Lion At The Gate

Part 1

Rome, 87 B.C.

"More wine," barked senator Avidius Cassian Aelianus at the slave standing by the doors of his chamber. On his desk lay a generous meal of fowl and grain, untouched as the senator poured over a scroll of parchment bearing the seal of praetor Claudius. When at last the senator looked up, the slave stood before him, empty handed. "I said more—" The senator stopped mid bark, noticing his goblet was full. The slave averted his eyes.

"Apologies, Dominus." The senator sighed and nodded for the boy to continue. "The aedile, Dominus." The boy bowed and moved to fetch wine for the senator's guest, revealing a middle aged man clad in a politician's white robe. Avidius watched as the aedile Marcus hobbled toward his desk, walking stick in hand, and halted to face him.

"The sun lingers in the evening sky for but a moment longer, and the good Senator Avidius rises to take morning meal." The aedile glanced down at the untouched plate on the senator's desk. "Or perhaps not, by the look of it."

"There lies the problem with meal times," Avidius said, pausing to drink from his goblet, "the obligation one feels to take food." The senator smiled widely, exposing his permanently stained teeth.

"May your smile remain ever red," the aedile said, lifting his own goblet.

"As any good Roman's should be!" They both laughed and drank deeply.

The two men stood in silence for some time. Avidius knew why Marcus had come, and that no good would come of it. He looked his old friend over, top to bottom. Like himself, Marcus was clean shaven with short cropped hair, as was the fashion, but similarity ended at that. Avidius shunned the customary politician's white robe for a robe of dark red, its vibrant colour contrasting with the white of what remained of his hair. Thin of arm and stout of belly, senator Avidius had about him the look of a man who no longer concerned himself with outward appearance. He stood the less impressive looking man in spite of the aedile's limp. While he no longer possessed the physique of a legionary or gladiator, the aedile Marcus had the appearance of a man who took exercise in so far as he was capable.

Marcus broke the silence. "Your absence at council was noted." It was true, the senator had overslept by more than a few hours. The praetor Claudius was known to be Sulla's man, and Sulla and Avidius were not fond of one another. It was nothing short of an insult to ignore the praetor's request for council.

"Absence noted — Jupiter's asshole my absence was noted." The senator hardly ever participated in council meetings, other than to vote when called upon; he had reached the highest rung on the political ladder to which he was capable. As he was of common birth, and never served a day as soldier, he had achieved the rank of senator the only way he could, with coin, and lots of it. Avidius was a rich man, having amassed a large fortune in the slave trade, as well as purchasing and financing ludi – although he had never set foot in one himself.

Although he was a highly seasoned orator who had had a successful career as tribune, by the time he was of the age to join the senate, he had amassed a fortune so vast that he had all but to buy his senator's robes – which he seldom wore, even in his early days as a senator. It didn't take long for Avidius to accept his lot, and even less for him to relax his principles. As tribune, he had always fought for the people of Rome, but once he joined the senate, it was simply too much of a bother. The other senators had veto power over him and it seemed to him that dissent served only to make him unpopular. In resignation, Avidius, already a hardened imbiber, took to the comforts of drink and young slave girls – and sometimes slave boys, as his fancy dictated.

Marcus, on the other hand, was a man of stifled ambition. He had had quite the opposite problem as Avidius – a famous name, Marcus Lucianus Maximianus, but no coin to raise it to the heavens. He had been a promising young soldier, but his military career was cut short by a javelin through his thigh while fighting the Teutones under General Marius, leaving him with a limp. With neither military accolades nor coin, Marcus's famous name could get him no higher than the rank of aedile. It was clear to Avidius that the only joy Marcus took in his office was the organization of gladiatorial games. Like Avidius, Marcus owned gladiators, only much fewer, all of whom trained at Avidius's ludi. Marcus would oversee his men's training himself when he could spare the time. Avidius guessed that Marcus saw himself in the gladiators – men stripped of rank and inheritance, forced to follow a path they did not choose, because of circumstances beyond their control.