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cevansbrat0007 · 1 year ago

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An Afternoon with Minerva

Summary: Ari finds himself finally ready to admit the truth about his feelings for you...

Warnings: Mature Themes, Slight Angst, Ari Being A Menace, Mentions of Death, Cancer, Dead Mothers, Brief Mentions of War, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: This story is part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Not beta'd. Not beta'd. All mistakes my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

Somewhere Four Hours Outside of Bell’s Creek, Texas

“Shit!” Ari hisses when he almost slips in the middle of trudging up the muddy hillside. It had been raining pretty much non-stop since he’d made it out of Dallas and it hadn’t shown any signs of slowing down.

But that hadn’t been enough to stop Ari Levinson – not today anyway. Today he was a man on a mission. And that mission involved a meeting with a very special woman. The very first love of his life, and he’d almost missed it.

What kind of son forgot about his own Mama’s birthday? Not him. Otherwise he would’ve never heard the end of it from Evelyn and Marcia.

He knew without having to call them that his sisters had already been by with their families earlier in the day. And the last thing he needed was them throwing a fit over his absence, no matter how justifiable it might’ve been.

The Bounty Hunter nearly stumbles again as he weaves his way through the numerous memorials and monuments. He tries to move carefully, doing his best not to disturb the tributes dedicated to others’ loved ones who’d all gone too soon, regardless of how much time they’d spent on this earth.

And his sweet Mama was no exception. She’d left him just shy of his 21st birthday. He’d been by her side, holding her hand as she took her last breaths. Which seemed only fitting since she’d been there holding him on the day he’d taken his first.

Cancer had done his Mama dirty. But while it had robbed her almost everything – her hair, her ability to walk, and ultimately her life – her fighting spirit had remained. Minerva “Minnie” Levinson had gone out swinging, leaving him behind to see after his two younger siblings.

A sixteen-year-old Evie had been so angry back then. So small, but so unbelievably pissed at the world. Meanwhile, sweet baby Marcie had clung to him so tight he’d damn near had a fight on his hands whenever he wanted to take a piss by himself for longer than two minutes. That ten-year-old might as well have been his second shadow.

He’d honestly had no idea just how much he missed her following behind him until he’d been deployed overseas during his first tour. But they'd needed the money and the benefits. And he’d needed an enemy – someone or something that could help him channel all of the rage and anger and hurt that had been simmering beneath the surface.

So he’d left them behind to help fight another man’s war. But not before entrusting his sisters’ care to his friend, Vicky Gunther. And at the time, the fact that she’d also been his highschool sweetheart had felt like an added bonus.

It hadn’t necessarily mattered that his mother had never been too crazy about the woman. But what had mattered was that the girls had someone he knew to look after them while he was out risking his life.

Ari’s grip tightens on the flowers in his hand as he finally finds himself nearing his Mama’s grave. Evie and Marcie had picked it out, all he’d done was sign off on the check. They’d assured him that it was exactly what she would’ve wanted, right down to the quote etched into the granite, which read: “Always keep them guessing.”

That had been Minnie Levinson’s favorite phrase whenever they pulled up in a new town. When you’d grown up being on the run, staying one step ahead of your opponent was an absolute must. Especially when that opponent happened to be your own damned father. Growing up the son of Rex Levinson meant always having to look over your shoulder.

Because you never knew where he might be lurking. He could be states away or, more likely, right around the goddamned corner. Waiting to strike when his poor, terror-stricken family least expected it.

So they’d had to learn to always expect it. Even now, the only reason Ari felt any peace was because his Daddy was currently enjoying an all-inclusive, taxpayer funded 15 year stay at the James Crabtree Correctional Center in Helena, Oklahoma.

Thankfully, Rex still had a few years left on his tab before society deemed his debt to them finally repaid in full. Once he was released, he’d deal with it then. But right now…

Now it was time to see about his Mama. And this chat that they were about to have was long overdue.

A smile finds its way to Ari’s lips once he’s finally standing in front of his mother’s memorial. He pauses briefly before crouching down to place the bouquet he’d brought with him next to the offerings left behind by other members of his family. Although he wasn’t surprised, he was happy to see that they’d all brought daylillies, which had been her favorite.

“Hey. Happy birthday, Mama.” Ari whispers, allowing his fingers to brush along the cool granite. “I made it. Just like I told you I would.” His eyes flutter closed as a light breeze blows by, gently ruffling his chestnut locks.

It was a sign from Minerva herself, letting him know that she was there with him too. Just like she said she would be. And his Mama had never been one to lie to him. Not even in death.

“I see the girls have already been here. I’m surprised they haven’t blown up my phone.” He stands then, grimacing when his left knee cracks as a result of the movement. It seemed like that old injury only bothered him when it rained. Shit sucked.

“I’m sure Evie brought by baby Micah for his first visit. He’s cute ain’t he? Little chubby-cheeked shit machine.” Ari chuckles at that, scrubbing a big hand over his heart. “And I’m not being rude. First time we met he had a blowout in his diaper that was so bad we both needed a shower.”

He laughs harder at the memory of him desperately trying to hand off his incredibly messy nephew to first his own Mama, and then his sister. They’d swerved him so fast, claiming that it was about damned time he learned how to change a diaper.

He’d been mighty pissed at the time. But even so, he and baby Micah had stomped off to the bathroom, determined to handle the stinky situation like a couple of real men. And when they’d emerged from said bathroom forty-five minutes later, they’d been the ones to have the last laugh.

Okay, not really. Micah’s mother, Evie, had been too busy napping on the couch to notice much of anything, her body buried beneath a sea of half folded laundry. And Marcia was playing Go Fish with their four-year-old niece Isobel. But Ari hadn’t allowed the lack of fanfare to take the wind out of their sails.

He’d just grabbed a bottle of milk from the fridge and retreated to his sister’s bedroom, intending to teach the kid about the importance of football until they’d both dozed off. And he still had the picture Evelyn had taken of them both that afternoon, fast asleep in the bed. The baby rocking a Dallas Cowboys onesie, and him wearing her lavender bathrobe.

“They were just jealous, Mama. There I was being a good uncle, bonding with my nephew, and they were playing paparazzi.” That breeze kicks up again, the smell of wet earth filling the air.

“But I’m sure you already know that. You were there. You saw everything. Those two were picking on me like they always do.” Ari pouts then, jamming his hands into his pockets. “There’s just something not right about those girls. Everytime I’m around ‘em, they pinch and poke and prod. Always asking if I’m seeing someone.”

“It’s annoying is what it is. Makes me feel like a damn pincushion or somethin’.” The Bounty Hunter grumbles, nudging a tiny weed with his foot. “How am I supposed to tell ‘em anything if I haven’t run it by you first? Especially when it’s…when it’s…” He trails off as he searches for the right word.

“Real.” He sucks in a breath as his head dips to his chest. “It’s real and it’s right and it’s new. It’s all those things, Mama. And I don’t know what to do with any of it because it’s like I spend half the damn time fightin’ with myself and the other is spent fightin’ her wanting to fly away on me.”

One hand leaves his pocket to rest on the back of his neck. “And I know what you’re probably thinking, Mama. But that ain’t the issue. This woman, my little Bird…she ain’t Vicky.” He rocks back on his heels, careful not to slip in the rain soaked grass.

“And I know you didn’t much care for Vicky. I already told you that I made a mistake with that one. I thought I was doing a good thing leaving the girls with her…” A harsh sigh leaves him as a fresh wave of bitterness rises in his throat. But he swallows it down, refusing to let it choke him.

Because there was more to be said about the woman in his life today. His woman. His sweet Bird.

“Bird is everything I thought Vicky was. But it’s more than that. She’s the best part about that godforsaken Bell’s Creek. And something tells me that she’s wading knee deep into a pile of shit with this fuck, Martin, and these assholes, the Prescotts. It’s all one big mess that I normally would be chompin' at the to get rid of…”

Ari’s head drops again as he prays for another gust of wind, wanting another sign from his Mama to let him know that she was still listening. He doesn’t speak again until he feels it on his skin. This time it’s a loving caress, a gentle reminder that he’s not alone.

How could he be when he had Minnie Levinson by his side?

“I haven’t had a single nightmare since I met her. I’m not saying I’m fixed or anything…” He shrugs his broad shoulders. “But maybe I’m not quite as broken as I thought I was. At least she sure doesn't seem to think so. She just tells me I am an ass.”

The sound of squirrels playing in a nearby tree is enough to distract him, albeit briefly. Once they settle down he quietly forges on.

“Ma, I swear this girl is really something special.” Ari whistles, running a hand over his beard. “Sweet, funny, absolutely gorgeous – and did I tell you she runs a bookstore? Can’t go and leave that part out now can I?”

By now the rain has stopped, with the sun finally beginning to emerge from behind the clouds. He welcomes the warmth it brings. His Mama deserved to enjoy a little sunshine on her special day.

“She – we fight like cats and dogs sometimes - my Bird and I. But that’s not really my fault. I mean I consider myself to be plenty damn agreeable with most things. But my woman…let’s just say I’ve met mules less stubborn than she is. But even so, it’s…it’s like I can’t get enough of her.”

Ari blows out a comforting breath before closing his eyes, his fingers going to the bridge of his nose. “She’s…she’s making me wanna stay. Got me wantin’ to plant roots and build her a house, complete with the white picket fence.”

“I’ve been lost since the moment I laid eyes on her, Mama. And nothing feels right unless I’m with her. When she’s not around it’s like I can’t think – I’m off balance and…” He swallows thickly. “Like even now, I’m here with you and there’s a part of me that is just itchin’ to get back in my truck and haul ass all the way back to Bell's Creek. I mean, I suppose I could’ve brought her with me.” He cocks his head to the side as the thought strikes him. “She would’ve come, but I couldn’t...”

Ari goes back to awkwardly bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I couldn’t bring her here because I needed to talk to you about her first. Introduce her properly so that I could tell you myself that I…” He swallows again, fighting the lump in his throat.

“I love her, Mama.”

There. He’d gone and said it. Not in his head. But out loud to the air. To the world. To his Mama.

“And that sweet little spitfire makes me work for it every day. I’m telling you right now that she needs a damn keeper. And I need her to keep me…balanced.”

A grin spreads across his features as he feels the weight he’s been carrying suddenly lift from his shoulders. “I’m gonna introduce her to the girls, okay Ma? I know they’ll love her like I do. But can you do me a favor and tell ‘em to be nice? You know they never do anything I say.”

Ari bends down to let his fingers graze over his mother’s headstone one last time. “And when the time is right, I’ll bring her here to meet you too.” He murmurs, wishing for a moment that they were actually speaking face to face instead of like this. But unfortunately, that couldn't be helped.

“Until then you rest easy, alright? Because me and the girls are doin’ just fine.” He takes a tentative step backwards. “I love you, Minnie Levinson. And I’ll be back to see you real soon.” Ari turns on his heel, preparing to navigate his way back to his truck.

Halfway through the maze he pulls out his phone, thumbing through his contacts until he lights upon your name. He taps the entry before holding the device to his ear. The sound of your voice on the other line is enough to ease the subtle ache in his chest. At least for now. But he also knew from experience that it wouldn’t go away until he had you in his arms again.

Just four measly, lonely hours until Ari Levinson felt whole again.

END

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letsgobarbs · 1 month ago

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Chapter 1

INDEX Chapter 2 Warning: They are provided on the Index page.

It was time for a Vestal to die. All the signs pointed towards it. Rome festered with sickness, poverty, desperation and death. It lingered, Death, like a stink that refuses to dissipate; it tittered in the corners with the rats— laughing at the hubris of man. Death circled the air, like the sharks in the Colosseum, looking for its next meal. You wondered who would be caught within its jaws.

There was Aquilia, she had a lover waiting for her— one who had also made a vow of chastity, taking no other woman except her. They were to marry as soon as she had finished her service to Vesta, so she could not die. There were Junia and Marcia, two women who had spent the last two decades arguing whether chastity was only violated by a man’s phallus or also by… whatever they did in the dark of night, hidden from the eyes of others. They were dearly beloved and stupidly in love— so they could not die. Then, there was Licinia who had hands blessed by Edesia and could make the humblest of ingredients into the most delicious of meals. The world would be bereft without her patina cotidiana so she could not die. Tuccia, of course, could not die because she was your best friend. Which left… you. As it should be.

Publius hoped that none of the Vestals died, poor man— his tenure as the Pontifex Maximus was pushing him to an early grave. The six of you were not the most biddable of women. But he remained kind and fatherly unlike the previous chief high priest who had a taste for little girls and had died an unfortunate and untimely death— that had nothing to do with the vial of poison your brother had gifted you.

Publius had ordered the priestesses to recede from the public eye; tend to the fire of Vesta, perform the ceremonial rites and do nothing else in hopes that the murderous winds of change blowing through Rome spared them. But you had begged him for one last outing, not wanting to miss the Naumachia— they were living on borrowed time anyway, it would be a waste to miss the biggest spectacle.

Acacius’ victory at Numidia ensured a brief moment of respite, just a bit more time, a few extra breaths. The Emperors were insatiable, they dreamed of conquering India and Persia— a pipe dream and a symbolic expression of imperial power while Rome crumbled under its own weight. Another defeat, another military loss, very well could be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. The discontent and anger that was only simmering and stewing would finally boil over. And instead of the greed, tyranny, and madness of those in power; the death, destruction and ruin will be pinned on an innocent woman and her chastity. Such was the way of the world.

The ship swiftly spun around and you slipped to the edge of your seat, it forged ahead and rammed the other ship. Hanno, you brilliant bastard. No… not Hanno. Lucius. Lucius Verus Aurelius. Lucilla’s son and the heir to the throne of Rome. The smoke obscured your view of him while he fought his way down the second ship, pushing his opponents into shark-infested waters. You watched Lucius pick up a crossbow, staring at the raised box where the Emperors sat. Would he dare take an aim at them? The arrow released just as another soldier grappled with him. It lodged itself into Geta’s seat, narrowly missing… Acacius. How dare he?

A hand gripped your arm, preventing you from following when Acacius helped Lucila, bracing his arm around her to pull her away from danger. Desperately, you watched their forms disappear, and with it your well-laid plans. They would fail. Just this morning, their servant Leta had informed Thraex of their plans, who was bound to tell someone— most likely Macrinus. He would trade the information about their plans to rescue Lucius, and their plot to arrest the Emperors to erase some of his debt. And Macrinus would use this information, you didn’t know exactly how just yet, but he had ambitions— big ones. He could trade this information with the Emperors for a seat in the senate.

Regardless, this would mean certain death for Acacius. They must not be caught tonight. You had hoped to speak with him and Lucilla today, tell them how they had been discovered, and to exercise caution, perhaps, even delay the rescue; Lucius seemed to do just fine in the arena. You would have even offered to rescue Lucius yourself if Lucilla refused to take your advice. But you had missed your opportunity, and you couldn’t very well show up at their home— you had never even spoken to them before. It would be too suspicious, raise too many brows. You could only mutter a whispered prayer to Vesta that at least Ravi found Acacius with the information before he was surrounded by the Praetorian guard tonight.

You were locked in your room. A maelstrom of dread churned in your gut. It made you nauseous, your throat hurt from bottling up the roiling emotions threatening to rise, and your mouth felt dry as if someone had shoved a large piece of linen in there. Publius had not appreciated your attempts at contacting Lucilla and Acacius yesterday, locking you in your chambers for ‘your safety and that of your sisters’ as he had put it. Of course, you knew he was right. But Acacius was caught. And you had no idea what had become of him.

You lowered the knotted sheets down your window, there was no other way. The height made your head spin which did not bode well for your descent. You would brave this, you had to— Acacius’ life depended on it. You clutched a purse full of a few dinarii to bribe the stablehand for your horse, stuffing it into your bosom, before swinging one leg out of the window.

Your family was one to believe that women should be educated just as men were. Even with your initiation into the Temple of Vesta, they had bribed the temple to send you tutors to teach you the art of fighting, horseriding and politics in addition to your languages and household management. While you had abhorred anything that required excess physical labour, the stamina and muscles you had built supported you as you slid down the sheets.

The people weren’t rioting in the streets, that was always a good sign. It meant Acacius was not dead yet, nor was he being taken to the gallows to be executed. You strolled for a while, keeping close to your horse so it would conceal your form, listening to the whisperings and murmurs on the streets. They had imprisoned Acacius at the Colosseum. What were they thinking? It posed far too much risk for the Emperors. Should the Gods look kindly on him, and he survived whatever cruel, gruesome game the editors had devised for the arena, the Emperors would never be able to turn their thumbs down to kill him— it would turn the people against them.

Frustration, and what felt very much like desperation, prickled under your skin. There were far too many people, you could not spur your horse any faster without hurting them. You took several deep breaths, hoping to stave off the flood of panic at the thought of being too late. But all your mind could picture was Acacius— dead on the grounds of the arena.

By the time you reached an entrance by the side of the Colosseum, tears stung your eyes and your breath came in short jagged gasps. The horse echoed its owner’s anxiety as he stomped his foot and trembled under your legs. A hand reached out to take his reins, another gently soothed him with wide comforting strokes along his neck. Ravi.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Tell me what is happening, please. Is Acacius still alive? Is he fighting? What are they doing to him?” You refused to dismount the horse, in case you had to rush onto the arena. It wasn’t the best plan, but it was your only plan.

“He fought a few of his own Centurions. But they are putting him against Hanno, from Numidia, to allow him a chance at revenge.” No. They were putting him against Lucius, son of Lucilla, and Acacius was going to give his own life for them.

“Pick it up,” Lucius demanded. Acacius stood unarmed, refusing to attack him, only fending off his blows. He reached for the staff, instead of the sword. Him and his stupid honour. Both men grappled as Lucius attacked relentlessly. You knew Acacius could win this fight, it was evident in the way he only had to push Lucius away for him to fall to the ground. The wars had shaped him into a powerful warrior who had fought and survived worse. Yet he refused to fight.

“I’m sorry I could not reach him last night, the Praetorian Guards had already killed Acacius’ men by the time I arrived,” Ravi explained, but you could not focus on his words because Acacius had raised his hand in surrender— kneeling on the ground. Fury and anguish engulfed you, and you tightened your grip on the reins of your horse, waiting for the judgement. He was a soldier, a General, you would not allow him to die on his knees like a criminal.

Geta raised his arms to the sky, languidly bringing his arms forward to… turn his thumb down, “The Gods have rendered their judgement.” NO. No, no, no.

Acacius took deep, heaving breaths; blood and gravel smeared on his wounds and bruises formed against his face and arms. He was speaking to Lucius, you were too far away to hear the words but the Colosseum was shrouded in a silence of shock and disbelief. The wind carried parts of his words and you read his lips to know the rest.

“... you have to know, I love your mother Lucilla… and your father Maximus. I would have died for him.” You could feel your heart shatter, it bled out in the form of tears. Of course, of course, he loved her. She was his wife. He belonged to her. You weren’t doing this so he might turn to you. How could he? Acacius had never seen you.

Lucius dropped his sword and joined Acacius to kneel— an act of mercy, of forgiveness. But Rome was not merciful, it did not forgive, it only plundered and killed. Geta turned to the captain of the Praetorian Guard as your own horse reared back on its hind legs before shooting forward into the arena. The guards had notched their arrows at Acacius. And you flipped your veil while you circled the ground, allowing everyone to see who you were.

“Kill him.” Caracalla insisted impatiently. But none would dare to launch an arrow while you stood in their way. Spilling the blood of a Vestal was sacrilege and an act against the Gods, it could ruin Rome. Because so long as your bodies remained unpenetrated, the walls of Rome would remain intact. You brought your horse closer to Acacius— shielding him from the arrows, the Emperors, the spectators, and the very sun itself that inflicted its scorching heat onto his wounds. You would shield him from the Gods if you had to, he will not die today. You gently patted your horse, the wonderful friend that he was, understood your gesture and brought his neck to the side of the ground, curling around Acacius to further cover him in safety and shade.

Acacius was tired. He had been weary for a very long time, from the wars, the bloodshed, the devastation. The cries of the bereaved mothers, wives and children as they mourned their loved ones echoed in his mind, ringing in his ears until he could not sleep. Admittedly, he was terrified when they had been caught last night, but only for Lucilla and her fate— not for his. He felt an odd sense of relief at being discovered. It would mean no more fighting, no more wars— in death he would be freed from this burden of guilt and duty.

Alas, death never came easy. It had pained him to fight the four centurions. He remembered them as boys when they had joined the legions— he had trained them himself. They had protected him through countless wars, threw themselves in front of swords for him; they had ensured he returned home safe. He had vowed to not sacrifice another generation of men for the greed and vanity of the Emperors. Yet, he had been forced to take their lives himself.

So the sight of his saviour was a little unwelcome. He had prepared for his end when he agreed to rescue Lucius. She was one of the Vestals judging by the red bands that adorned her hair and fell over her shoulders. One of the most powerful women in Rome was interceding on his behalf. Why?

He glanced at her feet in the stirrup of her saddle, wrapped in elaborate swirls of leather with a soft sole; clean toes then a delicate arch and a smooth heel— the feet of someone unused to the harshness of the elements, of poverty and hard work. Her stola modestly fell over her legs in soft lavender folds, and a deep red woollen palla, embroidered with gold flowers and leaves, draped her form. Wealthy, very wealthy. She openly flouted the convention of priestesses being dressed simply— which meant a powerful family backed her. Despite all the wealth he had accumulated as the General of Rome, he would not be able to dress Lucilla in these clothes.

Acacius reached up to pat the head of her horse that was nosing around his thighs. It wasn’t a superior breed, as he had expected, not flashy like the ones used for chariot racing, nor was it powerful like the horses provided to the military. A local breed— strong, dependable, loyal. Why was a woman like her standing between him and the Emperors? Ideals? Some romantic notion of heroism? Did she believe herself to be impervious to their rage?

“You accuse him of being an enemy of the state and threaten the lives of its Emperors. But the people have yet to see a trial! He is a Roman hero… guided by the spirit of Vesta to watch over Rome from its furthest corners, fighting your wars. After over thirty years of his unflinching loyalty and abiding service to Rome and its people… you would label him a traitor?”— There was a moment of stillness, as everyone stood nervous and unsure of how the situation would proceed. Acacius also felt the knots of tension tighten in his stomach—“In the name of Vesta, the patron Goddess of Rome, the one who watches and presides over all our homes. I pardon Justus Acacius for any of his imagined crimes.” Her voice carried through the Colosseum, open and light but betraying the underlying fury in her words.

A murmur arose swiftly morphing into a roar. The people chanted his name, begged for mercy on his behalf. And above all those voices rose the voice of the priestess, “THE GODS. HAVE. SPOKEN.”

The arrows changed direction to face the agitated crowd, the spectators of his near-death raged against the Praetorian guards. Acacius prayed they would not fire their arrows into the crowd of people. He glanced at Lucilla, chained to her seat next to the Emperors who looked alarmed at the reaction and anger of the citizens.

“Furthermore. I free this slave, Hanno of Numidia. For his honour and strength. And for his refusal to harm those Vesta holds dear— Rome and its General.” Most in the Colosseum did not hear this declaration, but Macrinus flew to the ledge of his box staring at the woman as she dismounted her horse. Suspicion curled in his gut. There was no reason to pardon Hanno— unless she was aware that he was Lucius. There was a conspiracy afoot and this woman was at the centre of it.

She reached out and pulled Lucius up by his arm, pulling him behind her and offered her hand to help him stand. He eschewed touching her to take the reins of her horse instead before leading them all out of the arena. She stumbled over the front of her dress as soon as they were out of the public eye. Lucius steadied her, and Acacius considered pulling the man away from her. She had saved them, but her safety was not guaranteed for too long.

Vestals had the power to free slaves and rescue condemned men from execution. But the privilege was so rarely used out of fear of retaliation. The most powerful women in Rome had an Achilles’ heel so easy to pierce that a whisper of rumour could destroy them— as it often did. Their chastity and virginity were synonymous with the safety and welfare of Rome, and they could be killed for violating their vows.

She had challenged the Emperors, they would blame the woeful state of Rome on the failing of the Vestals and insist one of them had violated her vows. Then find this woman guilty of unchastity. And she would be killed for it. She had rescued them, and should one of them be groundlessly accused of being her paramour they would be publicly flogged to death by the Pontifex Maximus. He was grateful for her aid, truly, he was but she was a danger to them.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” came a shout as someone rushed towards her fuming with anger. She flinched at the shout and leaned against the wall, barely standing on her shaky legs. Acacius drew himself up to full height and stood between him and the lady. It was the Pontifex Maximus; this man held the right to discipline and beat a priestess for a violation of etiquette or rules. He stood alert, with hands rolled into loose fists, waiting to jump into action if the chief high priest dared to lay a hand on her.

She had curled her hand around her heart, struggling to breathe; he recognised these signs, had seen them before in the soldiers who returned from war— had suffered from them himself. Contrary to his expectation, and even the fury that still painted the senator’s reddened face, he handled her gently and tentatively like one would hold a child.

“It is worse, Publius. So much worse than I imagined.” She whispered. Acacius struggled to make sense of their conversation.

“It is done. Nothing we can do about it now. You’ve… just, why?” Publius asked, anguish evident in his tone. He had the same question, why save them?

“I’m going to die.” She said it much more calmly and he had to appreciate the strength that coated her voice even when she was breathing unevenly, the grace with which she faced her future. His heart ached for her, she would lose her life for trying to save his. He owed her a debt he could not repay.

“No, no, the Pontiffs are meeting to discuss your actions, we will make sure nothing happens to you for this. We will figure out a way.” Publius insisted.

“No, don’t make promises you cannot keep, it is done, nothing we can do about it now.” She echoed his words back at him.

The priestess turned to him, “Acacius—”

“I need to find my wife, Lucilla, she’s—” She gave him a hurried dismissive nod before turning away from him.

“Hanno, you will follow me.” No, the boy should come with him.

He needs to take Lucilla and her son out of the city and reunite with his men in Ostia. His plans to arrest the Emperors had been discovered and the Praetorian Guards were alert. They had lost their element of surprise and would have to plan another attack. But Lucilla and Lucius’ safety came foremost. They were the future of Rome. He tried to signal Lucius to decline her offer. But he was too busy staring up at the priestess, helping her mount her horse again. Acacius had to hold back his sigh of irritation. Not the right time, not the right woman.

“I was hoping Hanno could help me…” All three of them turned to look at him as if he had grown a second head “I might need to—”

“Rescue Lady Lucilla? And flee to your troops in Ostia I suppose? She is under house arrest in your home, kept under continuous surveillance. They will let you in easy enough but they will not let you leave. Even if you managed to escape with her, that army of yours has not reached Ostia. Leave Hanno out of your mess.” Acacius felt his blood run cold. Just how much did she know, and more importantly, who else knew of their plans? Did Hanno and her know each other beforehand? Was that why they were rescued?

It was his turn to feel that tightness in his chest, his wounds burned, his bones ached and the exhaustion was catching up to him now that he was no longer fighting. He looked at her for the first time, studying her features, looking for a sign of… anything. She wore a mask that concealed every emotion, even the trembling in he limbs had subsided. He had no idea what she was planning and how they all factored into it. There was a game being played, but he was unaware of the rules, or the moves of his opponents. And the sight of her tugged at his mind, she was so familiar, he knew her from somewhere. A whisper of a memory lurked in the back of his mind, yet the image remained unclear.

“You will make sure to go straight to the Temple, all the other girls are to be confined to their rooms. Ravi, make sure she and the gladiator reach there safely.” The senator issued terse orders.

“I am free, am I not?” Lucius interrupted.

“Yes, Lucius, you are free to go as you please.” Was her parting reply before she rode out of the Colosseum refusing to wait for her escort. Was nothing a secret from her? Her knowledge could have Lucius killed, he was the only living heir to the throne.

“But I suggest you follow her, my friend,” Ravi counselled Lucius, “Macrinus knows who you are. He will not let you go. But he will also not be able to pull you out of the Temple easily.”

Macrinus? Macrinus knew of Lucius’ identity and had not told the Emperors. But he had informed them of his plans of treason… What game was he playing?

“Forgive me, General, she had asked me to pass on the information that Thraex had betrayed you to Macrinus. But I was too late last night…” He silenced the man with a hand on his shoulder. At least for now, the priestess seemed to be on their side.

Acacius reached a decision, “Go to the temple. Keep in the public areas, always be within sight of somebody else. Do not, listen to me carefully, do not be seen alone with any of the priestesses… Your mother and I will join you there.”

You stoked the fire on the altar, seemingly deep in thought but the dread had settled so deeply into your bones that none of your thoughts registered in your mind. You had abandoned Lucius somewhere in another part of the temple, but somehow he had followed you here, you can still feel his eyes on you.

There was a rush of footsteps, you would know them anywhere, Marcus. Another figure flew into the room with him, Lucilla. You were overwhelmed, on edge and agitated— you had no patience for her today. It wasn’t fair to her, especially because your frustration with her stemmed from a deeply personal issue; it wasn’t her fault that Acacius loved her. The very thought of it tightened your chest with misery and grief. You had loved him for so long that the emotion had receded like an old wound that only ached and twinged when one was overworked, or when the seasons changed. And today, you were exhausted from the physical and mental strain, and a storm was on the horizon that ominously heralded death.

You watched her embrace her son, refusing to look at Acacius still standing by the entrance of the room. Lucilla turned to you, gaze heavy with weariness and tears of gratitude, the years after her father’s death had not been kind to her.

“Thank you, so much, you cannot know—” You stayed her with your palm outstretched, taking a step back to prevent her from touching you.

“Please, you do not need to thank me. If you will excuse me… Marcia watch the flame.” You did not want her gratitude. After all, you hadn’t wanted to save her husband, you had only wanted to save the man you loved. You moved to leave the room— just needing time alone.

“I remember you.” You abruptly halted. These were the words you had wanted to hear all day. But… the voice was wrong. The person was wrong. You turned to face Lucius anyway.

“You were there the day I was sent away from Rome”—he pulled a ring off his finger—“You gave me this ring…”

You remembered the day incredibly well, and you had given him the ring, “Yes, it was my mother’s.”

“I gave it to my wife when we were married… It must have meant a lot to you. This ring. You told me that it would be alright… that going away wasn’t scary at all. And that I was only being sent away for my own protection and to make me stronger. You assured me that my family would miss me just as much as I missed them… said you knew because your family missed you just as much as you missed them… you also promised to miss me too.” He finished with a mischievous grin.

You huffed a broken laugh, you hadn’t kept that promise. All thoughts of that little boy had left your mind that very day when you were beaten for speaking to him. You had only been twelve. But as someone who had been training in the temple for six years by then, you should have known better than to talk to a boy, it was immodest. It had not been a selfless act to comfort Lucius for being ripped away from his home, you had only lingered because he was being watched over by Acacius— hoping to spend more time in his presence.

“Would you… like the ring back?” You met his eyes, he was very different from the boy you remembered. You wondered if he saw how different you were from that innocent girl of twelve.

“No, once we give away something, we do not take it back. The ring means far more to you now.”

You hadn’t wanted to reminisce about the past, but Lucius’ words had taken you back to that day. Death lingered in the air even then, but you had been too young to notice it. History was in the making, winds of change had uprooted what was in place to make space for something new, an Emperor and a hero had died in the arena; and you only had eyes on Marcus.

He had been Marcus to you then, just Marcus, not Acacius, not Justus, and not General. He was just a young man, your brother’s best friend. They had both trained under Maximus when your eldest brother served as a Centurion. Your brother had been elected by the Senate to the post of Centurion because yours had been a military family; while Marcus had been promoted from the ranks of common soldiers for his valour.

You had loved him from the day your brother had brought him home as a guest; at your tender age of five, you had not known what love is, but you loved him anyway without rhyme or reason. Or perhaps there had been a reason. You had been a demon as a child, climbing trees and walls, chasing after your brothers, breaking priceless decorations, and hiding from your wetnurse and tutors. Marcus, your senior by a decade, had been unfailingly kind and endlessly patient. No matter how busy he was, he always had a smile for you, gently rubbing his knuckle over your plump cheeks in greeting.

When you were too afraid to descend from a tree you had climbed, it was only him you trusted to catch you. He could entertain you for hours, seating you atop his shoulders while he walked around the gardens with your brother. He took the blame when you had broken your mother’s priceless vase. He could find you no matter where you ran to hide.

You had been all of six when you were told that you would be joining the temple of Vesta. Commodus had demanded your hand in marriage to command your father’s loyalty. And when your father had denied him, staying true to Emperor Marcus Aurelius, Commodus had conspired to steal military funding and rations and accused your father of this crime. While your father was proven innocent, his career never recovered and it was safest for the family to retreat from political life.

Your father had been a general who commanded the loyalty and trust of the entire army— not unlike Marcus who he had adored. The family had far too much military influence and wealth, it would have been a threat to any reigning monarch. Men would covet you, their only daughter, as a way to force your family to do their bidding. So it was safest for you in the temple, where you symbolised Rome itself; any man who touched you had assaulted the very embodiment of Rome and would be killed with impunity.

But you hadn’t understood all that at six and had chosen to run away from home to your dear Marcus. You had followed him all the way to his insula— apartment blocks made out of wood and mud, unlike your palatial domus. He had lived on the highest floor, you would later learn these were the ones with the cheapest rent, sharing a home with countless other men also learning their trade.

It was the first and only time he had been angry with you— out of fear for your safety. He had never raised his voice, but you could tell he was angry by the furrow in his brows, his pursed lips and the clench of his jaw… just like today at the Colosseum. The disappointment rolling off him in waves had caused you to burst into tears, much like it made you want to do today. But today, he would not have comforted you as he had then. Marcus had gently washed your soot-covered feet and dirty cheeks before carrying you home in his arms. It was only a day after this tantrum that the chief high priest had taken you away to the temple.

For years you were sequestered in the temple, learning how to be a priestess, that day at the Colosseum was the first time you had been allowed to attend a public event. You remembered fluttering with excitement at the idea of seeing Marcus again. He had looked beautiful and just as you had remembered him; kind, protective, strong.

You had watched him comfort Lucius and help him onto the horse before sending him away to the safety of distant lands. You had waited, patiently, for him to turn around and notice you. Your training would not allow you to call out to him first. There had been a large grin on your face when he had finally turned around; but he had glanced at you, bowed his face in deference and walked away from you. He did not remember you. He had left you standing there with tears washing away that beam. You could not remember ever having smiled that way again. Which had not been Marcus’ fault, no, that was because of the beating that had come after.

Twelve had been the age you were finally, and unfortunately, to the previous chief high priest’s tastes. And while he may not have touched you out of fear of the consequences, there were ways a grown man could terrify a child. The temple hadn’t been the refuge your family had hoped it would be. You had killed him. It was a fact you didn’t regret to this day.

You were not built for the temple, it was the truth no matter how hard you had tried to carve a place for yourself here. But you had endured. You had endured the training, the rites, and the ceremonies. You had endured the beatings and the whippings when you made mistakes. You had endured having to lower your gaze demurely and not look around at the world around you. You endured when your mother passed away in the countryside but you couldn’t see her because Vestals could not leave the city. You had endured losing Marcus. Never even receiving the chance to attain him. You had endured until he could no longer recognise you. Worse, you had endured until you could no longer recognise yourself. But this was the last of your endurance. You were exhausted.

Loud banging was heard on the doors of the temple, your judgement was here. You smoothed the folds of your stola, and gathered your palla around you. Instead of pulling it over your head like a veil as was expected, you draped it over your left shoulder, under your right arm and then folded it over your left arm in neat pleats just like your mother would have worn it. You allowed it to cloak you in her courage, and called forth your father’s strength that resided in your bones before walking out to face the Praetorian Guard.

The courtyard was filled with people as you descended the stairs. The lamps had been lit, the guards had brought torches and the altar blazed with heat behind you. Vesta was watching. Your sisters glared down at the guards, the younger initiates were standing by the columns looking afraid. Marcus, Lucilla and Lucius were noticeably absent.

“Flavia, escort the young ones to their rooms, please.” You requested the maidservant, they did not need to see you be sentenced to death.

“What brings the guards to the temple this evening?” You finally asked once the girls had disappeared down the corridor.

“Vestal, you have been found guilty of unchastity. You have angered the Gods and endangered the lives of the people. You will be punished for your crimes against Rome—”

“Found guilty? I have served this temple for almost thirty years. Will there be no trial?” You addressed Publius, the Pontifex Maximus stood deflated, shoulders hunched and head bowed in defeat beside the head guard. You knew there would be no trial.

“We have many witnesses who have seen you with that foreign barbarian, Hanno.”

Lucius materialised from the shadow, summoned by both his name and accusation, “I have not touched her!” None of them acknowledged his outburst.

“Who are your witnesses?”

“Senator Thraex, Senator Gaius, Senator Dalius…” The names of senators kept on being read. And it was telling, so telling of the move Macrinus had played.

“... General Justus Acacius.” The world stilled around you. Marcus Acacius? A witness to your unchastity? A hollow broken laugh left your mouth. The sound was jarring to your own ears, it rankled in the silent and oppressive air.

“Did the General witness me in a compromised position before or after his fight in the Colosseum?” Your words were accompanied by a derisive sneer. There was a twitch in your cheek and a tremble in your hand from your barely contained rage. How dare they use him against you?

“He witnessed it after we had escorted Lady Lucilla to her home.” The guard leered. The threat in his words was clear. Lucilla was under house arrest, should Marcus Acacius stand in your defence, Lucilla would suffer. They did not know that Marcus and Lucilla had escaped their watch and taken refuge within the temple.

The announcement of death had brought new clarity. It was in this very courtyard, before the fires of Vesta, that Maximus had made Marcus take an oath to protect Lucilla and her son. You had watched them then not understanding the weight of that oath. Marcus, protective and honourable, would keep that vow to his dying breath.

Even though Lucilla was not within their grasp, Marcus would not reveal himself and come to your defence; they would know she had escaped and where to find her— it was a threat to her safety. Silence once again shrouded the courtyard. Heartbreakingly, and to your expectation, Marcus was not forthcoming in denying his addition to the list of witnesses.

Had he not made a similar promise to your brother of protecting you? You know your brother had asked him to watch over you, fearing that you would be alone and helpless in the city without your family. But Marcus had not kept this vow. Why was an oath for you inherently less important than an oath for Lucilla? Because you weren’t the woman he loved? Because you weren’t the future of Rome?

Very well, Marcus. You had chosen to trade your life for his; there was no retreating now. It was not an act you would ever regret because it was the truest you had been to yourself. All your past endurances had been for your family, friends, Vesta, and for Rome itself. But this last act of endurance was solely for yourself, and the love you had sowed and nurtured into a towering tree that shaded you in times of loneliness.

You would give your life and then nothing more to him. Perhaps in the afterlife, you would ask the Gods to sever your ties with him, to never allow you to love him again in another world. You could not spend another moment, let alone an entire new lifetime, begging for the scraps of his affection and attention. These last few hours of your life you would spend with those who loved you, who saw you.

Marcus was ashamed. He never considered himself an honourable man. He had committed far too many atrocities, and killed too many people in pointless wars to ever lay a claim on honour. He had sworn to protect Lucilla, had made his choice and he could live with it. But that did not mean the chain of his oath did not weigh heavily on his soul; it did not mean every life he took did not weigh down his conscience like boulders on his chest. The life of this Vestal on his conscience might just be the thing that breaks him.

He had stopped believing in the Gods a very long time ago. Because had they existed they would have put an end to him and the destruction he had brought. And if they existed then they were just as vengeful and hateful as the Rome they watched over. But if there was ever a God who was honourable, gracious and compassionate then they would take her image. Strength and tenacity clung to her form, her chin proud and resolute as she stared down at those who would kill her. She faced death with more grace and dignity than any soldier he had ever seen— himself included.

“I accept the edict. Tell me how have they decided to punish me?” Her voice was light and steady.

“He has decided you will be sealed in the crypts near the Porta Collina with some bread, water and a lamp as the ancient tradition demands. You will be left to the mercy of the Goddess you betrayed, you will live should she spare you.” There was no goddess who would come to her rescue.

“So, I am to be buried alive then? How kind.” She spoke the words through a barely contained smile. He felt tears sting in his eyes.

“Your funeral will take place tomorrow.” A jagged sob pierced the air, one of the other priestesses was sobbing into the palm of her hands. Another priestess embraced the crying one with tears in her own eyes.

“As they wish. Escort the guards out, please.” She turned to Lucius with a brilliant smile and large, lustrous eyes— shining under the light of the lit torches. That smile tugged at his heart, he had seen it before somewhere. Who was she?

“I have been a terrible host, haven’t I? Come it’s time for dinner.”—she turned to the healer from the Colosseum—“Ravi you will join us tonight?”

“I cannot, it is not pro—”

“I’m sure I can afford a few breaches of propriety tonight. If anything, I intend to be entirely immodest.”

She tugged him along to their dining room, “I hope there’s honey cakes, the kind with hazelnuts and figs. Can’t have a last meal without them.” Her last few words were interrupted by another gasping cry.

She turned around with a mildly concerned but teasing look, “Too soon?” Far too soon.

Dinner was laid out across a long table, it was a meal fit for the Emperors. The Vestals preferred to take their meals sitting at the table rather than lounging on the couch and being served by their servants. The priestess sat at the head of the table furtively and tentatively glancing at the others around the room who were somberly submerged in various levels of shock, anger and grief. The senator had already helped himself to several cups of wine as he stared into the hearth. Ravi sat to her right, serving her food on her plate, and Lucius to her left. But nobody touched their plates.

“You are selfish, you always do this.” One of the Vestals accused her.

“I—”

“Who told you to go off to be a hero? Didn’t we agree to stay out of this mess? We would have hidden until this all played out. We would not have been killed.”

“Yes, we would have—”

“No! We didn’t know for sure.” Her voice grew louder, angrier.

“The senators were already discussing the idea after the rebellions in the western empire. There is famine and poverty. The people are angry and we are convenient scapegoats.” His priestess still answered gently. Acacius paused… she wasn’t his anything— except his saviour.

“Yes, but General Acacius’ victory at Numidia bought us time. We only have six more months of service left. We could have avoided this.”

“And then what? One of the little girls we trained dies?” The question was entirely rhetorical and for a moment Acacius believed the other Vestal would not argue further.

But she continued through a burst of tears, her voice wobbling, “Then we should have talked about this? Any one of us would have rather given up our lives instead of you!”

His priestess blinked back several tears and looked away to take a few deep breaths. He felt a sliver of compassion as Acacius finally had a few answers, she had been trying to rescue her sisters, give up her own life instead of theirs. But why rescue him?

“I know…” His priestess smiled through her tears before quickly wiping them away, “In six months, darling, you will be free to marry that man who has been waiting for you for the last thirty years… He even took a vow in front of Vesta to take no other woman but you. You have to live, all of you do.”

“You deserve to live, too. They should have given you a trial, at least.”

“Nothing short of a miracle would save me now.”

“You can carry water in a sieve from the sacred springs to the temple. I’ve seen you do it before.” Acacius raised his eyebrows in disbelief. A miracle.

“It’s candlewax.”— she huffed a laugh—“you rub candlewax on the sieve.” The secret of the trick broke through the strained air as some of the priestesses shared an affronted laugh.

“I cannot believe I let you convince me you could perform miracles.”

“Yes, yes, now let me be entirely selfish and request that you postpone your grief until after I am dead and let me enjoy a meal with friends.” She turned to Ravi, “And can I have some food that is not laced with opium?”

Acacius keenly watched their exchange, how did a highborn wealthy woman know a Freedmen like him? There was an ease and familial affection between them.

“No, I promised your mother that if you were ever in real danger I would help you. Eat, and you will wake up on a ship headed for your mother’s homeland. You have family there, they will be very happy to have you home.”

“How did you know her mother?” Lucius interrupted, receiving a mischievous smile from his saviour.

“Yes, Ravi, how did you know my mother?” Her words were coloured with a teasing lilt.

“I worked for her. She bought me from my previous master and then freed me.” Ravi sounded resigned to the ribbing coming his way.

“He was in love with her.” She excitedly informed Lucius, eyes glinting with mirth.

“Yes, that is why I will keep my vow. You will be sent away, willingly or unwillingly.”

“Ravi—”

“He is right.”— The high priest interrupted—“your father has also made arrangements for an event like this. You probably already guessed but it was the only reason I was given the Pontifex Maximus post, he bought it for me.” Just which family was she from?

“I will not run away. It would be a testament to my guilt.”

“Better guilty than dead.” A vestal offered, and he wholly agreed.

“This was my life’s work. I worked hard to be a good Vestal. I will not have that hard work be wiped away by aspersions on my character. I would prefer to be remembered in history as an innocent woman killed for the political agenda of men rather than having broken my oath. And if I ran away, what would happen to my family’s honour? To their lives? I have made my bed, I shall lie in it.”

“You could join us,”— Lucilla spoke beside him—“We have plans to arrest the Emperors and hand over the administration of Rome to the senate, then you could argue your innocence and be cleared of your charges.”

She gave a scornful scoff, “Oh? Defend myself in front of the very senators who saw me lose my virginity on the senate floor it seems, while eating… what was it Thraex had? Ethiopian bull heads.”

Her thumb and finger came up to press between her brows, “Forgive me, I do not mean to… Most of the senior senators had signed to be a witness to my unchastity. The only reason the junior ones haven’t signed, I’m sure, is because they ran out of paper. They will never admit they were coerced or manipulated into signing.”

“I have heard your father’s dream of Rome. It is not a bad one. Certainly better than what we are living now… But the highest echelons of Rome have rotted to their core. It was a senator that betrayed you. They will all only look after their own interests and their own wealth. Even in a republic… if you held new elections, whose vote will actually count? It will not be your average Roman who barely has a roof over their head or food in their stomach. Their fate will still be decided by a few hundred Patricians.”

Acacius didn’t know what emotions she had read on Lucilla’s face, but she leaned forward to gently grasp Lucilla’s hand with a soft, comforting smile, “Although it might not be perfect, it is a good ideal, a worthy goal to strive for. Ideals make life easier to live. Perhaps, in the future when we are all long gone, the world will be a more fair and just place because of it. It will be a step in the right direction for Rome.”

A servant entered carrying several scrolls and handed them over to her, “But ideals cannot help you survive the present. So, I have written wills.”

The declaration brought forth more tears, “We do not want to read your will.” one of the Vestals exclaimed in a fit of temper.

“I see…”—she raised an exaggerated, mocking brow—“So none of you want my enormous amounts of wealth?”

“I have made three wills. This one”—she pointed the scroll towards Lucilla—“is in case Rome is declared a republic.”

She picked up another scroll, “This one, you will open if there is a civil war.” Civil war?

Then she moved to the last scroll, “This one, has instructions on how to move forward should Macrinus become Emperor.”

Acacius felt momentarily speechless, and so did every other person in the room. Macrinus?

“Macrinus?” Lucius voiced.

“Macrinus.” She confirmed.

“He is a former slave…” Publius trailed off.

“Yes, I feel ashamed for having underestimated him.” An odd fervour gripped her voice.

“I had grossly miscalculated, you see. We thought that Macrinus wanted a seat in the Senate. But that was not the case. I only realised when I was in the Colosseum. He was the man behind the Emperors, leading their strings like a puppeteer. He doesn’t want a Senate seat, he wants the throne.”

“I do not follow,” Publius confessed.

“Well, we know that Macrinus has been in business with many of the senators until they are riddled with debts— he took over Thraex’s domus just yesterday morning. I had assumed he would leverage these debts to be elected into the Senate. But he made no move, he was waiting for the right opportunity.”

She stood to pace across the length of the table, “And then the opportunity came when Acacius and Lucilla shared their plans to arrest the Emperors with the senators”— she turned to face him—“terrible move, by the way. A secret that has left your mouth is no longer a secret, even if it is only whispered in an empty room. I knew of your plans by dawn.” How did she know?

She plucked a grape from the table, popping it into her mouth, “Macrinus did not know then, but he encountered an obstacle in Lucius—”

“Who is Lucius?”

She turned to face the Vestal who had interrupted and gestured towards Lucius, “Hanno is Lucilla’s son Lucius. Macrinus noticed Lucilla’s reaction to him on the first day of the games. I noticed as well. So he paid you a visit the next day, do you remember?” Lucilla could only softly gasp in acknowledgement.

“It was probably that bust of Marcus Aurelius that gave him away, I am told Lucius looks very similar to his grandfather. But then you went to meet him secretly that night, so our suspicions were confirmed— Hanno was your lost son.”

“You know far too much about what happens in other people’s homes.” Acacius felt vexed, she had spies in his home.

“Your servant Leta has grown expensive tastes that Thraex cannot afford with his debts, I merely supplement her income. She overheard your plans to rescue him from the Colosseum, and passed it onto Thraex the next morning. I knew Thraex would tell Macrinus everything… the rescue, the troops at Ostia, everything… to erase his debt and prevent his home from being seized.”

“Is that why you wanted to speak to them at the Naumachia?” Publius asked.

“Yes, but they left before I could, all because Lucius wanted a shot at Acacius.” She levelled an accusing stare at Lucius. “Just after that battle, Macrinus came to know of the plans. I had sent Ravi to intercept the General and his men before they were caught. But it didn’t work as planned.”

“But that still doesn’t explain why you think Macrinus could be king.” Ravi urged.

“Aah, this is where things get exciting”—there was an excited gleam in her eyes, her hands grew more animated as she explained—“at the Colosseum. Geta would look to Macrinus before he issued any orders. I knew he had sway over the Emperors, but I believed anybody could misguide them, they are quite easy to manipulate. But it was the first time I glimpsed the naked ambition in his eyes. He was instigating Geta to kill Acacius.”

“Killing Acacius would leave us without support,” Lucilla admitted, “It would weaken the dream of a Roman Republic.”

“Well— yes. It was killing two birds with one stone. Killing the General would instigate the people against the Emperors. The people are tired of their madness and tyranny, but most people are too busy trying to survive, feed their families. His death would enrage the public enough to riot in the streets. There is already an uproar in a few parts of the city because the Praetorian Guards turned their weapons on the crowd.”

“Macrinus would then act as the saviour of the people and get rid of the Emperors. But that would not mean he would get to be the Emperor. He is still a former slave, the Romans would never accept him as Emperor.” Publius countered.

“No, it’s worse, Publius. This story is not about Macrinus becoming the Emperor at all…” The vestal looked accusingly at his priestess, and an undercurrent of agitation rippled through the room.

“General Acacius’ death was supposed to spark a revolution which did not happen. Without the revolution, Macrinus does not have the final leverage over the Emperors. Change demands blood. If it is not Acacius, it will be you.”

His priestess adorned a resigned, heartbreaking smile, “And if I run, then it will be one of you…” Acacius did not understand what her words implied, would the people truly care about an innocent Vestal’s life?

A far more likely victim would be Lucilla. If Macrinus killed Lucilla, who was beloved by the people, and blamed the Emperors, then he would have the uproar he required. But would he have the resources to pull off such a conspiracy? He and Lucilla had already escaped house arrest, would he be looking for them? Could he trust the Vestals to not hand them over to the Guards to save one of their own?

“But to answer your question Publius, the Romans wouldn’t have a choice.” He watched her once more.

“If I was Macrinus, I would kill Geta.” The admission stunned the room. Acacius was astounded. This woman was not suited to the staid temple life, her family had done her a disservice. A mind like hers could change the political landscape of Rome.

“It would leave Caracalla alone, who is not always in a present state of mind so he would naturally appoint Macrinus onto the Senate. Ideally, Lucilla and Lucius would die in the arena in some spectacle supposedly ordered by Caracalla. But since Macrinus no longer owns Lucius, and Lucilla is not under house arrest that plan is foiled. Nevertheless, once the riots start, the Senate will allow him control of the Praetorian Guards in hopes that he can calm the public. The Guards are already loyal to him because the Captain earns a heavy purse of dinarii every month from Macrinus. Somewhere in the chaos, both Lucilla and Lucius would need to be assassinated. And once the dust settles, Macrinus is Emperor with the Praetorian Guards for his personal army, and a Senate deeply in financial debt with him.”

She lathered a layer of cheese on a piece of bread, dipping it into honey before guiding it to her mouth. Acacius faltered when she let out a satisfied hum, did she not realise the enormity of her words? He had spent years planning his rebellion against the Emperors, and she was making it sound so easy. A guest burst into the room in a shock of red, gasping for air.

“He has killed him… Killed the Emperor.” The newcomer exclaimed. He reeled with the declaration, the situation was spinning out of his control.

“Fortuna… dinner?” His priestess offered.

Their new addition slumped in the seat his priestess had emptied at the head of the table, “He has killed Emperor Geta… just… sliced his head off…” She still looked shocked, her gaze went to the meat on the table before her face took on a sickly, green pallor. And she turned to vomit all over Lucius’ feet.

“I suppose he sent you to keep watch over me?”

The woman looked up from the floor to give a distracted nod.

“He probably knows you are here, Acacius, but I don’t believe he will do anything until my funeral tomorrow. He needs me to die without a hitch.” He faced her with the alertness of a soldier taking commands.

“Stay here, rest. He cannot reach you in the temple tonight. You can try and escape now, but your troops have still not reached Ostia, it only means that Macrinus will be able to hunt you down. Darius and his men will probably arrive tomorrow afternoon, we will have my funeral in the evening…”

She gestured for a servant to fetch her a cloak before turning to him once more, “You will be attacked after my funeral, Macrinus will not care whether you die in the public eye or not, either way, he will scapegoat Caracalla. But I think you should be part of my funeral procession because Lucilla would be safest with the Vestals. The temple will be empty during my funeral procession so she will be left defenceless, it is best if she joins us. None would dare to harm one of us to reach her—”

“How can I trust that they will not hand her over to the Guards out of fear or to protect themselves?”

His priestess shared a deep look with another Vestal who turned to him and proclaimed, “Because it is the last thing our sister has asked of us.”

“Lucilla will return safely to the temple with the other vestals. The burial grounds are just south of the city gate. If you and Lucius fought your way over there, the Praetorian Guards would be forced to follow instead of controlling the crowd because their instructions would be to kill the both of you. You should send someone you trust with a message for Darius, and ask him to meet you at the city gate. This way, the Guards will be faced with your troops in the front and blocked off by the angry mob behind them.”

Acacius could admit it was a brilliant strategy, pulling the guards away from the crowd and drawing them to the city gates would also minimise civilian deaths. And it would also leave an opening for the public to dissipate should things get too bloody.

“Ravi, go to the Colosseum and recruit a few of the gladiators, see if they would like to help their good friend Lucius. Have them follow the funeral procession. That city gate has an iron grating, the gatekeepers could lower that grating and crush the people under it. Take a few of those men, quietly and discreetly, replace the gatekeepers. Do not let anybody discover you. But also do not kill the guards, tie them up and lock them somewhere. Use your opium if you must, grant them a nice, healing rest.”

It seems his priestess was well educated in the art of battle and warfare, her strategy was prudent and detailed. He was amazed she had deliberated over their attack in such a short time. The iron grating was their biggest danger, had the gatekeepers seen them leading the skirmish towards the gate, they would have lowered it and blocked off his access to the troops. He and Lucius would have been crushed against the gates— and died. Respect and gratitude filled his chest.

She donned her cloak, pulling its hood over her head.

“Where are you going?”

She gave a dazzling and roguish smile, “To find someone, or perhaps multiple someone’s, who will show me what I have been missing with this whole chastity thing.” She strutted out with a playful kiss to Publius’ bald head who only sighed at her audacity.

Acacius could not hold in the laugh that broke free from his chest.

INDEX Chapter 2

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