Aftermath

Be Prepared

"I had hoped you might have learned some humility and respect."

Petronius scoffed as Gaius led him out of his villa, having spent the night there after a long discussion filled with songs about the Republic and philosophical quotes. The estate was quite modest for a Senator, or rather a former-Senator. Lemon trees that emanated a sublime citrus fragrance lined the front of the sandstone building.

"Forgive me, Senator. A general is one who only knows to fight their enemy whilst looking them in the eye. He knows not of the art of flattery or the strategy of bending words with a slip of his tongue."

Gaius sighed. Such is the nature of most military men, he thought, save General Quintus. That man had enough intelligence to save his skin when Commodus seized power for the first time. However, like all military men, his allegiance ultimately returned to the Spaniard at the crucial moment of judgment. "You crave for too much, General," the older man replied. "It does not become a warrior to yearn for bloodshed so strongly."

"I want him dead, that is all," Petronius dismissed. "Rome has suffered enough under his wing."

"And we shall save our motherland," Gaius finished. "But we must arm ourselves with alliances and unite the forces under our cause. In the meantime, there may be a chance that Mania may take control of our Caesar before any other weapon can."

As he reached the iron-gates of Gaius's estate, he snorted. "With all due respect, Senator. If you are waiting for Commodus to lose himself in madness, then it is now that we must strike."

Petronius continued, "He has no one left, Gaius. Even his own family had begun to fear him - his sister, his nephew...and possibly anyone else who happened to know Commodus as a child. If we killed him now, there would be no one to mourn for him, or defend him."

"Humor me, then. How would you, a mere general who lives off the Emperor's bread and salt, kill him?" Gaius smirked condescendingly.

"Bribe the servants to poison him."

"Suppose the servants decide to tell the emperor," Gaius countered. "You would be caught, and they would be rewarded."

"Then we bribe the gladiators to attack Commodus."

"He pays their entertainers well enough. Why should they complain or succumb to the influence of an outsider?"

With every counter-remark given by the old man, Petronius felt his temper surge bit by bit. Who was Gaius to lecture about the importance of saving Rome from a dictator when he himself, let alone his friends, could not bring themselves to take action? Even after the loss of their positions within politics, all the men were talking about the night before was the beauty of Gaius's seemingly splendid mistresses. Certainly the wine may have loosened their usually-sharp tongues, but it was surprising, nay unacceptable, to see the state of Rome's greatest minds.

Could those men not see that by lying low, they were putting the lives of Roman citizens at risk? That by refusing to rise to their call of duty, that they were only clipping the wings of the eagle that symbolized Rome and its greatness? It would only be a matter of time before the emperor, in a bout of madness, paranoia, and pure malice, would sever the talons of this eagle and leave it as powerless as a common fowl.

The general's nostrils flared while the veins in his forearms throbbed furiously. "I do not care for your shrewd statements, Senator. I do not wish to contemplate upon your retorts, nor do I wish to indulge your appetite for wordplay. As I have told you, I am a general - I shall fight with my hands and not with my tongue. My hands are bound to serve Rome, and all it stands for."