The senator brought his hands together and interlocked his fingers. “You are of one cause. Rebel against those who feel it is their right to own you and do whatever they desire. Take what is rightfully yours, but do not destroy what you come across. If it is of no value to you, leave it be for someone else may value it dearly.”
The soldiers looked positively shocked at the senator’s words while the crowd cheered them.
In a startling display, the senator tore off his toga and threw it on the bonfire still lighting the street. In his common tunic the man declared. “Behold, I am but one of you now. Your cause is for equality. If you truly want to send a message to those in power, you will follow me to the Consul’s palace. Let’s take our message to the man who disrespects the greatest among us, our champion in the arena.”
Both soldier and rioter alike shouted their agreement.
“Mark Antony throws lavish orgies on a nightly rhythm and taxes the common man into oblivion to pay for it.”
“Yah!” the growing mob shouted again.
“Join me now,” the senator concluded. “And we will change this city and the entire Republic forever.”
The senator then ran into a sea of his soldiers and prompted them to move toward the palace. Albus found himself so swept up in the moment that he abandoned his master’s house and marched with the mob to bring his frustrations down upon the Prefect, the focal point of his anger.
**********
Tomal paced anxiously along the railing of his balcony. He stopped to look out over the city. It was past midnight, and yet the metropolis was as noisy as ever. Large fires dotted the cityscape. To his great consternation, the shouts and general rumble of the mobs grew louder and closer.
Tomal turned to his attendant. “Where in the name of the gods is Senator Brutus? I sent for him over an hour ago.”
“I’m not sure,” the slave responded as he took two subtle steps back from his master. “I know the messenger arrived at his villa and the senator was made aware of your request.”
“My order,” Tomal corrected as he hurled an apple at the defenseless man. “I run this city, he comes when I give the order.”
From the bowels of the palace a loud clank of wood on metal reverberated through the building. Heavy footfalls soon followed and approached the balcony. From the shadowy doorway, Hastelloy stepped onto the balcony as he finished putting a sparkling white Senator’s toga over his shoulder.
“Well look who decided to bless me with his presence,” Tomal mocked.
“Your servant made known your request, but he failed to designate any time constraints,” Hastelloy responded with a dismissive tone.
“The mobs roaming the city didn’t foster any sense of urgency?” Tomal demanded. “Instead, you take the time to have a new toga bleached, starched and pressed before showing up to help me resolve this crisis.”
“No, I lost my old one on the way to this palace and had to find a replacement which caused the delay. You made it perfectly clear no one was to appear in your presence who did not don a toga.”
“Oh for the love of the gods,” Tomal exclaimed while hurling another apple at his aid. Hastelloy was quick enough on his feet to catch the projectile mid flight and took a bite as he closed in on Tomal.
“Why do you have to be so literal? I obviously meant non citizens, not the actual garment itself.”
“Your orders and actions can be rather erratic at times,” Hastelloy said as he continued eating the apple he caught. “I find it pays to take them at their literal base to remove any doubt or room for interpretation. When you manage something as large and complex as a sprawling city it pays to be precise rather than figurative or sarcastic with your instructions.”
“Spare me your lectures.”
“Another thing to keep in mind,” Hastelloy continued as though Tomal had not spoken at all, “is to listen to the masses and keep them happy. Otherwise you’ll find yourself without a job; or a heartbeat for that matter.”
Hastelloy stopped to look out over the balcony into the main plaza of the palace. A menacing mob chanting vile slogans burst into the courtyard. “Here they are, and my Latin isn’t as good as yours, but I believe they are cursing your mother and the farm animal that molested her to conceive you.”
Tomal’s acerbic smirk vanished in an instant when he looked at the size of the rioting group that quickly overtook his palace. He looked at Hastelloy with eyes of a child facing the playground bully.
“If you want to preserve the advantage my position with Caesar gives us, you’ll help defuse this,” Tomal bargained.
“Still only thinking one move ahead are we, Tomal?” Hastelloy mocked. “The solution is quite simple. You need to give the people their champion. If you release him from his slavery and have him address the crowd to talk them down, this whole thing goes away.”
Tomal said nothing regarding Hastelloy’s suggestion. He simply stood along the balcony railing chewing his lip.
“Would you swallow that damnable pride of yours for two seconds and do the right thing? If that mob doesn’t get what they want, they’ll tear you and this city to shreds.”
Tomal glanced at his assistant then spoke to Hastelloy in their Novan language. “Gallono sucker punched me like a coward when we first landed on this planet. I do not forgive such actions, I get even.”
Hastelloy responded in the same tongue, “You don’t have the luxury of holding on to grudges at the moment.”
Changing back to Latin again so his aid could understand the words, Tomal went on. “Fine, I will give the people their champion, but the request to talk the mob down must come from you. I refuse to ask anything of that man.”
“Fine,” Hastelloy said in disgust and made his way off the balcony heading towards the gladiator training area where Gallono was held.
Ten long minutes later Tomal made his way down to the main courtyard of his palace. The staged release of Gallono would take place at the stairwell leading to the main entrance of the palace. Tomal stepped down twelve flights of stairs to a large landing where the two flights of steps ascending from the left and right met. The angry mob was just barely kept away from the side stairs by the palace guards, but their control of the area was degrading rapidly.
When Tomal’s presence on the steps was noticed an enraged roar washed over the plaza. Tomal raised his hands to induce enough silence for his words to be heard. “As the people’s Tribune I know your frustrations. You feel used and abused by the powers that be. You feel the slighting of your champion in the arena was the final insult.”
A doubtful moan rolled across the crowd, but they remained silent to hear him out. Tomal glanced behind him and saw Hastelloy and Gallono talking off to the side. Confident everything was in place he turned back toward the crowd once more and continued.
“I tell you now, your anger on this matter is misplaced.” Many in the crowd shouted their disagreement, so Tomal upped his volume. “Do not take my word for it. Listen to the words from your champion.”
The mob erupted in cheers and applause as Gallono made his way down the palace steps to stand beside Tomal on the landing. Tomal extending his hand to shake Gallono’s and pulled him in for a one armed embrace.
“I offered you your freedom and you refused, choosing to remain a gladiator instead,” Tomal whispered into Gallono’s ear. “You got me? Can you keep that story straight?”
Gallono pushed Tomal away and his only response to the question was a contrite grin. He then stepped up to the railing and absorbed the crowd’s lavishing praise. Five minutes of constant applause passed before Gallono was able to calm the mob enough to speak.
**********
Albus yelled and cheered with the rest of the crowd when the gladiator champion appeared. Albus had not witnessed the bout in person, but the stories of the event were now the stuff of legend. If even half the embellished tales were true, the man descending to the landing was indeed a god among men.
He felt his stomach twin
ge when he saw Mark Antony and the champion embrace. The gladiator was supposed to be a champion for the people. If he now embraced the man who ruled the city and denied his freedom, the gladiator was clearly bought off for the words he was about to say. Albus lent his ears to the coming speech, but kept his cynicism and doubt at the ready.
“Countryman,” the champion shouted. “Thank you for the love you show me, though I feel I have not yet earned your praise. I fight in the arena to earn a sense of purpose for myself. Even after my great victory in the arena I still felt my place was there with sword and shield in hand. Had the people’s tribune offered me my freedom I would have refused.”
A confused mix of cheers and doubt emanated from the crowd as the champion paused until his words could be heard again. Albus quietly envisioned how many naked women would occupy the champion’s bed tonight, complements of Mark Antony for this speech.
“Until now,” the champion continued. “Until this very moment, I thought my place in life was in battle. I see now I was wrong.”
The champion pointed at Mark Antony as he continued. “This pig never offered me my freedom that day in the arena. He saw there was more in it for him if I continued to fight and entertain all of you. Keep you distracted so you’d forget the injustice and hardships heaped upon you.”
The crowd began to percolate with excitement, and Albus felt his blood come to a boil along with everyone else. His heart lifted as he watched Mark Antony take several steps away from the champion. These words were not the ones the Tribune expected to hear.
“How many times have you watched your Domine molest your wife or daughter as you pretend to go on as if nothing happened?” the champion raged on. “How many battles have the soldiers among you fought only to watch the commander’s profit from your efforts? No longer!”
The crowd roared in agreement as Mark Antony retreated up the steps and out of sight along with another man dressed in a senator’s toga. Albus thought the man looked remarkably similar to the one who incited the mob to march on the palace in the first place, but that couldn’t possibly be the case.
“From this day forth we rage against the injustice put upon us. Let us rage so loud that Gaius Julius Caesar might actually hear us and return to the Republic he seeks to rule rather than frolicking in the desert with that witch of the Nile, Cleopatra.”
The crowd instantly bulled over the token force of palace guards to take their rage out on the estate. As the mob approached their champion, he turned and gestured towards the palace building. “Take it, take it all. This city was built by our hard labors and tonight we reclaim what is ours. Our dignity, our equality; take it all!”
Chapter 31: Not So Simple
Mark strolled up to the vault door and ran his hand along its smooth surface with the satisfaction of nearly completing a life time of work. He was close, so very close now. Only this vault door stood between him and the answers he deceived, threatened, intimidated, sacrificed, and even killed to attain. This was his crowning moment and he allowed himself the briefest of moments to soak it in.
The moment passed as quickly as it came. He wasn’t there yet, this door needed to move, and judging by the look on the engineer’s face it might still be a while. Mark adjusted the lucky ball cap on his head and paced over to the frustrated soldier and his commanding officer.
“What do you think we need?” Mark began.
“An act of god,” the soldier groaned back. “There are no power leads for me to access, or entry combination pads to hack. What we do have is a three step identity check. In succession there’s a palm reader, voice analyzer, and a retinal scanner. When you compound these with the fact that we don’t even know who’s identity we need to replicate, you get a door that is not going to open any time soon.”
Mark turned his attention to the team’s demolitions expert. “I don’t suppose you have any better news for me.”
“Let me put it this way, the front door to the warehouse was only two inches thick and our best shot barely got through. This puppy,” the soldier said slapping the door two times, “Is over a foot thick. Any detonation strong enough to punch through is going to blast the outer statue clean off the planet’s surface, and the concussion wave would crush any person or equipment inside this chamber.”
“We’ve been able to push around our Egyptian military handler to this point, but destroying a national treasure alongside the only surviving wonder of the world is a bit much, even with your connections,” the SEAL team commander added.
So close was all Mark could think as he paced around the outer chamber. Eventually he came to a stop and looked around the room with remarkable calm. “Suggestions?”
“There’s a display monitor next to the scanners here,” the engineer said, very tongue in cheek. “Why don’t you knock and see who’s home.”
As if someone were eavesdropping on the conversation, the display monitor suddenly flickered to life. Mark moved over to the screen for a closer look, but as he approached his face turned white as a confirmation dress. It couldn’t be. The face staring back at him on the monitor could not possibly be. The man was dead.
“NSA Agent Mark, how nice to see you again,” the monitor said calmly. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I have,” Mark responded while summoning his bravest façade. “You died. You took a cyanide pill to avoid my questioning back at NASA headquarters. You died.”
“Death is only the beginning,” the man on screen smirked. His words were accompanied by a solid metal door sliding shut over the exit ramp and the faint hiss of air rushing out of the room.
Just before he lost consciousness Mark heard the man on the view screen say in a very amused voice, “You didn’t think it would be that easy did you?”
Chapter 32: Home Coming
Tomal squirmed while he sat in a plain wooden chair in the center of a plain white room. Everything about the place was ordinary and that troubled him to no end. Was this to be his surroundings going forward? If so, he would dearly miss his statues, slaves, food, drink, and all the other elements his aristocratic life in Rome afforded him.
While he pondered his surroundings, Tomal nervously clapped his hands together between his knees with his elbows resting on his jittering thighs. He sat up and leaned back in the rickety chair. When he hit the rigid backrest he thought a splinter may have made its way beneath the skin near his right shoulder blade. He missed his pillow covered chairs.
Tomal leaned forward again and listened as the creaking of the uncomfortable chair bounced around the walls. Eventually his impatience got the better of him and he stole a glance at the door. Both guards fired a look that screamed, ‘avert your eyes or you will lose them.’
He promptly continued inspecting the tile floor at his feet. Moments later the cadence of angry footfalls approaching drew his eyes back to the doorway. When the footsteps grew to a deafening pitch and stopped just outside the door, both guards snapped to rigid attention.
Slowly, Julius Caesar stepped through the doorway and glanced around the chamber with a dismissive eye. Clearly he was too good for this place and despised needing to be there.
Tomal sprung to his feet and delivered a crisp salute. “General, welcome home.”
“Home?” Caesar repeated slowly as he paced Tomal’s direction. “The place I left to finish off my enemies was home. My home was a thriving metropolis that commanded respect and awe from the known world.”
As Caesar approached, he gestured with a single finger for Tomal to be seated. When his order was obeyed Caesar spread his arms out wide and glanced around with a vague expression. “This place I return to now is a rotting carcass disintegrating from within.”
For the first time since entering the room, Caesar raised his voice with an unbridled rage behind it. “Brigands roam the street with impunity, taking and destroying whatever they desire. The rule of law is something the mob now wipes their backside with. This is not home. This is a disgrace worthy o
f those effeminate Greeks, not mighty Rome! It’s a disgrace created by your incompetence that is so thorough and complete that it approaches an act of treason.”
“I . . . I tried to keep them occupied,” Tomal stammered like a school boy scrambling to explain his actions to the principal. “I held festivals, hosted lavish games. . .”
“Yes I heard,” Caesar barked back. “And when a people’s champion presented himself in grand fashion on the arena floor you promptly kept him in his place of servitude for all to see and grow enraged.”
Caesar kicked Tomal's chair, rotating it backwards and dumping Tomal onto the floor. Caesar quickly moved to stand directly over the fallen man.
“You may as well have hiked up your toga and taken a piss on every commoner in the crowd,” Caesar shouted.
Tomal struggled to get off the floor. His instinct was to spring to his feet and return the violence, but one look at Caesar's snarling face made him think better of it. Instead he rose to a kneeling posture before Caesar. Despite the submissive position he delivered a challenging reply. “He was my slave to command; I had the right to keep him in service.”
Caesar delivered a sharp backhanded slap to silence the fool. “Slaves and plebs outnumber everyone else in the Republic a thousand to one. The only thing keeping them in line is the hope that one day they will rise above their station. You robbed them of that hope and this . . . anarchy is the result.”
Tomal shook off the blow that hurt his pride far more than his cheek. “I tried subduing the mobs by engaging the army, but they just melted away and joined in the looting and chaos. There was nothing to do except focus my security forces on critical elements of the city and let the fire behind the mob's madness burn itself out.”
“To summarize what I just heard, you’ve done absolutely nothing to save my city,” Caesar said as he turned his back on Tomal as if the very sight of him gave offense. As he paced back to the doorway he continued his analysis. “You cowered behind what loyal soldiers you had left and waited for me to arrive and pull you from the inferno you started.”
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