crowd could hear. “Marcus Acacius! By the authority of Roman law, I declare you free!”

The crowd cheered and whistled. They began to chant Caracalla's name. Caracalla held up his hand and signalled for them to be silent.

"But you're not a Roman general anymore. You're not even serving in the military any longer. You'll be exiled. You'll lose all your authority and you'll have to live outside Rome for the rest of your life."

The crowd suddenly fell silent, and after a few murmurs, people started to protest.

“General! General! General! General! General! General!”

“Silence! You filthy rats! How dare you? I shall kill all of you!” Caracalla yelled at them.

It all happened so fast. Geta threw the pugio at Marcus while Caracalla looking at the crowd. He skilfully grasped the pugio and slashed Caracalla's throat with a move faster than the wind. Nobody even noticed for the first few minutes because it happened so fast. As soon as blood spurted from the cut on Caracalla's throat, he instinctively pressed his hands as if to make the wound stop bleeding.

His sapphire-coloured fancy toga, his golden necklace, all soaked with his own blood flowing between fingers through. He fell to the dusty ground as he collapsed lifelessly to his knees. His blood was leaking slowly, pooling around his lifeless body. Geta took the pugio from Marcus' hand and looked the guards in the eye, who had taken up their attacking positions.

"The tyrant emperor is dead! I am the only emperor! As a tyrant, his rules are null and void!"

This was indisputably the case. The rules of the emperor, who had been legally declared a tyrant with the approval of the Senate, were therefore legally invalid. Geta had planned well, and the people were happy about it. After all, they were now shouting his name. Even when the blood continued to flow from his brother's lifeless body. Now he has to convince the council next. Marcus and his soldiers bowed their heads to him. The guards too. Then Marcus's eyes shift to the imperial tribune, he tensed up when he couldn't see Flavius or Macrinus there.

"Your Majesty, I need to know if your sister, my wife Aurelia, is still at Palatine Hill."

“Yes,” Geta said, also looking at the tribune. He turned his head to Marcus, his eyes wide. “That cunt Macrinus and his filthy dog Flavius.” He hissed.

Marcus looked at his soldiers. “Octavius, you are with me. The others will remain with Emperor Geta to ensure his safety and protection."

Geta tapped Marcus on the shoulder. "Acacius, there is no need for concern about my safety now. Go and ensure my sister is safe."

Marcus nodded nervously. Quickly, he and Octavius made their way towards the iron gate to leave the Colosseum.

Macrinus strode purposefully down the steps of the Colosseum, determined to catch up with Flavius. He looked around and saw that people on the streets were talking about Caracalla's death with great enthusiasm.

“Sir Flavius! Where do you think you're going?” Macrinus shouted at him.

They were both furious. "Tell your men to move now! We need to act fast while he's still in there."

Flavius grabbed his horse's reins. "I don't care about Emperor Geta! You told me Acacius would die there today!"

“Your man couldn't shoot him, so that's not my fault! Now is the time to take down Geta as we planned. We must finish him before he is officially proclaimed. Then, when I ascend the throne, I will finish Acacius myself, just as I promised you.”

"Your perfect plan didn't do shit!" He barked.

"I made you Prateon Prefect! I gave you  power!" Macrinus shouted.

Flavius shook his head. "I don't give a damn about your throne or the power you gave me! You promised you'd finish Acacius, but you couldn't. Our deal is off. "I'll finish him myself!" He leapt onto his horse. Macrinus was enraged.

"What the hell are you talking about? Where are you going?”

"I was wrong to go along with your stupid plan. I am going to do what I should have done all along. I'll take away what's most precious to him. Then he'll learn what loss means."

Macrinus was taken aback when he realised what he was talking about. 'No! You cannot!' "I need Princess Aurelia. Don't you dare touch her!"

"I will have my revenge with or without you!" He yelled, kicked his horse forward.

Macrinus called a few of the guards to his side and ordered them to follow him.

It was the afternoon, you were resting in bed, nervously awaiting, hoping for good news. Then there was a noise, a clinking of swords, and you heard the guards at the door hurrying away. The sound of their metal armour echoed with every footstep. You approached the door to see what was happening. As soon as you opened the door, you saw Geta's slave rushing to your side.

"My lady. You must leave immediately. Come with me." She grasped your hand and pulled you with her.

"What's going on?"

She put her finger to her lips. "We have to be quiet. I'll tell you."

As soon as you stepped into the courtyard, she pulled you towards the corner and guided you to hide behind the wall. You peeked out and noticed Flavius.

“They're looking for you.” She whispered.

Before you could ask anything the girl tugged you by the hand again. The other slaves noticed, rushing towards you.

"This way, my lady."

"Why are they looking for me? Or has something happened to Marcus?”

"I am not sure, my lady. The Commander of the Guard has just killed three of his men. They attempted to prevent him from entering. I heard them talking about you. You must leave before he notices you."

Your heart was beating fast. Your throat felt dry. As you approached the entrance door, you saw three of the guards were lying on the floor covered in blood.

"My Lady!” A familiar voice called out to you.

You looked in that direction and saw Cato, who was waiting for you outside the entrance door, holding the reins of a horse. You looked around for Marcus, but he was not there.

“Stop right there!”

You gasped when you heard Flavius's loud voice.

"My Lady, get on the horse now!" Cato drew his sword, staring at Flavius as he ran towards you.

"Cato, I-" Your voice cracked.

"You are the one he wants! Just go!"

You nodded, tears in your eyes, and quickly climbed onto the horse, kicking it forward.

When you looked back, you saw Cato taking up a defensive position, you turned your head. You tried to hold back your tears and gripped the horse's reins tighter. You had no idea where you were supposed to go. But it seemed a bad idea to head into the city and the streets, after all he was the commander of the guards and they were everywhere. So you rode on a road that led straight out of city center. You turned your head and looked back again. It didn't look like anyone was coming after you, but you had to be sure. After a while you heard drums and an announcement: “Be aware! Emperor Caracalla is dead! He is dead! He is dead!” You slowed your horse down.

How? When? You asked yourself in shock. And what about Marcus? Why isn't anyone talking about him?

People were looking at you with curiosity as you were a little bewildered and trying to figure out what to do. Before you knew it, you heard the sound of a horse's neigh coming behind you and people screamed. You looked back and saw Flavius on his horse, your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest. As you pulled the reins in a hurry, your bracelet caught on the fabric of your dress and slipped off your wrist, falling to the ground, causing a tinkling sound. The bracelet was precious to you, but you had to keep going. You just couldn't let him catch you.

You decided to ride the horse into the woods, with the intention of disappearing from view. As Flavius followed you, he saw Cato catching up with him. He drew his sword, turned his horse around and struck Cato with the sword. Cato fell to the ground, screaming in pain. The sword had hit his armour, so he wasn't dead, but he was frustrated. The distance between you and him had grown, and you were feeling pretty tired, so you decided to get off your horse and go through the trees to get to the other side of the city and the Colosseum. But it was a long way to walk. As soon as you heard Flavius' horse, you started running. He saw your silhouette and grinned.

"So you want to play tag, eh, princess?" He dismounted. "You should be aware of that, though. It's my favourite game." He drew his sword, following the tracks you left.

It was really hard to move through the forest without making a sound, especially with the long stola you were wearing. You kept tripping over thorns and bushes as you walked. As he was good at tracking, Flavius was following you calmly, smiling at every crunching noise you made.He crouched down to observe a trail on the ground. "If you surrender now, I promise I won't hurt you.” He grinned cruelly.

You were shaking with fear and trying to calm yourself down. You grabbed the fabric of your stola, pulled it up and tucked it into the belt around your waist, exposing your ankles but at least allowing you to move forward without making a sound. You soon came across a large, thick clump of bushes right next to a puddle. A tree root had created a small cave-like hollow in the soil. You decided to take shelter there because you were really tired. You took your knife out, picked it up, remain still, waiting in silence.

Upon arriving at Palatine Hill, Marcus was met with a gruesome scene: the guards and slaves lying lifeless on the ground. He was too late. Then he saw the slave girl running towards him. She was wounded, but managed to inform them and showed them the direction you were headed. Without a moment's hesitation, Marcus and Octavius mounted their horses and rode off in that direction.

"They must have gone out of the city. I think we should go that way," Octavius said.

"I will head there! We must split-up! You ride down the city, in case of the unexpected!" Marcus pointed down the street.

"Yes, sir!" Octavius rode his horse down the road.

Marcus was just about to kick his horse into a trot when he noticed some children playing with a gold bracelet. It looked familiar. He jumped off his horse, approached them and grabbed it. He knew this bracelet well, because he was the one who gave it to you.

"Where did you get this, child?" he asked one of them.

The child pointed ahead and Marcus rub child's head, then quickly got back on his horse and rode in that direction.

“Princess? Where are you hiding? You know I'll find you eventually. And when I do…”

That sick bastard, you thought. You were glad he didn't sound close. You decided that going the other way would be a better idea. Waiting here was pointless. It made you feel like you were caught in a trap. Just as you were about to stand up, you heard a hissing sound and your eyes widened in shock as you saw a snake ahead. You covered your mouth with your hand to stop yourself screaming. You jumped back. You had to kill the snake before Flavius saw you. You knew he would see you if you stood up. You held your knife tight, aiming at the snake. You missed on your first try but stabbed it the second time. You felt sick, both from the blood flowing from the snake and from this overwhelming feeling of fear.

With your survival instinct, an idea came to your mind. The snake was a viper, which is known to be highly poisonous. Even though it was dead, there was still venom in its fangs. You knew how to get the venom since you'd already produced antivenom many times before, but it was too dangerous with bare hands. You tore the fabric from the hem of your dress, wrapped it around your hand and pressed the dead snake's head to open its mouth and extract the venom from its fangs. The venom was leaking out in a bright yellowish colour. You held your breath and applied the venom to the surface of your knife. You weren't sure how, but you had to cut Flavius somewhere on his body with this knife.

"Found you!"

You froze. His voice was right behind you. Just as you were about to run forward, he grabbed you by the hair and yanked hard. You let out a cry of pain. He yanked your hair harder, turning you to face him.

"I told you to surrender, princess." He grinned.

You lunged at his exposed arm with your knife. He wasn't expecting you to have a knife, so he was caught off guard and you managed to cut him. Flavius let out a cry of pain, and when he released your hair, you took the opportunity to step back. He realised it wasn't just a normal cut when he started rubbing it with his hand. The poison had mixed with his blood and caused him terrible pain as it spread through his veins. He groaned loudly and then looked at you angrily.

“You whore!” He grabbed you by the arm and hit you hard in the face. You stumbled backward and fell. You crawled away from him with all your strength. “I said I wouldn't hurt you, but I changed my mind.”

He grabbed your hair again, yanked, turned you around, so he was right on top of you.  His weight made it difficult for you to breathe. "I'm really going to hurt you. A lot." Flavius was running his pugio over your face. You felt the sharp edge of the knife against your skin as you fought against him.

A horse neighed loudly in the distance and you both looked in that direction. He uttered a curse and raised his pugio to stab you. Then, you heard footsteps running towards you and a familiar angry roar, then Marcus appeared and jumped on Flavius, pushing his body off you. They rolled on the grass. After his weight lifted off of you, you took a deep breath and looked at them. They were locked in a fierce struggle, punching each other with groans.

Marcus drew his pugio and stabbed him in the leg, then punched him in the face. He quickly got on top of him and started hitting him in the face again and again. Flavius was struggling to breathe, but he managed to hit the wound on his arm. Marcus groaned in pain. He seized the opportunity to kick him. This time Marcus was on the ground. You were shaking, but you had to think fast. As soon as you realised your knife was on the ground, you ran to it. You snatched it and forced yourself to remember the attack moves Marcus had taught you before. You lunged, aiming for Flavius' neck, who was punching Marcus in the face. Marcus hit Flavius with his elbow and realised you were approaching.

“Aurelia!” he shouted, holding out his hand as if to stop you.

Flavius had his pugio in his hand and could have cut you down in an instant. But you were the first to act. As soon as he turned his head towards you, you stabbed him in the throat with your knife. His eyes widened in surprise as blood gushed from the open cut in his throat onto your face, your clothes and your hands. He reached for the knife, grasping it as if he intended to pull it out. But he was wheezing and choking on his own blood as he tried to breathe. You stared at him, your eyes wide with shock. Marcus's voice sounded muffled to your ears. He shook you by the shoulders, but you were completely numb and paralysed. As Flavius' lifeless body collapsed to the ground, you looked at your hands. They were red and wet. Your gaze fell upon Flavius' body again. The blood flowing out of his throat was slow, the effect of the poison, you thought.

Marcus took your face in his hands. Seeing the faint smile on his face, feeling his touch on your skin, your body came back to life.

“Aurelia my love? Are you alright? Speak please, say anything.” He sounded concerned.

“M. Marcus, I... I killed him.” You mumbled.

Marcus wrapped his arms tightly around you.

“Shhh, I know.” He whispered. His hands ran through your hair which was smeared with blood in some places. He rubbed your head and kissed over and over, exhaling with relief. Then he looked at you once more, his eyes holding yours in a gaze that was both intense and unwavering. "It's over, my love. You are safe now." He wiped the blood from your face with his fingers. He kissed your temple and touched his forehead to yours. You stayed like that for a while. Then you heard horses neighing in the distance.

“Sir!”

Octavius and Cato leapt off their horses and ran to you.

"Are you alright, my lady? Sir?" Octavius asked. His eyes then travelled over Flavius' body.

“We are now,” Marcus answered for you.

Octavius moved towards Flavius' body and spat a curse at him.

"Cato, give me a hand," Marcus said, and he helped you to your feet, but your legs were shaking. He wrapped his arms around you and lifted you into his arms. Cato held the horse's reins to keep it still. He approached the horse and carefully helped you on. Then he climbed on and settled behind you. He pulled you against his chest and grasped the horse's reins. "Hang in there, my love," he said firmly. Accompanied by Octavius and Cato, he rode slowly toward Palatine Hill.

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[megraen]

Chapter Seven - Freedom or Death

WORD COUNT: 6,061

Darius Sextus Residence - Rome 195AD

When Fosca returned home that afternoon, having spent her day with most of Rome’s population at the Colosseum watching executions, she hadn’t expected to be greeted by her husband’s slaves with news that the Roman princess was currently resting in the tablinum. It had been a bewildering notion that Lucia would come here on the day that her attack had been executed. Had it been Fosca, she would have been drinking and celebrating the death of her attacker. Stepping into the tablinum, Fosca’s eyes narrowed on the princess. Lucia was sitting on a lounger, dressed in a simple gown, not in the usual slave’s tunic she would wear when visiting.

“This may be the first I have seen you in something that wasn’t just rags.” Fosca teased, trying to coax a reaction from her friend, yet Lucia didn’t speak; her eyes were downcast at her hands folded in her lap, and the cup of wine sitting at a small table beside her was untouched. Fosca frowned. “You are troubled.” She muttered, sitting beside the raven-haired woman.

“I cannot do this anymore…” Lucia forced out, raising her head to meet Fosca’s gaze. Fosca gasped at what she saw; the usual smiling and teasing woman was gone, and all that remained was a shell of a broken woman with dead eyes. Those once vibrant blues were dull. “Rome is killing me…and if I linger, I will take my life.” It was a bitter desire to admit, leaving even Fosca afraid. Death was only considered acceptable under three rules: to remedy a dishonour, old age, and to avoid forfeit of property. For Lucia to end her life to ease her unhappiness would be seen as a public insult.

“You cannot,” Fosca whispered harshly, cupping the woman’s face. “You must live. For your mother, for Acacius, for me.” She begged.

Lucia looked away shamefully. “I have decided I must leave Rome to be free of it all finally.” She pulled away from her friend’s hold and stood, moving to stand in the doorway to the gardens. Fosca’s eyes were trained on her, watching like a hawk for one ill move.

“Why now?” Fosca questioned. “Your attack was—”

“There will be more.” Lucia cut her off, causing the blonde to gape. How could she possibly know that? What reason did Lucia have to suspect that there would be another attack? Lucia sighed. “Countless Senators approached me before Crito’s execution, stating how they could have protected me. They have no honour, only caring for their desire for power.” Lucia explained, and Fosca shared that sentiment. What man ordered tried to woo a woman as she relived her assault? One without morals. “I am twenty-three years of age, and in a decade, many will argue that I can no longer bear sons; the older I age, the more desperate they will become.” Lucia reasoned, turning back to face her friend.

Fosca was frowning, but she understood. She nodded. “Where will you go?” She asked. The Roman Empire was vast and ever-expanding, and if Lucia truly wished to escape Rome and its clutches, she could travel by road to the north or take a boat to the south or east.

“North. To Germania.” Lucia spoke. This was the fastest path in the Roman Empire. One could hitch a ride on a merchant’s wagon along the Via Aurelia road, and then the. Via Julia Augusta road over the mountains into Germania. Ships that crossed the sea would charge too much coin, and there would be a logbook keeping records. The roads would allow her to vanish with the hundreds of other travellers and merchants who used the roads. Lucia shared this with Fosca. The blonde was impressed with the plan; only she had found some minor issues.

Lucia would be too recognisable with her raven hair and clothes; therefore, her appearance would need to be changed. Fosca quickly summoned two slaves, ordering them to go into the markets before they closed and buy a blonde wig and a low-class travelling chiton. The slaves nodded and left promptly, going to complete their tasks.

“You need not waste your coin on me,” Lucia murmured, her brows furrowing, but Fosca waved her off.

“I’d rather have you alive and happy than knowing you died in despair.” Fosca reasons. “Besides, you won’t even make it one foot outside Rome looking as you do now. You must look not as you do now, and your appearance and beauty are well whispered within the city; I’m sure one would recognise you alone based on tales of your appearance.” She explained, adjusting Lucia’s pinned-back raven hair.

A blonde wig would blend in with her pale skin and blue eyes, dulling her eye-catching features. Dressing her down would also effortlessly make the guards ignore her, as none would expect some lower-class blonde woman to be the missing princess. When her husband had been home, Fosca often sat in when he entertained General Acacius, listening to them discuss war strategies.

Fosca glanced again at the untouched wine and frowned. “Have you eaten anything?” She asked, inspecting Lucia’s figure, trying to determine if she’d lost weight from lack of food or stress. When Lucia shook her head, confirming the blonde’s suspicions, Fosca tutted and ordered a slave to bring them food before getting the princess to sit back down. Fosca spent the rest of her evening soothing Lucia as a mother would a child. She could see with her eyes just how broken Lucia had become, a shell of her former self. In all the years she’d known the dark-haired woman, Lucia had always been strong-willed, capable of surviving anything the men of Rome had thrown at her, yet she could only ignore it for so long before it became too much.

While Fosca had a taste of the upper-class lifestyle as a Second in Command’s wife, with the position to attend parties and events, she wasn’t one of the elites as Lucia was, surrounded by Rome’s most influential and wealthy, such as Emperors and Senators, which decided the fate of the Roman Empire daily. A single choice could either have Rome continuing to prosper or let the great Empire fall into chaos.

The slaves brought trays of food: freshly roasted chicken, grapes, bread, cheeses, olives, fruits and various green vegetables, a selection fit for a guest of Lucia’s station. While Lucia didn’t eat much of the food provided for her, Fosca was just glad to see her eating something. After the meal, Fosca had her friend escorted to a guest chamber to rest, knowing the woman needed a good sleep, with the promise that no one would disturb her.

“Domina…” One of Fosca’s slaves approached her as she rested in her tablinum, sipping on wine after putting Lucia to bed. Fosca glanced up at the slave, a single well-maintained brow rising. She looked at the man, who had served her husband long before she married Darius. Fosca gestured for him to speak. “Are you sure this is wise? To go against the Emperors? It is treason.” He offered the advice, knowing that what his mistress was doing was extremely risky. If discovered, it would mean either exile or death, possibly even being made a slave, with consequences that a woman of Fosca’s breeding wouldn’t be able to survive. It also meant that upon Darius’s return to Rome, he would face punishment for his wife’s actions.

Fosca frowned. “You do not have the right to lecture me on what is right or wrong.” She stated firmly, reminding the man of his position as a slave. His duty was to serve, not provide input on how she conducted her affairs. “Lucia is a Roman citizen who has suffered. Therefore, she has every right to leave.”

“She is the property of the Emperors.” The slave tried to reason, believing that by hiding Lucia, Fosca was offending the Emperors, and he was trying to defend his master’s house. The notion of his words had his mistress seeing red.

“She is the property of her stepfather! General Acacius! Not the Emperors or the Senate!” Fosca barked harshly, slamming down her cup and spilling wine everywhere. The fact that she had to quote the law to a slave was ridiculous. She rose swiftly, turning on the slave. The slave flinched under her gaze, knowing he had indeed crossed a line. “If you even think about telling anyone-a single soul—about this, I will personally cut your throat.” Fosca hissed, sending him away with the flick of her wrist. She was seething as the slave left; her mood and desire for wine soured. Her jaw tightened, and Fosca knew she’d have to rein in her husband’s slaves because if a single one of them decided to talk or, worse, go straight to the Emperor’s to report what she was assisting Lucia with, it would be the end of her entire household, including the slaves. Every last one of them would be held accountable for treason.

Palace of Domitian - Rome 195AD

Geta was fuming. He had seen it as an insult that Lucia had chosen to leave the Colosseum before the end of the games he’d arranged in her honour. All of Rome had come to bear witness to Crito’s execution for the former Senator’s crimes against the princess, yet the moment the man had been killed, she’d left, returning to the Palace. She should have sat patiently and enjoyed the games while being in the public eye for their benefit. He and his brother were in a small, private dining room, enjoying an evening meal with paid female company, yet Geta was pacing, ignoring the women as he raged.

“Calm, brother.” Caracalla drawled. He was annoyed with how this was becoming a repeating occurrence. Lucia would do something, and Geta would always find a reason why it offended him. Caracalla couldn’t understand it. To him, Lucia was nothing more than a pretty face he wouldn’t mind taking into his bed, even if his twin had warned him not to do it, multiple times.

Geta scowled. “How can I be calm when she continues to humiliate us?” He hissed, fiddling with the rings on his left hand. He still hadn’t ceased pacing, and it was starting to drive Caracalla dizzy. The younger twin shook his head, trying to unfocus his eyes. “She couldn’t have just sat there? Obedient and dignified while all of Rome gazed upon her?” Geta sighed, finally ceasing his pacing. “Is that too much to ask?” He looked to his brother, who didn’t seem to care to answer, too engaged in drinking his wine. Geta’s hands clenched. He wanted to smack it from Caracalla’s hand and have his brother listen to him and converse with him. “Brother!” He seethed.

“What?” Caracalla groaned. He slouched back on the lounge he was lying on, the two women sitting with him flinching, scared of what both Emperors would do if they became enraged. “Why must you be so obsessed with her? Just ignore her. Lock her away.” Caracalla stressed, wishing to put an end to the one-sided conversation swiftly.

Geta stared at his twin, his mouth agape. “I am not obsessed with her.”

“You act like she is a brothel girl you keep returning to,” Caracalla spoke as if the notion of returning to the same prostitute was a joke. Caracalla preferred to sample each woman at least once, believing it was better to spread his seed than plant it in the same garden over and over. Geta rolled his eyes and made a sound of disgust.

“Lucia is no prostitute, and I’m NOT obsessed with her.” Geta barked before snorting. Obsessed with Lucia? The notion was laughable. The woman was obsessed with him; otherwise, why would she go out of her way to make his life miserable? Lucia seemed to be a bloodhound for always doing something to make him look bad in front of the Senate and Rome. Her ongoing escapades, blatant disrespect, and ignorance of the Imperial crown made the woman more trouble than she was worth. Had she not been Rome’s beloved princess, Geta would have wrung her little neck himself long ago.

Caracalla stood, picking up a cup of wine that Geta had forgotten and offering it to his brother. “Drink, brother! Be merry! For today was a good day! We saw much blood.” Geta stared down at his twin, fiddling with his rings one last time before accepting the drink. Caracalla smiled as Geta drank greedily, letting the wine dull his mind and distract him from thoughts of Lucia. “That’s the spirit!” Caracalla cheered, slapping his twin on the shoulder and guiding him to the lounge where the two women sat waiting. The men indulged their senses, drinking and feasting on the selections of goods prepared by the kitchen slaves. The brothel girls pawed at their bodies, rubbing the rugged plains of their chests, their fingers massaging their flesh. Geta and Caracalla reminisced about the games at the Colosseum, discussing how entertaining it was to witness the fallen Senator and guards meet their cruel fate, to be ripped apart by a lion for their crimes and offence towards their Emperors.

The twins had always loved the Colosseum, even as young children. Their father instilled in them a love for the violence and gore that occurred during a fight; to witness men slicing at each other’s flesh was a desperation for survival. It was the closest the Emperors would get to experiencing real war, the hype of battle, as they’d been sheltered due to their late father’s position as Emperor. Severus needed to ensure that his line would continue, which meant keeping his sons out of harm’s way. It also meant the twins had never received any formal military training. Geta and Caracalla didn’t understand the hard truths of swords and blood; they never knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of a weapon or face someone trying to kill them. Yet, Geta was smart enough to be aware of Rome’s various elite clawing to take the role of Emperor away from the twins.

The other viewing pleasure was Circus Maximus. It wasn’t as violent as watching two men hack and slash each other with swords, but the chariot-racing brought a thrill and excitement. Watching the chariots race around the long curved track, with the chance of chariots banging into one another and sending a man onto the tracks, only to have his body crushed under the hoofs of horses and wheels of chariots. For the twins, it was another opportunity to drink and get high from the thrill of death.

Both men were well intoxicated when one of the slaves had entered the small room, their eyes downcast and fearful. The Emperors paid the man no mind, too busy engaging in drink and the lovely company of the prostitutes. After a few more awkward shifts from the male slave, he stepped forward, speaking to gain the attention of Geta and Caracalla. The twins turned to him with a scornful look, greatly annoyed that their celebration was being interrupted.

“My most sincere apologies, your majesties.” The slave bowed low. “But I bring troubling news.”

“Have the Praetorians handle it,” Caracalla said, brushing the man away, not wanting any Imperial matters to distract them from their pleasure. He looked to the brothel girl sitting next to him, the hand he had cupping her exposed thigh slowly edging up higher beneath her flimsy chiton.

The slave shifted again. “They need only your orders to act. Princess Lucia—”

The sound of a glass shattering cut him off. His eyes widened, and he shrank back as Geta jumped, stepping over the broken cup and wine that pooled on the floor. Just at the mention of that woman, he had his blood heating with rage, throwing his wine aside and storming from the small dining room, ignoring his brother’s protests.

Geta had stormed through the courtyard and up the stairs to Lucia’s chambers, bursting the door open to find the room completely devoid of the raven-haired woman. She was gone. That conniving and infuriating woman was gone. “Praetorians!” He bellowed, gazing at the guards outside the chambers long before he arrived. “Where is she?!” Geta stomped up to them, his eyes ablaze with fury. He listened as the guards blundered out their words, explaining that they’d searched the Palace from top to bottom, even the areas reserved for slaves and forbidden for Lucia to enter, but she was gone entirely.

The news did not sit well with Geta. He turned his gaze toward the windows that overlooked Rome, seeing the darkness blanketing the city. Geta knew she was out there somewhere and deemed the woman beyond foolish. While Rome was somewhat safe during the day, a beautiful woman like Lucia would be a walking meal for any red-blooded man looking for a feast to sink his cock into.

“I want every inch of Rome searched!” Geta barked, facing the Imperial guard. He didn’t care if all of Rome had learned about her disappearance; he just wanted her to return to him immediately. “And bring Lucilla to me! Now!” He started to pace in the small chambers, twirling his rings as he did his best to ignore how his heart raced in his chest. It would be on his and his brother’s heads if anything happened to her. He suspected Lucilla played a part in her daughter’s disappearance, as he refused to believe the woman would have no idea of her daughter’s comings and goings.

Geta turned his attention to the room, pulling open drawers and cabinets as he searched the space. He went through Lucia’s belongings as if a clue to her whereabouts would be revealed to him. None of her possessions seemed to be missing, which meant she had taken nothing with her when she left, not even to trade for coin. Throwing open the wardrobe doors, Geta searched furiously through her clothes, ripping each garment and drawer out and throwing them to the floor.

He paused when he noticed the false wooden bottom of the lowest shelf. Geta breathed deeply, knowing he had found something purposefully hidden from him and all those who served him. Lifting the wood away, he paused at the sight of the pure white chiton dress. Lifting it, he knew without having to see the rest of the items hidden away to come to the obvious conclusion. It was a wedding dress, and the orange veil and knotted belt were inside the compartment.

The sight of the garment pieces had his brows twitching, emotions fighting within him. Geta knew the only reason Lucia would have such items hidden away was for her to marry in secret, and it left him to ponder if she had a secret lover that she was venturing out to see to plan an elopement. Rage overtook Geta, flooding his system at the thought of Lucia marrying some unknown man, an offence to his ego. He wouldn’t let her marry. She was his prisoner, and he wouldn’t risk a potential male heir stealing his crown. Geta hadn’t even realised he’d been pulling at the dress in his hands until he heard the sound of fabric ripping, the white chiton breaking into two pieces.

He stood when Lucilla had finally arrived, the blonde woman staring at Geta with wide, concerned eyes. She remained still as Geta stepped closer, the white gown still in his hands. “You have been misleading us…” Geta spoke darkly. His eyes flickered past the woman, spotting his twin lingering in the doorway. “Lucia was getting married,” Geta spoke more to his twin than to Lucilla. He threw the ripped gown at her feet. At the sight of it, Caracalla trudged forward, picking up the dress with a confused gaze. His eyes then looked to Lucilla, and both men stared her down.

“Who was worthy of such a woman’s hand?” Caracalla drawled, stepping closer to Lucilla, invading her personal space without care. Normally, Geta would advise his twin against it, but he didn’t care. He was too angry to stop Caracalla.

Lucilla remained still, unmoving under their scrutinising stares. “There is no one. I had arranged her wedding attire years ago in the hopes of her future marriage.” She spoke truthfully, defending her daughter against the man’s outlandish claims. Neither men were convinced.

“Then where is she?” Geta hissed, his eyes narrowing. “Because she isn’t here or anywhere within the Palace.” He gestured around the space. His eyes softened when he noticed the shift in Lucilla’s demeanour, the once calm and stoic woman trembling when she learned that her daughter was missing.

“What?” Lucilla quaked, her eyes blown wide. “What do you mean?” She asked. The fear overtook her. How could her daughter not be here? Not be safe within her chambers at this time of night?

“You didn’t know?” Geta asked. Lucilla shook her head. She had no knowledge that her daughter was missing or why. Lucilla clutched at her chest, her heart feeling tight. The twins watched as the woman struggled to breathe, and her eyes darted fearfully. “My lady…?” Geta reached for her tentatively but stepped back, shaking her head. Lucilla began to murmur ‘no’ repeatedly, unable to accept the news of her daughter missing. She rushed from the room without saying anything more, leaving the Emperors dumbfounded. They hadn’t expected such a reaction.

“She seems scared,” Caracalla murmured, blinking. The ripped dress was still in his hands, almost forgotten, as he turned to look at his twin. “Do you think she was involved?”

Geta shook his head. “No.” He began to pace, rubbing at his jaw as he thought. It was evident by Lucilla’s reaction that she hadn’t played a part in her daughter’s disappearance, nor did she know where the young woman was. Geta’s eyes moved to the ripped dress in his brother’s hands, and he knew Lucilla was lying to them. There was no way Lucia would hang onto a wedding dress for so long and have it hidden away unless there was a reason to hide it. The dress was also her current size, which meant it wouldn’t have fit her as a teenager. “But she was planning to marry Lucia under our noses,” Geta said, making his brother frown.

Caracalla looked at the dress in his hands, holding it up. “Well, she can’t marry anyone now.” He spoke proudly, admiring the massive tear in the fabric. It was unwearable in its current state, and the twins doubted that even the best tailors in Rome could fix it. Caracalla tossed the dress to the floor. “What do we do now…?” Caracalla asked his brother, his face blank as he stared in confusion.

“We spread the word that Lucia was kidnapped. Taken against her will.” Geta spoke, nodding his head in agreement with his idea.

Caracalla’s eyes went wide. “Lucia was kidnapped?!” He gasped, shocked that anyone could sneak into the Palace and take the woman away.

Geta shut his eyes, breathing through his nose and fighting the urge to yell at his twin for the man’s stupidity. “It’s what we’re going to tell people. We can’t have Rome knowing that she ran away.” He explained. Caracalla nodded slowly.

“So she wasn’t kidnapped?” Caracalla murmured, still clearly confused. Geta gritted his teeth; the more the man spoke stupidly, the more he needed to lecture Caracalla. The eldest twin knew that his brother’s mind wasn’t as sharp as it once was due to the effect of the disease eating at Caracalla’s manhood, but Geta still questioned how Caracalla couldn’t seem to process a single good thought in his head anymore.

“No. She wasn’t kidnapped.” Geta stated firmly, looking at his twin sharply. Caracalla’s confused expression lingered, but he didn’t ask any more tiring questions, much to Geta’s enjoyment.

Streets of Rome - Rome 195AD

Anyone who passed Lucia and Fosca on the streets of Rome could have assumed the two women were sisters or relatives due to the blonde wig secured neatly at Lucia’s head, her dark locks hidden away. Her dress was simple and basic, made from a rough linen that itched at her skin, but she wouldn’t complain. Lucia was finally getting her wish to flee Rome and never look back, just as she had wanted since Lucius was taken away when the twins were eight.

The two women made their way to the Aurelia gate to pay for Lucia’s passage on a trader wagon out of the city, which bore witness to the increased guards on the streets. They quickly heard the rumours.

The first was that during the night, many known accused rapists had been beaten to death, and their bodies were left naked on the Roman streets with their cocks removed. It had been a shocking discovery, and a vigilante justice brought on by Crito’s death at the Colosseum. It sparked a demand for change in Rome that the public wouldn’t stand for their women being assaulted anymore.

The second rumour struck a chord with Lucia more. The moment she heard the tale, she knew the Emperors had spun it to protect their declining reputation. Princess Lucia, daughter of Rome, had been kidnapped while visiting the temple of Jupiter at Palatine Hill, and the guards assigned to protect her were found dead.

The notion that anyone had dared to kidnap the princess on the day of her attacker’s execution was shocking to the Roman public; many demanded she be found immediately and returned to the safety of the Palace.

“They are eager for the princess’s return.” Fosca grimaced, making sure not to speak to Lucia as she was the ‘kidnapped’ princess. Lucia nodded. Both women understood the urge to imprison her again, as her disappearance posed a threat to the twins’ rule. “A murder outside a temple and a kidnapping…” Fosca tutted, shaking her head.

“Such tragedies bring the lower class together,” Lucia muttered, adjusting the palla draped over her body. She had initially planned to use the simple shawl to cover her head, but didn’t wish to hide the blonde wig. The blonde hair meant the guards would glance over her, yet if she hid her head, it made her a better target to be inspected.

Fosca tutted again, not pleased with the Emperors using the peasants’ outrage to their benefit. She just hoped that it would keep people distracted enough for them not to look too closely at Lucia. “One of my slaves came out before dawn and arranged for a trader to meet with us.” She said, her eyes darting around suspiciously as they neared the gate.

“What have they been told?” Lucia asked.

“That you are my sister, escaping your marriage to an abusive drunk,” Fosca explained, spotting a wagon marked with a red and blue canvas on its side. “They are a husband and wife from up north who came to sell their pottery, so they took pity on you.” She added, guiding Lucia closer to the cart. At the sight of them, an old, greying man stopped fiddling with the fastenings that held a short donkey to the wagon, his eyes narrowing.

“Are you Domina Fosca?” The man asked, looking at the finely dressed woman and then the simple-looking woman beside her. “And her sister?” He raised a brow.

“Yes, I am Fosca. And this is my sister, Rhea.” Fosca spoke. Rhea was the name of one of her female slaves, and right now, it is the only one she thought of giving in place of Lucia. The man continued to stare at them, and for a second, Fosca pondered if he somehow knew that the blonde beside her was the missing princess. The man couldn’t know what the Roman princess looked like, as the portrait that had been made of Lucia to be shown around didn’t capture her face too well. It was a rough drawing, made in haste, but it was useless compared to the Imperial soldiers who knew what Lucia looked like.

“Oh! She’s so tiny!” A female voice spoke, causing Fosca and Lucia to glance at an older woman they assumed was the man’s wife. The older woman stepped closer to Lucia, inspecting her. “So skinny! You look as if you haven’t eaten or slept in days!” She gasped, shaking her head at the sight of the young woman before her. Her husband rolled his eyes and muttered something, returning to ensuring the donkey wouldn’t break free.

“I thank you for taking my sister to safety…” Fosca stated, her words dropping off as she remembered that she hadn’t gotten either couple’s names from her slave.

“Dido.” The older woman smiled. “And that old grump is my husband, Aulus.” Her husband grumbled again behind her, but didn’t retort about the grumpy comment. Aulus and Dido had been married for over forty years, a marriage built from love rather than physical attraction.

“Thank you, Dido, for ensuring my sister’s safety,” Fosca smiled.

Dido waved off the thanks. “If it were one of my daughters in this situation, I’d pray that someone aid her just as we are aiding Rhea! And if I found out that any of my sons were acting in such an ill manner, they’d wish I had never birthed them!” She beamed proudly. “Isn’t that right, husband?” Dido turned to her husband, smiling at the man and looking at him for reassurance. Aulus blinked at his wife, muttering ‘As you say, wife’ under his breath. The old couple took aback both Fosca and Lucia, amazed that the husband allowed himself to be subservient to his wife’s demands, as such a thing was unheard of in Roman society, especially in public.

“You two are quite…” Fosca couldn’t find the words.

Dido laughed. “It happens when you have been married for so long. You two are young women, so I wouldn’t expect you to know. I pray that you and your husband are in love?” She looked at Fosca, smiling, when the blonde nodded. “Good. You’ll understand in time.” Dido advised. She stepped away when her husband called for her, trudging over to the cart and beginning to bicker about the supplies and leftover pottery loaded into the back of the wagon. They had a collection of goods to bring back to their small village at the request of their community. The peasantry outside of Rome had to rely on passing traders or dare to make the long journey to the Capital to acquire goods that couldn’t be produced in their small villages.

Fosca turned to Lucia, cupping the younger woman’s face and bringing their foreheads together in a loving embrace. “You be safe. I want you to live a long, happy life. Find a wonderful man, marry, and have many children.” She whispered sweetly, bringing a smile to both their lips. Lucia nodded swiftly, tears pricking at her eyes. There was a thundering in Lucia’s chest, her heart racing at the possibility of both leaving Rome and saying goodbye to her friend. It was a mix of sorrow and excitement, and owed all to Fosca.

“I pray we meet again,” Lucia murmured back, pulling away from the embrace to meet her friend’s eyes. Fosca shifted, pulling at the metal armband on her left upper arm, removing it and sliding it up Lucia’s arm. “Fosca!” She gasped, trying to jerk he arm back, but her friend stopped her.

“Shush.” Fosca scolded. “You’ll need the money.” She said, tapping the armband. It was an intricate working of metal, containing a latch that, when opened, held coins. Lucia frowned. She didn’t like taking more from the woman, but she understood. Lucia would need money to survive until she could get out of the Empire and find somewhere to settle down.

“Thank you.” Lucia smiled again, embracing Fosca one last time. Fosca held back a mournful look as she watched Aulus assist her friend onto the front of the cart, sitting Lucia between him and his wife. If everything went according to plan, this would be the last time Fosca ever saw the princess and as much as it pained her to watch Lucia leave, Fosca was truly happy for her friend. Fosca had been fortunate to be married to a good and noble man who loved her and to live a life of luxury despite the absence of children, but for Lucia, life had been cruel, depriving her of a worthy husband, freedom and children.

“Be safe!” Fosca yelled out, walking beside the wagon as it began to move. She listed off last-minute advice she had wanted her friend to know. Lucia laughed and waved, knowing how much the blonde woman cared for her.

“Your sister loves you a lot,” Dido commented, a sweet smile on her lips as she admired the way Fosca had lingered behind them, watching the cart travel towards the city gate. Lucia nodded, unable to speak at that moment as the heartache had become too much. The sorrow clenched at her chest, and her eyes pricked with tears, mourning the loss of her only true friend, someone whom she had been able to trust wholly.

Nestling back into her seat, Lucia palmed the long skirt of her dress, trying to distract her mind from the final goodbye with Fosca. Taking a deep breath, she forced her head up proudly, gazing at the towering gates that loomed ahead. While the massive wooden structure was open, countless guards surrounded it, inspecting each cart and wagon leaving and peering at any young female, comparing their face to the crudely drawn image of Lucia they had on the parchment in their hands. Lucia felt a bubbling of fear, knowing that if one guard happened to look at her too long and recognised her, her ploy was all over. She’d be dragged back to the Palace, and worse, Dido and Aulus would be executed, blamed as her kidnappers, even if she dared to defend the old couple.

“searching for the missing princess…” Aulus tutted, shaking his head. There was a scowl on his old, weathered face, and it was because this inspection would delay their journey to the nearest town before nightfall. It wasn’t wise to be out on the roads after dusk, as the bandits came out, hoping to rob any unwise travellers. Dido had murmured a reply, but she felt sorry for the missing princess, believing the tales of the kidnapped young woman.

“Halt,” A single guard ordered, stepping closer to the wagon. He held up the parchment in his hand, comparing the drawing to the three individuals in the cart as other soldiers inspected the back contents. Lucia didn’t dare look away or try to look guilty. She needed to remain impassive to their search, knowing it was how she would remain undetected. After a few minutes of being unable to find anyone stashed away in the back, the guards all stepped away and signalled them through.

Lucia breathed a small sigh of relief, silencing the blood pounding in her ears. Her heart had begun to race as the guard with the drawer stared at her, fearing he would realise it was her, but fate had finally chosen to be kind to her, the guard falling for her disguise. Neither Dido nor Aulus had picked up on Lucia’s fear, either blind or distracted by the guards. Yet when the wagon pulled through the large gates and Lucia saw the rolling green hills and vineyards outside of Rome, an audible gasp left her lips.

“First time seeing what lies beyond Rome?” Dido asked, her eyes gleaming with humour at Lucia’s reaction. Lucia nodded. It was a sight she never thought she’d see, and it was beautiful. Rome was a cramped city of maze-like buildings, which she had hardly seen much of in the few times she’d snuck out, but to see what lay beyond the cold metropolis was extraordinary.

“Is all the world like this?” Lucia asked, her head darting around to take in as much of it as possible. The question had urged a laugh from Aulus, the introverted man finding genuine humour in her innocent and naive pondering.

“From what I’ve seen, yes,” Aulus spoke, his eyes flicking to the woman beside him. “But there is so much more out there. Rome is just a small part of our world.”

@barcelonaloverf1life @quuinyoung @justnobodynothingmore @sarai-ibn-la-ahad

[sregan]

On 'Megalopolis'

I have seen 'Megalopolis: A Fable'. My assessment in one word is that it's 'striking'. It's a striking film - which is not necessarily to say that it is a 'good' film. It may be an 'important' film, insofar as it's likely the last film by the creator of 'The Godfather', 'The Conversation' and 'Apocalypse Now', and self-funded.

It's also a very strange film. In almost every scene there's something bizarre - not necessarily in the sense of worldbuilding but in terms of the directorial choices made.

For some reason 'Megalopolis' was not marketed as a work of alternate history, which I think could have brought in more attention, but a 'fable', with a heavy-handed opening monologue about the similarities between the modern USA and Rome. It's ostensibly set in the 21st century in 'New Rome', a modern city with Roman affectations - though it's also mentioned at times that it's still in the United States of America and that Elvis existed in this reality.

The best analogy I can make is that it feels like one of those adaptations to film of a Shakespearean play but set in the modern day, where much of the dialogue has been updated but the main speeches have been left in the original language (indeed, sections of dialogue from Hamlet and The Tempest appear unmodified); but without the source play.

'Megalopolis' is - though few critics seem to be crediting this - a loose adaptation of the life of Lucius Sergius Catilina, somewhat annealed with Julius Caesar (furnishing protagonist Cesar Catalina as played by Adam Driver). The real Catalina is a rival of Cicero (here Mayor Cicero as played by Giancarlo Esposito), prosecuted for an affair with a vestal virgin by Publius Clodius Pulcher - here Clodius Pulcher as played by Shia Labeouf - and accused of killing his wife in order to marry Aurelia Orestilla, the daughter of the consol (who has been merged with Cicero to create Julia Cicero, the Mayor's daughter, as played by Nathalie Emmanuel). All this happens in the film.

The real historical Catalina, of course, was the mastermind behind the Catalinarian Conspiracy, an attempt to overthrow Cicero and Hybrida and seize power. In the first of many changes, Coppola changes this to make Clodius the leader of the plot and Cesar Catalina innocent. While the historical Crassus uncovered the plot and told the Senate, Jon Voight's Hamilton Crassus is betrayed by his unfaithful trophy wife (clearly a reference to Tertulla) and Clodius in a 'Dallas' spoof sideplot, but eventually gets the upper hand and backs Catalina with his wealth.

At this point we should address the elephant in the room. In 'Megalopolis: A Fable', Cesar Catalina is an architect who wishes to build a new shining city, the titular Megapolis, using a revolutionary new metal he has developed, Megalon. This makes startling sense when you realise Coppola has long dreamed of adapting Ayn Rand's 'The Fountainhead'. Cesar is clearly intended to be a mix of Howard Roark and Henry Rearden from Rand's 'Atlas Shrugged', a visionary steelmaker who has developed 'Rearden Metal'.

However, Megalon may have a dark secret - Mayor Cicero says it's rumoured he used his dead wife's body to manufacture the metal. While the introduction of this rumour is cack-handed (Cicero just whispers it to Cesar at an event), it's at least an intriguing take based on a real historical rumour. This in combination with the source material - a scheming politician who launches a coup - might make you wonder if Coppola is playing Sympathy for the Devil here and will reveal Cesar as a villain protagonist (as far as I can tell, he doesn't intend this).

Cesar also has the ability to stop time. Very literally; he can talk to Time (capital T) and tell it to do things. The first scene of the film - which may be Cesar attempting suicide or testing this power for the same time - sees Driver's character on the roof of the Chrysler Building, teetering on the edge. As he begins to tip forward, he intones 'Time: stop!' and finds his body hovering in mid-air, allowing him to cautiously wuxia-float his way back onto the building (remember this).

This may all sound rather Jojo's Bizarre Adventure, but never fear - this power, which seems like it should be the metaphorical crux of the entire film (timestop as a metaphor for stagnation in a dying empire?), is largely irrelevant other than leading Julia to investigate him and then join his agency.

Oh yes, that's another thing that radically alters the dynamic from a hypothetical Francis Ford Coppola's Fountainhead; Cesar isn't a private architect but the head of a government agency, the Design Authority. We aren't told how he came into this role but he begins the film with his own staff, security, and lavish office, which makes him feel like much less of an underdog.

Cesar's Design Authority is pulling down slum buildings to replace them with his utopian Megalon developments - the plot can't quite decide whether he's doing this inside the law, but the result seems to be people forced onto the street - a clear nod, you might think, towards gentrification, although later plot points make this murkier.

Julia sees Cesar using his time stop ability during a demolition, seemingly to judge whether the collapse is safe (though what he would be able to do if it wasn't is unclear). Frustratingly we never see what this looks like to 'normal' people; Julia is the only person other than him to be able to manipulate time and we only ever see it from one of their perspectives. More on this later.

Esposito's Mayor Cicero is initially introduced as a hollow populist, who wants to use the demolished plots of land for crowd-pleasing moneymakers such as a casino. He shows off a slick model of the proposed pleasure palace, which seems to get the approval of the gathered journalists. Cesar, meanwhile, gives a philosophical speech urging grander ambitions ("Don't let the present get in the way of forever!") and offers to go through his design documents. I'm uncertain whether we are supposed to understand this to be what it looks like - that Cesar does not have people skills and finds it hard to communicate his genius - because Driver is given all sorts of quippy Tony Stark-like lines and business as he arrives to the meeting and otherwise reads as charming and personable.

This scene includes one of the most sophomoric film-school student lines in the film. When Cicero menacingly brings up Cesar's wife's death, he says: "Well, as you were the prosecutor in that case, you know I was found not guilty."

At this point Cesar is involved with Plaza's journalist femme fatale (name, I kid you not, 'Wow Platinum') but - I'm unsure whether we actually see them break up on screen - she falls for billionaire Crassus and Cesar becomes involved with Julia who, after mentioning she saw him stop time, receives work with his agency (much to her father's chagrin).

Before it's fully established that she has fallen for him, she follows him and sees him buy flowers and visit what I think is supposed to be his wife's home; we see him place them by her bedside and stroke her hair - she seems to be comatose rather than dead, but when Julia sees the same scene Cesar is alone, seemingly hallucinating. Julia somehow knows Cesar is hallucinating his wife and whispers "He still loves her!". This is one of many elements of 'Megalopolis' that make me think that despite being a self-funded auteur project, the narrative was muddled in the edit and a more coherent through-line must have existed at some point. If this scene came after Julia and Cesar were an item, it might have some emotional weight.

The chapters of the films are introduced with narration by Lawrence Fishburne, serving as Cesar's faithful chauffeur (an element that, perhaps, lets on that Coppola has been pitching this film for fifty years). The 'Bread and Circuses' chapter sees a lavish wedding for Crassus and Wow (sic.), with a Ben Hur-style chariot race and Pro Wrestling-themed gladiators. The effeminate villain Clodius appears, crossdressing after the style of the historical Caligula.

In a scene clearly intended to take aim at religious right virginity pledges, a 'vestal virgin' pop star is used to raise money by encouraging the wealthy to financially 'support' her pledge of virginity. However, as the bidding reaches 100 billion, Clodius bribes the AV technician to display on the jumbotron (!) a sex tape of the 'virgin' and Cesar, resulting in a scandal.

In a sequence clearly inspired by Fritz Lang's 'Metropolis', an intoxicated Cesar - presumably having seen the jumbotron but it's not entirely clear - hallucinates his arms moving in the shape of a clock. I initially thought this whole sequence (intercut with a gymnastic display which appears to go wrong) was intended to represent the aghast Cesar's powers going out of control and causing mayhem, but that doesn't seem to be the case. Instead his limo is stopped by police and he is arrested for corrupting a minor and statutory rape - a genuinely bold choice of peril for a protagonist and one I don't think would fly in any major studio production post-Harvey Weinstein!

Julia is oddly certain he must be innocent - again, the two are not clearly an item at this point; he's her boss - and investigates, finding that VanderWaal's vestal virgin's birth certificate was fabricated and she was in fact born out of the country six years earlier, meaning she was 23 at the time of the tape, not 17. Interestingly, in the newspaper montage showing Cesar being cleared, a voiceover also mentions the footage was found to be edited and fradulent, begging the question of why the birth certificate was even important - I can only think this VO was added after principal photography and originally the character did sleep with a girl he believed to be underage.

Again, an odd scene order - after being cleared, Julia finds a distraught Cesar on top of an under-construction building (what this is is unclear as none of his Megalon buildings use girders like this but it's a repeated location - put a pin in that). He has lost his confidence in his ability to command time and she coaxes him into regaining his mojo; he is able to stop time again with the formula 'For the sake of Julia, Time, please stop'. Again, this feels like it should have more narrative weight than it does; he 'loses' his powers for all of one scene and it doesn't impact his career or plans. It also feels like it should have come before the formal resolution of his legal woes. The hero losing his supernatural powers at the start of the second act and needing either to regain his confidence to use them or learning he must not rely on them is a well-worn superhero trope and it almost feels like Coppola felt compelled to include it since he had a super-powered protagonist but didn't understand or care to put it to any more significant use.

I forget where the scene takes place where he meets Wow again; she attempts to seduce him and offers him Crassus's bank, which she says she will steal away from him. He rebuffs her and in one of the worst pieces of professionally produced cinema I have ever seen, we fade to and from a closeup of the car's wheel driving over the coat he gives her. It wasn't even necessary to cut in - the coat is clearly visible and the audience expects the action from the way she throws it down - and the cut is executed horribly; it genuinely feels like a mistake, like a misplaced clip in Final Cut Pro.

Shortly thereafter, Cesar is approached by a young boy who asks him to sign an autograph. Utterly bafflingly, Nathalie Emmanuel is given the line of dialogue 'Cesar would never say no to a child'. This is a couple of scenes after he is accused of statutory rape; if it was meant to be delivered with wry humour, no-one told Emmanuel. In any case, the child shoots him in the face, having been revealed as an agent of Clodius.

We then get an abstract montage of what may be Cesar's dying hallucinations, with the repeated refrain (I think I remember this correctly:) "I will not give death dominion over my thoughts". It would not be unreasonable for one of the following to happen:

a.) Somehow Cesar is able to not just stop time but reverse it. We see a flower shrinking back into a bud and I was fully expecting to see the clip of his blood flowing on the street reversing. He has regained his powers and now has new incredible mastery. Or:

b.) The damage to his brain means Cesar cannot use his powers. Julia must step in and make the leap of faith - Cesar is injured now but was not so in the past. 'Time: Heal all wounds!').

Neither of these happen.

Instead, we see snippets of what seems to be a mostly cut scene where Julia and the scientist character replace the missing portions of Cesar's skull and brain with Megalon. This seems to be a triumphant return and we see him awake, bandaged but cogent.

In the next scenes, a slurring and seemingly brain-damaged, still bandaged Cesar who repeatedly shouts "No, no, no!" for some reason forces his way into Crassus's mansion to find out why the billionaire's bank has frozen his accounts. This is revealed to be a scheme of Wow at the behest of Clodius. She once again attempts to seduce Cesar (even after he reveals his horrific transparent gold skull-face) but is forced to stop when Crassus arrives.

After this, Wow turns her seductive attentions to Lebeouf's Clodius and persuades him to get Voight's character to sign over control of the bank in a rather shoddy bathhouse scene that I think is intended to show Crassus having a heart attack and aides rushing to his rescue, but which I initially believed showed him being stabbed by Clodius's accomplices. When Wow seduces Clodius she cuts his hair (something Crassus told Clodius to do) in silhouette which should clue you in she's playing the role of Delilah.

At this point we should mention that Clodius has his own sub-plot where he has been repeatedly seen trying to build cred among the mob protesting Cesar's project. The mob is, I would guess, the ultimate antagonist of the film, and Coppola is strikingly loose with his real-world targets here. The mob resembles Black Lives Matter and anti-gentrification protesters and Clodius says they are 'immigrants' whose vote can be bought; they carry SPQR flags that resemble the hammer and sickle; their slogans suggest far-left sympathies; but Clodius gives a literal stump speech on a tree stump which has been cut into the shape of a swastika (real subtle there) and his minion now has a forehead tattoo of the Black Sun, a real-world fascist symbol (I think he also said something along the lines of 'We will make New Rome great again', though I may be misremembering). You might be tempted to think that, given his historical intrigue with Rand's Objectivism, Coppola views the masses as generically 'collectivist', subsuming fascism and communism. If so, Cataline is a bizarre choice for a hero, as in the real world it was he who whipped up a mob to attack the Roman Senate, and Caesar who led the 'populists', while Cicero favoured the optimates (aristocracy). We'll talk more later about Cesar Catalina's philosophy, such as it is, in 'Megalopolis'.

As New Rome collapses in riots, Crassus, who is revealed to be less senile than previously suggested, confronts his wife and nephew in an absolutely hilarious scene where he lifts his suggestively tented blanket to reveal a tiny bow and arrow, which he uses to kill first Wow in a comedic spout of blood and then repeatedly plink a fleeing Clodius in the backside with arrows; each time it cuts back to Crassus he has another arrow (barely) drawn with no indication where they are coming from, like a YouTube Poop. I think, generously, this was meant to be slapstick comedy, even if the context is very dark (aging billionaire murders his cheating wife).

Mayor Cicero semi-reconciles with his daughter (who has since had Cesar's child) on the train as they are evacuated for their safety.

In the climax - I feel sure it's the climax - of the movie, the mob gathers at the gates of Megalopolis, but an apparently fully healed Cesar appears, projected on the golden leaves of his utopian city, and addresses them. The speech is every bit as dense, philosophical, and frankly unrousing as his opening debate, but this time it wins the crowd around and suddenly they are no longer the collectivist menace but the upstanding majority who are now delighted to live in his city as the gates open.

Crassus declares he is throwing his entire wealth (and 'the patents to Megalon', which I guess he somehow acquired when the bank froze Cesar's funds) behind the project, so all's well that ends well? The mob turn on Clodius when they find out 'he owns the bank' (except that no, we've just established he doesn't) and shockingly string him and his henchman up, Mussolini-style; while the camera cuts away quickly it's pretty clear they have stoned him to death.

As New Year dawns, Cesar persuades Julia to try stopping time herself for the first time. She does so, but surprisingly *everyone* freezes except the baby, who has clearly also inherited the power. The End. Someone in the row behind me chuckled.

To be clear, this lends the plot a degree of cogency you simply don't get in the theatre. It's clear to me much of the movie ended up on the cutting room floor - there are fully acted, costumed scenes with different dialogue that appear in the facets of the Megalon crystal as Cesar works but are not in the movie. I think the order of scenes may have been dramatically changed and possibly the ending altered, which is why Driver's character appears fully healed without explanation but only as a projection in the final speech.

The central conceit, time stop, is not used except indirectly as something one character sees to make her intrigued in Cesar, and later as evidence that he has his confidence back after a single scene where he can't use it. Losing it doesn't set back his plans and we barely get a sense of how he uses it in his work normally. An architect who literally has all the time in the world is an intriguing concept and one could easily imagine eyecatching scenes where buildings seem to erect themselves in a blink of an eye, or where from the perspective of a normal human he flashes around a room, drawing up plans and blueprints at seemingly superhuman speed. Indeed, I was fully expecting at least one scene where Driver appears where he shouldn't be, revealing he has been listening in on a conversation or confronting someone in a secure location, because he can stop time to get into any location or do anything.

But we don't see this - we don't even, unless I missed it, get a line like 'Cesar always finishes his projects ahead of schedule - what's his secret?'. Time stop also doesn't work consistently; the first time we see it, Cesar's own body is part of the timestop; he can seemingly think in normal time but his body is suspended on the brink of falling. But later, it's clear that people who use timestop move normally and are affected by gravity (when Julia drops her purse on the girder it slows and stops when it gets a certain distance from her).

The secondary conceit, Megalon, is barely defined. It's a miracle metal that allows things like flowing moving walkways and roofs that fold in like flower petals when it rains. It also bonds with living cells and is eventually replaced with healthy tissue. It sometimes reflects his wife's face, and in the medical montage I think they put some of the wife's hair into the implant, which suggests to me Megalon *is* partially a ghoulish necromantic substance that harnesses his wife's unquiet spirit - but incredibly this isn't addressed in the final narrative other than a dreamlike sequence where he hears his wife telling him 'Go to her', apparently permission for him to move on. Again, it feels like a late-era MCU production cut to hell by studio interference - except there's no studio.

There's also an ambiguous line where Mayor Cicero seems to admit *he*, not Cesar, killed her - I think the intent of this line is he is willing to publicly admit he tampered with evidence to convict Cesar if Cesar breaks up with his daughter. Cesar later tells Julia his wife killed herself because of his obsessive focus on work and we have no reason to doubt him.

It's all such a weird missed opportunity - clearly you're meant to initially wonder if Cesar did kill his wife. There's a blink-and-you'll-miss-it newspaper headline that says the death was a 'Hitchcockian mystery' - which suggests a locked-room murder. Now, who can enter a room, kill someone, and leave to have an alibi elsewhere, all in the blink of an eye? Surely, surely this was intended to be explored at some point; less Chekhov's gun being visible over the fireplace and more being shoved up your nostril in the first act.

The tertiary conceit - New Rome itself - is intriguing as a stylistic choice. It's overtly a fable so it would seem churlish to ask how this Roman city-state exists in a world where both the USA (of which it's seemingly a part) and USSR existed. The limits of the budget are visible in the lack of stylisation in some areas (extras' costumes, cars, offices) but I didn't find it too offensive. I did notice that the architecture we see associated with Cesar early in the film is clearly Art Deco, but the Megalon structures later in the film are postmodern sweeping leaf-life structures, as though Coppola changed his mind about what the future looks like some time in the fifty years since first conceiving the movie.

The central conflict of the film is thornier. You might assume that Cicero represents populist, 'need'-based politics ("People need help now," the mayor says, objecting to Cesar's grand vision of a better city), while Cesar is a Randian rugged individualist, except that's not quite what we're shown in the final cut.

The Mayor's character isn't consistent - by the midway point he's become a law and order figure while the sleazy collectivist mantle has been passed to Clodius and the anti-gentrification rioters. And Cesar being a government official mixes the message on 'lone genius architect' - where we do get an insight into the philosophy of Cesar Catalina, it's also not especially Randian. The character talks repeatedly about the need for 'debate' - that even starting to talk about what we should do, or agreeing that we should talk, is already utopia. He responds to the Mayor by suggesting that 'people's futures' are as important as their present. I also think at one point he says civilisation was a mistake, which is a startling remark from a protagonist but which seems to be something Coppola has floated in real life (seemingly believing there was a utopian matriarchy before history). So at best I think you can argue he takes a broadly long-term-self-interest rationalist view and is being contrasted with the short-term populist Mayor and the short-term instant-gratification rioters.

He also briefly (as in, a single line) advocates for debt nullification, which was a position of the real Cataline, but which doesn't really seem to gel with anything else in the movie - we never get the sense that Cesar hates Crassus lending money and aren't shown the effects of usury on the people.

The cast of actors - including John Voight, and DB Sweeney who starred in the ill-fated Atlas Shrugged adaptation - makes me think it was sold as a rightish-wing endeavour, but I can't imagine the apparent both-sidesism on display will satiate red-blooded culture war types.

Certain aspects of the film also felt quite dated - the use of sapphism to shock and titilate (and the curious line where Cesar, challenged by a gossip columnist to confirm he prefers women, insists 'Everyone prefers women. Even women prefer women'); contrasted with the effete, crossdressing villain Clodius.

What's most striking (I said it was the salient word) about 'Megalopolis' is how much potential each element has relative to how it's actually used on-screen. Some of this is the tight budget constraints necessitated by Coppola burning through his own money to fund the film - the SFX were generally decent though I noticed at least one truly shoddy effect where characters walk into an idyllic field which is clearly a separate plate, and their bodies are sliding left-to-right as though walking on ice.

How might I re-imagine 'Megalopolis'? Keeping most of the beats and trying to refine the message rather than changing it:

- Cesar as a private architect, not a government agency. Put Crassus in the role of a Gail Wynand; a wealthy man and potential patron.

- Cesar has built a reputation as the man who always has time - he finishes every project ahead of schedule and under budget; his demolitions always proceed flawlessly and his staff have no idea how he does it.

- The Mayor champions sweetheart deals with contractors for cheap, trashy buildings that will fall down in thirty years (this might have been in the script at some point as Cesar calls him a 'slum lord') while Cesar wants to use Megalon to create an Art Deco utopian development.

- Julia sees Cesar stop time and he offers her a job. He demonstrates how when his staff see him flash around at super-speed he is really doing all the laborious work of drawing up plans in real time, totally alone as he previously had no-one who could do what he did.

- The press casts doubt on Megalon, with the unions pushing for proven materials like concrete and steel. A ghastly rumour emerges that Megalon contains human DNA. Cesar gives a speech, asking what would happen if the first architects using steel had faced the same resistance. What about fire?

- Julia proves her worth by securing a contract for Cesar to redevelop a large slum after a devastating fire, elbowing out her father's friends who want to use the same cheap cladding that caused the fire in the first place (anticipates and deflects viewer criticism about safety).

- Romance develops with Julia and Cesar. Scenes where they go out into the city and stop time together. Julia is pregnant.

- Clodius undermines Cesar by throwing red tape in his way. Cesar appears in his home and confronts him, showing a sinister edge, but ultimately leaves. Clodius uses this to deduce Cesar's time powers.

- Crassus's wedding is a huge event with (as in the film), chariot races and gladiatorial games. Cesar, Mayor Cicero, Julia and Clodius all attend.

- Instead of the vestal virgin scandal, Cesar is publicly accused of killing his first wife and the shock causes him to lose his control over time, causing chaos throughout the city. Unable to continue his work he locks himself away in his office.

- Time is frozen throughout the city; Cesar is subconsciously holding everything together so it doesn't change or decay (timestop as metaphor for stagnation!). Time only passes for objects if someone is holding them and if you drop them they freeze in place. If someone dies they freeze in place. We see how the city is surviving in this odd apocalypse.

- Julia investigates with a more murder-mystery focus - it's a locked-room murder and Cesar has an ironclad alibi, but a time manipulator could easily make it happen.

- She keeps digging however and a financial motive emerges for Clodius. She confronts Crassus who admits he covered up for his nephew; everything that looked supernatural about the death was possible with enough money. Facing disgrace he throws himself from the top of his skyscraper and his body freezes on the point of impact.

- Julia finds Cesar who tells her he did use his wife's body to create Megalon but insists that he found her dead. Why? Because love holds everything together (we're leaning into the cheese; amazingly I don't think they try to explain this in the real movie). Having expiated himself, Time once again hears his entreaties and begins flowing normally ("You can move on").

- Julia and Cesar brave the streets to reach the Mayor to clear his name and a mugger shoots Cesar. However, with his new mastery, he is able with a 'kick start' from Julia to turn back time and repair his own damaged brain.

- Mayor Cicero is reconciled to his daughter and meets his granddaughter for the first time.

- Clodius learns of his uncle's death and, blaming Cesar, whips up a mob to storm the construction site, but in a flash of an eye the city is completed before them as Cesar's expanded powers let him include entire construction crews in his timestop.

- Cesar emerges and gives a speech; reflecting that every one of them wanted someone else to provide for them but were ready to use violence to take what wasn't theirs, trusting there existed someone who was willing to be robbed; the city is complete, but none of them will live in it. 'Others, who saw and believed, will come, and they are welcome'.

- Clodius and his most devoted followers attack but the city itself folds in to protect Cesar, showing his wife's spirit in the metal recognises her murderer, and Clodius sinks into the ground.

- New Year's, magic baby, yada yada.

[inspofromancientworld]

The Ides of March

By George Edward Robertson b. 1864 - Art UK - https://artuk.org/discover/artworks/mark-antonys-oration-over-the-body-of-caesar-56885

The old Roman months were divided into between 23-31 days, depending on the month and the year. Typically, the month began with a nonas (or nones), which was eight days, or nine days the way the Romans counted, the first one counting up to the nonas (days 1-7), the days leading up to the idus (or ides), then the final two counting up to the kalendas (or kalends), or first day of the month. The nundinae, between the first and second nonas, which were a type of weekend, were market days. Those market days had to be announced 3 weeks (between 17-24 days) before on the Idus of the month previous, or there would be no market day that month. The kalends was determined by the sighting of the first sliver of the moon after the new moon and the nonas happening on the day of the first quarter, and the ides on the full moon.

In 46 BCE, Julius Caesar reformed the calendar, ending the previous chaos of years that were between 355-378 days long. Ten days were added to the short 'regular' year with an extra day added every four years, bringing the year to 365 days as of 45 BCE. He left intact the system of the pre-existing Roman months.

By Ángel M. Felicísimo from Mérida, España - Retrato de Julio César, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=91281949

Gaius Julius Caesar was born on 12 July 100 BCE to a patrician family, gens Julia, claiming descent from Venus by his ancestor Julus, the son of Aeneas, who founded Alba Longa in central Italy. Despite claims that have been made, it is exceedingly unlikely that he was born via Caesarian section because at that time in Italy, it would have caused the death of the mother and his mother lived for decades after his birth. At the time of his birth, Caesar's family wasn't very prominent in Roman politics.

In his youth, Caesar was appointed as flamen Dialis, or a high priest of Jupiter, which normally placed a taboo on having a political career. Such an appointment shows that his family did not expect much of him. He was married to the daughter of Lucius Cornelius Cinna, Cornelia. In 84 BCE, his father died suddenly. In 82 BCE, Caesar was ordered to abdicate and divorce by Sulla, who'd won the civil war named after him. Caesar refused, thereby questioning Sulla's legitimacy. In retribution, Sulla might have put Caesar on the proscription list and Caesar went into hiding. They reached a compromise where Caesar would abdicate but keep his wife and 'chattels'.

He then traveled to Bithynia as a member of staff to the governor of Asia, where he eared the mocking epithet 'the Queen of Bithynia' for rumored relations with King Nicomedes IV. He served as part of the Siege of Mytilene, where he earned the civic crown, a military honor given to those who save the lives of their fellow citizens, and that ignited Caesar's hunger for more accolades. He returned home after the death of Sulla in 78 BCE. He attacked some of Sulla's cohorts, only semi-succeeding in one case against a less well connected senator, charging them with profiteering.

He left for Rhodes after failing to learn rhetoric with Apollonius Molon. It was on the trip there that he was kidnapped by pirates. Though legend says that his ransom was 50 talents and that he then executed the pirates, both are embellishments and the pirates were more likely enslaved.

In 73 BCE, Caesar was co-opted to take his dead relatives place in the pontifaces, the most illustrious college of priests. It marked him as well-accepted and having great future prospects for a political career. While he was on his way back to Rome, he was elected a military tribune, the rank between legate and centurion. No evidence currently exists that Caesar saw military action during his term of service, though he continued to agitate against any of Sulla's effects on the government.

He was sent to serve under Gaius Antistius Vetus for his quaestorship in 69 BCE, which also gave him a permanent seat on the Senate. Before he could leave, his aunt Julia died and shortly after his wife Cornilia died, leaving Caesar's only legitimate child, Julia as a new born. Caesar remarried to Sulla's granddaughter Pompeia.

Caesar spent the next period of his life supporting Pompey, including on the restoration of tribunician rights, the lex Gabinia, which gave Pompey command against piracy within 50 miles of the Roman-held lands, and the lex Manilia, which made Pompey command in the war against the Mithridates. In 65 BCE, he served as cururle aedile and staged games for his Aunt Julia, earning more popular support.

In 63 BCE, he became praetor and pontifex maximus, likely due to bribery and fawning, though without charges laid against him, leading to the belief that it wasn't enough to tip him over the edge. He used his praetorship, he used a lot of his time working against those he deemed enemies, such as Catulus.

After his praetorship, Caesar was sent to Hispania Ulterior, the part of southern Spain leaning to the Strait of Gibraltar, to be governor. He was broke at this time and needed more than just his salary and beyond the normal extortion of the locals, so he seized northwestern Spain, seizing enough to pay his debts.

In 60 BCE, Caesar was up for election to the consulship, one of two chief elected officials, so he was forced to chose between being in place for the election by giving up command or to have a triumph march for his victories in Hispania and give up the election. He chose the consulship.

He served with Marcus Calpurnius Bibulus, though his former enemies now supporters Pompey and Crasus formed an alliance known as the 'First Triumvirate'. His first act as consul in 60 BCE was to make the Senate and assemblies minutes to the public, showing support for Senate accountability. He then set up a way for willing sellers to sell their land for veterans, especially for those who served under Pompey, and the urban poor. His next act was to reduce Crassus' arrears taxes. He continued to be both radical and curry favors with other during his term, which caused a rift with Bibulus, who was a conservative, though it generally made him popular. Pompey married Julia, his daughter, during this time as well.

After his year as consul, he wrote the ten volume Commentaries from 58-52 BCE, which was and still is considered a literary masterwork. It was both biographical of his own campaigns and supportive of the ongoing Gallic wars in which he was fighting. Part of his success was that the Gauls were not a united group so he was able to exploit their divisions. Until 54 BCE, Caesar was paying for these campaigns himself, out of the plunder of his armies' victories.

During Ceasar's time in Gaul, Roman politics were in chaos with many groups trying to hold the sway over politics, with groups trying to undo Ceasar's reforms, especially his land reform, and those who upheld them. During this time, as well, there was a weakening of the Triumvirate's agreement, but it was strengthened again when Pompey and Crassus wanted their own military honors.

Beginning in 52 BCE, Caesar and Pompey's trust broke down. Cato and the conservatives wanted to have Pompey talk Caesar into going back to Rome even though he was still battling the Gauls, without honors and a consulship. While the order to come back to Rome was vetoed by the Senate, Cato and Bibulus did manage to talk Pompey to their side against Caesar. Fears of civil war began to grow in Rome, so Caesar and his opponents began building up their armies in Gaul and Northern Italy. On 1 December 50 BCE, an formal disarmament of both sides was overwhelmingly passed by the Senate, but with the support of only one consul, it was not passed.

In 49 BCE, it was rumored that Caesar was going to march on Rome and Pompey was ordered to defend Rome against him. Caesar offered to disarm if Pompey did as well, which was rejected by Senate. Caesar began his march on Rome, caught between exile and civil war. He wanted to secure his second consulship and a triumph. He believed that his opponents would refuse to ratify his election if they even allowed him to run. He felt this would also suppress the liberty of the Roman people. So, around the 10th or 11th of January 49 BCE, Caesar crossed the Rubicon, the river that defined the northern border of Italy.

After this, Pompey and many senators fled south, Pompey going as far as to flee to Greece, since Caesar's army was superior to what they had the support of. Facing little opposition, Caesar kept his army around Rome for two weeks. He seized the treasury and left Lepidus in charge of Italy before moving his armies to Spain to defeat Pompey's armies there. Returning to Rome in the autumn, he had Lepidus declare him dictator, a magistrate who was meant to serve to resolve a specific issue, to conduct elections. He held the position for eleven days. He and Publius Servillius Isauricus won the elections.

After that, Caesar left Italy to go to Greece to stop Pompey's preparations to march on Italy against Caesar. Caesar set siege to Pompey at Dyrrhachium, but Pompey was able to escape, fleeing to southern Greece with Caesar following him until they engaged in battle at Pharsalus on 9 August 48 BCE. Pompey then fled to Egypt, and Cato fled to Africa. Cicero and Marcus Junius Brutus begged pardon.

By Jean-Léon Gérôme - http://www.mezzo-mondo.com/arts/mm/orientalist/european/gerome/index_b.html Archived 2017-06-19 at the Wayback Machine.

Pompey was killed in Egypt three days before Caesar arrived on 2 October 48 BCE. With the Etesian winds, strong north winds, keeping him in Egypt, Caesar sought to arbitrate the Egyptian civil war between Ptolemy XIII Theos Phiopater and Cleopatra, his sister/wife/co-regent queen. In late October, he was appointed in absentia as dictator for a full year. He also began an affair with Cleopatra. With the defeat of Ptolemy at the Battle of the Nile, Cleopatra was installed as ruler of Egypt, celebrating with a triumphal procession along the Nile. In June or July, Caesar left Egypt, with Cleopatra giving birth to Caesarion in June.

On his way back from Egypt, he heard that King Pharnaces was attempting to reclaim his father's lands from Rome. Caesar fought him in Zela, defeating him, where Caesar wrote 'veni vidi vici' (I came, I saw I conquered), downplaying Pompey's victories in the area. He then quickly turned to Italy.

While Caesar was absent from Rome, Mark Antony was magister equitum, his lieutenant as dictator, in charge, though he was rather unpopular. After agitation for debt relief by Publius Cornelius Dolabella got out of hand, Antony was removed from his position. He then suppressed riots by force, making him more unpopular. When Caesar returned to Italy, he demoted Antony and was able to pacify the mutineers without further violence, and then oversaw elections in 47 BCE, as well as confiscating and selling his enemies' properties. He went to Africa next, seeking to defeat Cato's forces, which they did, but Cato committed suicide rather than put himself at Caesar's mercy. Many of those who were against Caesar also committed suicide shortly afterwards as well. He narrowly won the battle at Munda on 17 March 45 BCE, effectively ending the war.

In February 44 BCE, Caesar was appointed dictator perpetuo after being appointed dictator for a year for the previous three years. He was also given many honors, including the 'praefectus moribus' (prefect of morals), allowing him to revise the Senate rolls through the census, and the power of war and peace. He was the first living mortal to have his portrait on Roman coins, as well as rights to royal dress and a golden chair in Senate. He also had the month of Quintillis renamed Julius (July) in his honor. All of these gave him the trappings of royalty, which led to later resentment.

While Caesar was given such sweeping powers, he did not make sweeping changes to Roman society. His major reforms were to the calendar, replacing the previous lunisolar calendar with the solar Julian calendar, and to increase the numbers of senators from 600 to 900. He also founded colonies to help alleviate overcrowding in Rome and Italy to help reduce unrest.

Beginning in January of 44 BCE, there were efforts to call Caesar 'rex' (king), were shut down by the two tribunes. Caesar accused the tribunes of infringing on his honor and had them removed from office and Senate. This angered the people, seeming to go against the reason Caesar had pursued civil war. Just before 15 February 44 BCE, he took the dictatorship for life, claiming the title more permanently than the ten years that had been granted him and showing he had no intention of restoring the republic.

While he rejected the diadem, the symbol of kingship, when offered by Mark Antony during Lupercalia, exactly why is uncertain. It might have been due to lack of supporters in the crowd, or it might have been performative, to deny he was a king.

The plans for assassination began in the summer of 45 BCE, with attempts to recruit Mark Antony at this time. While Antony declined to join in, he also didn't warn Caesar. By February 44 BCE, there were about 60 conspirators, and it was obvious that support of Caesar was on the wane, with some of his former supporters joining the conspiracy. Many of the conspirators were also those who could have run for consul from 43-41 BCE, likely disappointed by Caesar's sham elections, which would have affected the following elections.

Brutus, who claimed descent from Lucius Junius Brutus, who drove out the kings of Rome, freeing it from tyranny, was the leader of the conspiracy. In 45 BCE, graffiti and public comments were made insinuating Caesar was a tyrant, implying that Brutus should free them. Some of the underlying issues included Caesar's debt reforms being too advantageous to lenders, the use of force to suppress protests for debt relief, reduction of grain dole, a social safety net, and his abolition of open elections.

By Jean-Léon Gérôme - Walters Art Museum: Home page  Info about artwork.

While there was some news leaked about the conspiracy, Caesar didn't take any precautions, rejecting a bodyguard escort. The date of 15 March 44 BCE was decided on since Caesar was going to leave on campaign three days later, forcing the conspirator's hand. There are several stories about the exact day, from Caesar almost didn't attend or was warned about the plot, whether he died silently or said 'kai su teknon' (you too, child) to Brutus' presence. He was stabbed at least 23 times and died at once.

The assassins were seized immediately and were coldly recieved by the population. Lepidus moved troops into the city, and the Senate House was burned. Mark Antony was summoned to the senate and managed to work a compromise in which the conspirators wouldn't be punished and those who were not appointed by Caesar would keep their office. This compromise was an effort to prevent further cracks in the government and diminishing the goals of the conspirators. Regardless, Caesar's death precipitated the end of the Roman Republic.