Heroes of Republic: Ancient Roman Super Heroes

[StrigaRosa]

I have felt the light of freedom, seen the bastions of liberty across the world. One by one they have been going out.

Two beacons shone too bright. Perched atop sunken boats and broken bones, an eagle and a phoenix stood: fighting each other as despots and tyrants thrived.

Through decades of determination and sacrifice, peace was achieved. The purple men knelt before the race that wears the toga. Nobody was pleased.

The last hero left honored that peace, chaining the gates of Janus - held shut only when no war threatened Rome. Such promise was tainted by the misguided belief that peaceful times have no need for heroes. It was time to end my self-imposed exile. I took a ship back to Rome. Accepting the price liberty demanded, I sold myself to the Senate and People.

I now understand that this is the only Way to bring absolute Libertas. To stay firm and fight.

For Justice.

For Liberty.

And The Roman Way.

The world demands that the last hero standing after a major crisis becomes a villain for those that come after him.

His oppressive armored form, towering across the sky; the red streak that I was, running through the shops and houses. Crested, closed, black helmet; humble hood and wild pale hair. Surrounded by the blue nimbus of a thunderous god; naked arms and a fist protected by a worn cestus.

Shining golden eagle paraphernalia; a single crudely hammered iron crow.

Yet, we both fought for a Rome That Never Was.

For Justice.

That is, had I not raced across and under the waves, pulling sailors from the grasps of Salacia's nereides and delivering them to the safety of their home-island.

For Liberty.

What drove our friends, so loyal during and after the Punic War, to take sails against us? I took the time to explore Sicilia. Former mercenaries roamed the triangle island, stealing, extorting and establishing themselves as petty tyrants wherever a void had been created by the departure of Punic and Roman forces. Finally, something that I could solve with my aggressive set of skills! Quick hops and a couple of well-landed fists reminded the mercenary captains that Rome was protecting these people and their land.

Perhaps I should have paid more attention to the affairs back in Rome. As I restored order to Sicilia, my heroic compatriot gathered hostages from the Gallic people cordial to Rome.

For The Roman Way.

As news arrived about an incoming Gallic invasion of Etruria, he butchered the hostages alongside the cattle of the Forum Boarium; a ghoulish human sacrifice to ward off the Gallic Nightmare. As if that was not horrifying enough, he made a show of parading in front of the legions as the consuls – the actually constitutionally elected authorities – prepared to march north.

No freedom can be earned, no liberty can be preserved through fear-inspired brutality.

Such kingly show disgusted me and turned my focus to the small, but not insignificant, ways that I could make Rome better - nudge Romans towards Humanity's dream of True Liberty. But as I kept the streets safe, fended off bandits away from the Via Appia or stood between a small child and a pack of savage dogs, I always kept true to the same maxims.

I will fight as I long as I keep breathing.

It is never enough; I must aim higher.

Those were the words that guided by friends, my teachers, my parents and my masters. My old comrades's principles. I had abandoned them in foolish rebellion, hoping to find freedom in other's ideas. I might have been wrong at the time, but there were legitimate grievances that had motivated my decision; doubts that still tormented adult me.

I need to fight for what is right, in my own way.

Hopefully one day I will stand alongside others. For Justice. For Liberty. For The Roman Way. That is a nice dream, for I kept having to fight alone.

All I have is hope that small good acts eventually pile up and create a better world. Making someone's day better inspires them to resist the inertia that makes one complacent with evil and comfortable with tyranny. You should also enjoy yourself, ever aware of your goals and sharing gentle emotions with the world. I know what I must do.

Make others and yourself happy.

Every unnecessary blow, every unfortunate consequence and every new enemy taught me another important lesson. A simple one that too many forget.

Above all, cause no suffering.

I was finally ready to assume my place as the protector of the Rome That Never Was (But We Must Try To Make A Bit More Real, Anyway).

Clapping thunder awoke me from my delusions.

The sky was clear, despite lightning bolt after lightning bolt striking the Palatinate Hill. Curving corners, jumping over an open gutter and diving under carts, I sped up until I became a scarlet streak. Climbing into the rooftops, breaking tiles as I ran. I dove into an empty atrium in order to lose momentum and left the house through the entry facing the Forum. It was torturous to navigate the mob fleeing the scene, as more and more thunderous strikes struck the doors of the Temple of Saturn.

Closing in, I was able to fully grasp the situation. The purple hoods of the men cowering behind the sacred gates identified them as pro-Punic activists; the bags of silver they carried justified their presence in the Treasury. They had someone with them, some patrician-looking young woman, poorly restrained and struggling against them.

Another thunderbolt drew my attention towards the skies.

There he was, our great war hero.

His face hidden behind an ebony helmet, fused to a silvery face mask representing an irate divinity, his body protected by a lorica musculata (scorched and engraved with two wolves fighting riverside). You could only see the vague silhouette of his limbs, surrounded by electric blue nimbus.

I was so afraid, my heart almost freezing stil.

It took all of my resolve to steel myself. I stopped running and looked around, realizing some of the people had stopped trying to escape the Forum. They lingered around, cheering and chanting.

"Quirinus Fulminator Niger! He has come to save us!" A teenage shouted. "Burn everything, Quirinus! Burn! Them! All! Death to the Punics!"

Terror took over the terrorists, making them run away. Two of them were instantly fulminated. Quirinus lifted his stormy hand, ready to lob another thunderbolt.

Make others and yourself happy.

Above all, cause no suffering.

I was starting to see the problems with my new ethos; racing lightning itself, I grabbed one of the terrorists and sped away from the Forum. I dared to be relieved, believing I was too fast for Quirinus to even see me. I turned back to check on him, only to see the patrician hostage from before waving for me to keep running.

Another second more would be a second too late, the tips of my hair singed. He was flying behind me, an ultimately futile effort; nobody could match my speed - even carrying villainous burden. Of course, he would bring buildings down and accidentally wound or kill innocents during the chase.

I would have to fight a fellow "hero" of the "Republic".

Throwing the confused temple robber against a refuse cart, I ran up the walls of the neighboring shops and jumped the top of a usury office. Quirinus was already aiming at man I had dropped. I threw myself as high as I could, pulling my right arm and concentrating all my strength and momentum into my cestus.

Finally noticing me, Fulminator Niger turned his masked face. Too late to dodge, just enough to perfectly align my punch. It was with delight that I felt the silver soften with my blow, a chin breaking when introduced to my infamous right.

My violent joy was short-lived. I punched Quirinus out of the sky and into the roof of some unfortunate shopkeeper. However, my own descent was anything but graceful; I could either fall like a rock or stumble against buildings, trying to slow my fall at the expense of someone's propriety.

Bird-eye view of the Forum offered me a unique perspective; it drew my attention away from my personal woes and towards the damage caused by the Fulminator Niger indiscriminate thunder; spilled olive oil from some of the shops had ignited and started a small fire.

Drawing upon my celerity I guided myself towards the burning buildings. Inside them I saw a child trapped underneath a stone basin. I pulled the kid out and ran in circles around the fire, starving it out. Blazes suffocated, I gave in to exhaustion and released the children. Still dizzy and lightheaded, I recovered enough sense to remind myself that I should present the kid with a warm reassuring smile.

The brat clenched the tips of my mantle with both hands and spat against my chest.

Right. Reality check.

The real hero was digging himself out. Without any purple-hood in sight or civilians in danger, I had my fill of ingratitude.

So I ran.

I ran as fast as I could, I ran across the entire Via Appia, I ran until I was at the gates of Capua.

Collapsing underneath an olive tree, allowing myself some rest. I closed my eyes and smiled at the whiplash of bucolic peace and urban chaos that I had just faced. I am fine with this. I am fine. I upheld my tenets, that was enough, right?

I was fine.

When I opened my eyes, hours later, I found an enormous crow staring back at me with sparkling ruby eyes.

"I'm not running away." I mumbled, tripping over my words. "I'm not going to run away.

The crow leaned closer and turned its head around, cawing - as if doubting my sincerity.

"Seriously. You are not getting rid of me so easily. It is just impossible to do this alone, you know. I need help."

The bird jumped on my lap. I petted its feathers in gratitude. It was not a meaningless gesture; if a Crow of the Underworld was here, it could only mean the Shadow Senate approved of my actions and supported my claim as a Hero of the Republic. I was once a Corvus.

Now I am the last of the Corvii.

Maybe it was time for that to change.

Starting with Quirinus Fulminator Niger.

"Tell me, my infernal friend: how does one kill an idea?"

 

[StrigaRosa]

A horse cantered gently alongside the ill-treated road, guided by the ankles of a skilled rider. Sad fields surrounded man and beast, silent witnesses to the double scourge of war and depopulation. These were the forsaken bones of the Bull, were not even Wolves prowled.

Nothing green or golden was allowed to rest in the soil; harvested to the brown and sent to the front. After the grain, it was the turn for Men to depart the land, every single capable fighter needed against the Gallic Terror that had taken Etruria, killed a consul and made heroes and slaves in equal measure. Stopping for a moment to adjust his wide brim pastoral hat, the knight wondered how many of these auxillii would return home and whom would greet them back upon their arrival; the feats of those at the home front went unsung, even as they sacrificed their lives by offering their meager winter supplies. All to keep the troops fighting.

The same scene repeated all over Italia. And yet, the Gates of Janus remained shut.

The rider found himself surrounded by different fields as he pushed forward. These had not been abandoned due to war nor lost their farmers to the needs of the State. The signs of neglect where everywhere: out of season crops rotting away, marks on the ground of inadequate tools, brittle soil eroded by years of careless irrigation. Incompetence had ruined these lands. Who were these people, these miserable stewards that starved themselves and others through mismanagement?

Aiming to learn more about them, the knight forced his horse to halt and dismounted. He toyed with the lance in his saddlebags, fingers dancing along the shaft as he surveyed the bleak horizons. Trusting Fortuna and the other Gods, the rider cleared the dust from his simple and worn tunic before examining the trails crossing the region.

Rabbit droppings, no wheel marks or footprints. All of it made a distressing sight; there was not even the tell-tale sign of wandering sheep or adventurous goats.
Whoever lived here seemed to have given up, no longer attempting to tend the land or learn its mysteries.

"It seems they found the land frigid at the caresses of their thumbs." The knight concluded. "Where they expecting it to be more welcoming of human seed? Such a disharmonious marriage of spirits, I dread to think about the children of such union."

His agrarian contemplations were interrupted by the whinnying of his horse. The beast complained as it tore the ground with its muzzle, finding only dead grass.

"Patience." The man whispered as he caressed its mane. "There is nothing here for you, there is nothing here for anyone decent. You will eat and rest when it is safe."

The horse mood was not amenable and it kept complaining. The man rose and lined his left hand with his eyes, scanning his surroundings. A haunting spectral melody announced someone's approach; it was simple, repetitive and lacking in creativity. The same three notes, locked in chains.

Calming the beast by softly slapping its back, the rider took reins and guided it, assuming an apparently relaxed march. The musician made itself known, a balding tall man that blew a pan flute, escorted by two companions: one a starving youth; the other old and wasting away. Their curious bucolic looks stood out against the worn bits of armor that dangled over their torn clothes and dirty bodies; their scythes and rakes had been beaten and whet into nasty improvised weapons - advertising their change of lifestyle.

The dismounted knight lowered the brim of his hat, covering his face in shadows; he kept walking without breaking pace. As the trio approached, the fear felt by the horse became almost palpable. The three men stopped in front of them, blocking their path. The rider's breath slowed down, reduced to few thoughtful and resolute breaths, his facial muscles relaxed with stoic serenity, his posture attentive to any attempt to surround him.

"Salve." The youngest greeted. "That is a nice horse you have there. What brings you here, to these Ceres-forsaken lands?"

The horse whinnied, demanding to be appeased with more caresses. It was with delight that the trio studied the knight as he tended to the beast, eyes wandering over the blood-soaked bandages that covered most of his chest and left arm.

"Salve." The rider finally acknowledged the greeting, his tone calm and confident. "I fear that my purpose here matters only to me and my master. I am new to servitude and eager to please her."

The old man frowned as the flautist continued to his study of the knight.

"A slave? With such bearing? It really pisses me off."
Silence.
"If there is one thing I cannot stand is lack of respect. Do you think you are better than us, slave? Just because your master is rich and pampers you with a horse? We are just like him: free men. Are we not owned the same degree of deference?"

The knight exhaled exasperated, showing a chink in his armor of dignity.

"Are we boring you, slave?"

"The one I serve has no equal in this world. I bring her message to the stewards of Italia and its people."

"Do we not inhabit these lands?" The old man inquired, rhetorically. "Are we not its stewards? Perhaps that message is meant to us. Have you considered that?"

The slave turned his head around, as if replying by pointing out the sorry state of the fields.

"You cannot hold that against us! This land rejects us like an unbroken horse or lazy wife. There is more salt in the soil than in the sea. The little nurturing patches we scrap are quickly consumed by savage thorns and weeds; blights that poison any man or beast that eats them. Not even goats are willing to call this place home."

This made the knight ponder, raising chin and hat. The gesture revealed his youth and the scars that blemished his clean-shaven face.

"I am sorry to hear that. However…"

"However, nothing. Give us your horse and clothing, slave, as well as anything else you might be hiding on those saddlebags." The youngest interloper interrupted, running out of patience. "This should be a lesson for your master, for not sending a proper escort and not disciplining his slaves. Remember who bleeds and sweats to keep you fat and safe! If you drop to your knees and beg for forgiveness I may feel generous enough to bring your message to the closest municipium."

While the other talked, the rider sprung into action, spinning over himself and shocking the trio. They waved their weapons at the air, efforts soon rendered futile as the rider made his spear jump, parrying attacks as he guided the head with his wounded hand. Ferrous scent filled their nostrils.

Pine and steel described a dreadful arc, forcing the trio to separate from each other, trying to flank the slave and exploit his blind spots. It was easier said than done, the shaft spinning at high speed between two hands, rotating towards angles that tricked the eye, seeming to disappear for precious seconds - only the reappear in the attack. The older attacker had more experience than his two companions, capable of delivering tricky rake strikes that never failed to connect with the spear. He forced the rider to slow down and tiring him in order to create an opening.

Having identified the most dangerous of his opponents, the slave struck the horse, making it rise on its hind legs and wave the hooves towards the trio. Fully exploiting the distraction, the knight darted towards the flautist, unleashing a torrent of blows; the man tried to keep him at bay by flaying the scythe in panicked fury, rending the slave's tunic but failing to meet flesh.

The slave was more efficient, each blow costly. He finished by impaling the spear in the flautist's leg. As they howled in pain, a knife was smuggled from out of the slave's clothes and slashed across the throat of the unfortunate musician.

Assuming that the knight had lowered his guard, the youngest attacker rushed for the backstab. A surprisingly fast turn and knife throw quickly made him regret his choice. He was forced to retreat with a painful present right between the kidneys.

The rider could feel the blood rushing though his vein, marching at the command of his rising heartbeat, the breathing harsh and pained. It was not enough to let them run away; this had to end with with their deaths.

He whistled, his horse answered the summons; knight mounted with a jump and forced gallop with ankle nudges. Arm raised, spear aligned; the slave narrowed his eyes, feeling the impulse and balancing on the saddle. The youth turned back, face twisted in terror as he realized what was about to happen.
A wet thud as the spear tip met skull, projecting the poor assailant one meter or so. The slave rode by, not looking back.

Only the old man remained.

Gazes meeting, they took measure of each other. Slave dismounted; the veteran assumed a defensive posture. The slave shrugged and recovered the spear with a pull. The old man kept his distance, trying to secure his superior reach with the rake. The slave shrugged again and threw his spear with inhuman strength, pinning the old man against the ground.

Horse following behind him, the slave knight approached the wounded veteran. It was funny as the short distance seemed to stretch, space twisted into a scarlet and brown infinite, adrenaline fading and leaving him all too conscious of his actions. The bitter fruits of his excess of zeal and brutality, heeding the call of the Underworld.

And for a moment he was lost. No longer in the lands of the Bull. Back in the Wolf's den.

Working in a cold and humid cell, the light barely enough for the task at hand. The woman, tall as no other. Black, golden and scarlet. Offering him a hand entwined with rope and leather. A smile.

"I am beyond impressed. Even after all that happened, you found a way to continue serving the Republic." She told him, her Latin unpolished and full of plebeian vices. Her words still ringed sweeter than those of any eloquent patrician. "The world has moved ahead without you, Sextus. Nobody expects anything from you, not even the Senate and People. You already gave everything you were, performed the ultimate sacrifice. You could have allowed the waters of Lethe take you, indulged on the right to be forgotten and leave a humble quiet life. But it would offer you no comfort, would it? No, it would torment you. You cannot stand by; you need to be needed."

Her eyes wander towards the pile of documents that the slave was expected to audit before dawn. It was still civic service - even if it was a subtle and unglamorous one.

"I will not insult you by offering you freedom." The woman cloaked in red continued. "I offer instead the possibility to become someone that can protect the Senate and People; perhaps then you can find true liberation. Or at least, contentment."

She threw a heavy bag on top of the scroll pile. It was full of silver disks.

"You are not the only one with a debt to repay. Who better to settle Rome's accounts? Erase the debt, save our future."

The slave was back to the mistreated field, spear held in his hands, shaft pressing against the neck of the vanquished old man. That one murmured something, trying to catch the attention of the rider.

"Louder."

"Cis romanus sum."

The knight put the spear aside.

"Perhaps it would have been wiser to have had started this dialogue of violence with that."

"A free citizen does not have to answer to a man that only lives through the clemency of another."The veteran gestured in compliance, searching his clothes for something. He pulled out a worn military scarf, wrapped around a metallic plate. "Here it is, my diploma."

"The slave planted his spear in resting position, examining the legitimacy of the document. Certified by the Senate, granting the man and his kin full citizenship.

A true veteran.

Returning the diploma with reverence, the slave picked up his weapon and turned his back, lost in thoughts. He had no right to censure the old man. Being a good soldier and auxiliary had granted him citizenship and lands. However, it did not come with agricultural knowledge and the talent to be a farmer. He was good at one thing fighting. Who can be blamed for trying to make a living with the skills they have? His flaws did not rob him of his humanity; if anything, it allowed it to be expressed upon the world. Besides, he no longer stood between him and his mission; he had already unleashed more violence than the situation demanded.

Tending to his horse and making sure the beast had not been hurt during the fight, the slave returned to the struggling veteran with a proposal.

"You don't have to pretend to be someone you are not; you don't have to betray your legacy either. Go North. I am sure you will find purpose once again."
The old man rose and spat on the ground.

"Manes take you, slave! You do not know me; who are you to say such things?"

Looking for something on his saddlebags, the slave returned with something. A single silver coin.

"I know enough. I learnt that you are a Roman citizen, someone even more fitting than I am to carry this message. These lands and its peoples once gave everything they had to Rome. Together we presented a united front during the wars against Greeks and Carthage. We survived together, and earned our peace. It is only fair that we pay them back, return what was borrowed, show how well we took care of the secrets to us entrusted."

Those words roused the curiosity within the old man's heart, forcing him to accept the coin. A horse on one side, the words "CELERES" engraved in the other. The veteran made the coin dance between his fingers, as if expecting further insights.


"Give it to the first magistrate or priest you meet." Mounted, ankles pressed and horse galloping. The slave had said what he had to say.
"Wait!" The old man stumbled behind the speeding beast. "What the Dis Pater is this?"

"A promise. " The knight shouted in return. "One that we will all see fulfilled."

 

[StrigaRosa]

The Aventine Hill: the most nauseating ditch of the sewage of Romulus. It was cramped, it was filthy, it was a maze. However, no proper Roman would move outside the walls of the City and abandon the civic duties and pleasures of urban life. As confusing and dangerous as the Aventine was, it allowed the poor to be fully Roman. The Hill was the only parcel of land for plebeian housing, pierced by serpentine and cluttered streets, laden with houses layered one over the other, complex labyrinths of tiny rooms whose exterior walls were ever-stained by excrement and mud. Ah, the dispensations of State.

I would not trade the Hill for any other neighborhood in the world.

Few families of the Aventine are as ancient as the gens Considia; an extended tree of long branches and rooted in a prestigious past. Generally humble, our people have always done everything within their power to keep patricians away from our foul Hill, supporting the indebted and forsaken rather than allow them to be taken as slaves, organizing funerary clubs, maintaining and consecrating small sanctuaries for gods that did not warrant the favour of an august patron; some of the most ambitious Considii had even secured enough money to represent the plebeians of Rome as Tribunes of the People.

You could not mistake me for one of the great Considii. My name is Marcus Considius and I am a simple barber, too worried with keeping my shop open to take part in the world of politics or active civic service. My father was a barber, as was his mother before him; I learnt my trade in the streets, on front of the very same shop where I now work. There were no shortcuts; I got inside through costly mistakes and sheer dedication. I cannot imagine any other way I would live my life and I'm confident the Aventine cannot picture itself without me. Violence is more common than grain or olive oil at the Hill. Freedmen have money and common sense in abundance, giving the place a wide berth; this makes me the only one here that knows anything about Eastern medicine - the only chance many have to live through the night. Even when there are no wounds to sew or broken fingers to bind, there are always beards to shave and gossip to be shared. Visiting the barber gives color and meaning to life in the Hill - or so I like to believe.

Not every guest was welcomed. The double chins of Titus Annius and his balding head crossed the threshold of my door as I discussed gambling with one of the Red drivers. A dozen ruffians from his clientela followed behind him.
"No, please, do go on." Annius replied to the sudden silence with a toothless smile. "It is, after all, to my best interest that you make some money with the races. Nothing sweet as the sound of silver coins repaying debts."

"You haunt my property once again with your sorry tales of usury, Annius? I am going to pay the interest this month - as I have always done. And I swear to Trivia, before the year is over I will clear all of my debts. Go away, we do not need your ugly mug around here. You will scare the clients."

An usurer and his cruel smile.

"I would not be so confident, Marcus Tonsore. Between the new legions in Sardinia and the rumours of unrest up North, I think conflict will soon be banging at Janus Pacificator's door. The tax farmers are already rubbing their hands and licking their lips in anticipation; it is only a question of time until someone starts a fight. They will descend like birds of prey and fleece into every little shop from here to the Palatinate - all they need is a half-decent excuse. But do not despair, my good man. I have friends that are interested in your propriety as well as your wife's. I believe we can find an alternative form of payment."

Was it a bluff? Perhaps. But it was not part of my character to concede a point in public. Even the humble have their pearls of pride.

"See you next week, Annius. If you want my attention during work hours, how about growing some hair?"

"Oh, how I wish to contribute for the economy of my beloved Aventine! How about you shave my crotch next time?

Vale!" Bidding farewell with rude groin trusts, the clientela that accompanied the usurer cheered him out with a torrent of insults.

The driver broke the silence that befell the shop.

"This is awful. I can have some words with a few fans and put some fear into that fellator. A bump in the night might bring us calmer days."

"Bad idea, escalation of force will only worsen the situation. If you deal with money, you need a healthy mix of fear and respect; you and cannot have someone like me challenging your standing in the community. I will talk with your boss tomorrow. I believe we may still solve this peacefully."

I made my way to the Tiberis island where Albus Pomponius Bassus had built his domus. With me, an amphora of the Sicilian wine that he so much appreciated. The door of his house was open wide, as the man welcomed his visiting clients. Many had come all across Italia, waiting for Bassus' attention in a considerable queue. Horse breeders, racers, a few actors, some prostitutes and many professional louts started they day this way. I was just the barber from the Aventine, which deserved only curt greetings.

The Sun was already high when I was received by Pomponius Bassus. His body was typical of an athlete that had retired to a decadent lifestyle, heavy set muscles bloated by fat, skin perpetually marred by pleasures and vices. The limping was the legacy of a broken leg that had never healed proper, a constant reminder that he would never again drive a quadriga.

Glorious past events were celebrated in the decoration of his house: mosaics and sacked Gallic jewellery, banners and trophies, all drawing attention to the greatest of his prizes: a Corinthian bronze vessel that he claimed to have had won in Hellas.

"Ave Marcus Considius! Tell me, what reason we have to celebrate? It is good to see you with my own eyes!" He rose with some effort and gave me a bear-like hug. "Is that what I think it is? Have our good-for-nothing siblings finally sent news, and you wisely decided to share good tidings with wine?

Questions and assumptions made sense. Our brothers had left together for Sicilia, trying to secure lucrative contracts for grain transport and tax collecting. We in Rome anxiously waited for news about our investment. Any news.
"Unfortunately, no. However, I come at you with a request related with that initiative. I need to get some dividends from this investment; I fear for what the usurers might do if I do not pay them off."

"Cheer, Marcus!" Bassus tried to appease me, even as worry transpired across his rotund face. "I have managed to scrap some money from what Gaius sends back on our ships. Unfortunately, everything has already been reinvested. You have to understand, Considius, it was not enough for both or that justifies the endeavour. However, if I buy new horses for the Reds and run for office, we might make some profit. I'm sure you heard, right?"

"Of course, even the Blues supporters of the Aventine would vote for you." Speaking of the topic cheered Bassus but did little to improve my own mood. I knew of this new adventure, and that had been why I was avoiding him. It was futile to ask for money from someone crashing and burning through a political campaign. "Now that you are running for Tribune we will finally have someone in that position that actually wishes to bring change to the Urbe."

"This will only bring good things for us. Soon we will be riding luxury and recover our losses. Do not despair, my good man! Everyone in Rome knows I am your patron; Titus Annius and his cronies will not start a war in the Aventine or drag you to court, not when I stand behind you. The Red supporters are a sanguine lot and the youngest of that old goose Sergius have quite the poisonous bite. No moneylender would be that foolish; after all, their sort wants to be paid. They gain nothing by ruining our lives."

"I still have to pay him up, otherwise he will try to seize my propriety." I riposted. "I came to you because I need an alternative way to fulfil my debts. I cannot hope that Lucius and Gaius will pay us back in time. Sure, you have no way to lend me money, I understand that. But I heard they are paying nicely for naval commissions and a barber is always needed at sea. I ask that you have your clientela protect of my shop and my family. Can they keep the place safe while I am away from Italia?

"You are closing your place, Considius? The Aventine and its people will suffer."

Bassus raised a good point. When I married Camilla, her father gave us a share of his lands in Campania as dowry, a miserable and swampy lot - but our lot. These days that was all that kept us alive and my wife happy. She and my boys (Marcus and Lucius), my little Considia, my sister-in-law and nephews, they all lived and worked together. Their efforts got us enough food to subsist and filled our shop with medicinal herbs and life-saving brews.

Necessity kept us apart. No matter how much Camilla begged for me to abandon the squalor of Rome, I refused to accept the consequences of my departure. I cannot be the Considii that forsook the plebeians and the Aventine. Reluctantly, Camilla had made peace with our decisions, growing to appreciate how our separated lives safeguarded the future of many.

She would hate me for what I was going to ask from her.

"I will call Camilla and the children back. She is an experienced obstetrix and can use the saw as well as I do. Sure, long hair will have to become fashionable in the Aventine, but nobody will die at the feet of my closed door.
"Valere, Marcus. Neptune favours my horses and I will make sacrifices on your behalf. I swear before the Lares to treat Camilla as my daughter until you return. Go in peace, friend."

I did not exaggerate about my training with Greek medicine. Such knowledge had not been gained from an erudite patron, the sponsorship of a collegia, nor through the generosity of a Greek pedagogue. My unorthodox education started at the port of Ostia, between sailors and captains from Sicilia and Magna Graecia. I had many friends between Greek seamen, and Rome still had to rely on allies and foreigners to crew their ships - not even the maritime ventures of the Punic War were enough to make the Romans love the sea.

I have always hated Ostia. A permanent aura of despair hovered over the place. The vacant eyes of those forced to live here haunted me. Citizens that used to have hopes and dreams, before they resigned themselves to the fact that, without training or education, their only option was to become loaders and feed the insatiable maw of Rome. All in exchange for salaries and subsides - rented for servitude.

The port did not improve over the years I was away, metaphoric shadows replaced by quite real ones: enormous apartment blocks had been hastily built and seemed ready to crumble if someone stared at them for too long. Insulae, they called these aberrations, these eyesores, these islands of piss and misery. Many declared these a successful test, a solution for Rome's growing population In one of the many taverns. I found old companions from my last nautical commission - the Illyran expeditions that had pacified the pirates of the Adriaticum. A couple hours of jokes, insults, drinks and general jubilation earned me the position of barber aboard a ship that served consul Gaius Atilius Regulus himself.

Easy money, safest job in the fleet, the opportunity to establish connections and clear and definitive expiration date for my commission. Once Regulus emptied the curule chair I could return to Rome, and we would regain control of our lives.

I should have known it was too good to be true.

The auspices predicted terrible storms, prolonging the voyage between Sicilia and Sardinia. Issues with the ships forced us to stay at the inadequate Corsican docks for almost a month, followed by a hurried return to Sardinia. The news that waited for us broke my heart.

The Gauls had invaded Etruria. The Gates of Janus remained close. Even as Rome once again knew only war.

I could not sleep, my concerns shared my many of the crew; everyone dreaded what might have happened to their families and communities. The fear of the Celt was ubiquitous, for they were savage giants that had accomplished what no Greek, Punic or Etruscan could: break Rome. Legions and fleets had gathered to the rescue the city of Pisae, a brave attempt to stop the Gallic Terror before it reached the Urbe.

The gods were good. After a tense voyage, we left consul Regulus in Pisae, departing to chase away pirates that sought to carry the Gallic spoils back to Gaul. We followed them almost to the Long-Haired Gaul and back again to Regium, where we lost sight of them. It was time to return to Ostia.

Anxiety dominated our return, as we wondered if the gods had favoured the consul in battle.

How did it come to pass that my patron, oath sworn before the gods, had let my family be expelled and enslaved? I found the place closed, the slaves within informing me that their master had been called to reinforce the cavalry of Papus. Crippled or not, a man of his wealth owned the State a knight, and a knight the State got. After all, it would not look good for a would-be Tribune to squirt his civic duties.

I could not do anything until Bassus and the army returned. I tried to be smart about this, tried to be wiser. It was stronger than me. I joined various skirmishes with ruffians, buying titbits of information with bruises. Annius did not escape unscathed from the first visit he paid my wife, deciding to avoid my shop and lacking the courage to seize her. He sent for someone else instead, the eccentric master of the College of Contractors "Pleuratus of Germania", a self-declared "barbarian turned crime lord". Leaving the hard job of taking over the Aventine to him, Annius escaped to Macedonia with his plunder.

Evading justice and leaving me utterly powerless.
Alcohol and suffering reduced my brain to a pulp, eroding my common sense and validating an awful conclusion that would only sow more woes and destruction:

Annius could not hide from the gods, even if he escaped magistrates and my vengeance. I carved various many curse plates, adding my lamentations and wrath to that of others in the Hill.

"Charon, Hecate, Mares and every spirit and demon of the Underworld, carry with you the usurer and criminal Titus Annius. Let him die in his own excrement, covered by pustules and hated by Beast and Man. Let justice be done for the people of the Aventine and that every single one of their curses and imprecations be met with immediate infernal retribution."

News about the Roman victory reached the City ahead of army, crowds joining to receive the triumphant legions at the outskirts of Rome. Victorious but not a cheerful sight. A shadow clung to the exhausted soldiers; eight legions had left to face the Gaul and half of them have been butchered. Queries and rumors blossomed between the plebeians, everyone wondering about the fate and feats of the commanders. One of the consuls had himself installed at the villa of one of his friends in order to preserve his imperio. The other entered the city on a funerary litter.

Rome had been left with a single leader during this time of crisis.

I sent a messenger to Bassus. Smuggling himself into Rome as a civilian, we met in the darkness of his house, sharing a long silence interrupted only by the singing of wine pouring over cups. It was not easy to talk about what had happened. For either of us.

"I was called to serve Rome in battle one last time." It was a poor apology, but an attempt at one as Bassus emptied a wine cup. "I ended up failing both your family and the City. What good are these noble illusions, if as soon decent folk depart to defend Rome, all vermin declare themselves its masters? It sickens me. Someone ought to do something."

I found difficult to censure him. Days before I would have beaten him bloody, but time revealed to me the hypocrisy of blaming him. I would have done the same if I had been the one called, in fact, I had done the same. The only difference between patriotism and financial concerns. I had abandoned Camilla before Bassus.

"Camilla can handle herself and her skills are too valuable. They will not mistreat her." I admitted or lied to myself. "My sons and daughter are another matter. I have to find them, Bassus. No matter what."

"This must be done properly, Considius. With honesty and dignity, before Law and Gods." Bassus shook the cup towards me, spilling the last drops of wine over my clothing.

"The Gaul has been beaten, their people dispersed. But much remains to be done. This is an opportunity to break their power once and for all, push them from the Cisalpine Gaul and create a proper buffer region so that Italia never again has to fear a land invasion. Rule of Law will soon impose itself into the land and we cannot be in the wrong side."

Bassus was correct in advising caution, but there was a flaw on his arguments. I would not mind becoming a bad Roman if that meant I would have my family back. I changed the subject, my only hope to regain some clarity and common sense.

"Exactly what happened up North? We departed as soon as the legions disembarked."

"Let me tell you, Considius, I never saw such a close battle! The fighting reached the third line and it almost broke four times." Bassus was eager to report. "Regulus sacrificed himself defending Pisae, his legions entrenched atop a hill overlooking the road to the city. Many good Romans died with the Celts. It was Papus that won the day, arriving at the right moment. I am proud to say that I was among the knights that broke the Gallic rear and relived Regulus' army!"

"Did I get it right? Did the barbarians split their army?" I asked in my incredulity. "Facing two consuls across two fronts was doomed to fail."

"Greed blinded them. Half stayed to protect the spoils and the rest thought they could finish off Regulus and his four legions before Papus joined the fray. They were not entirely incompetent, and once they realised the mistake, they tried to rejoin forces." Bassus laughed. "Considius, you will not believe who led the charge that pinned the Gallic forces and kept them separated. My lawyer, Sextus Sergius! The legionnaires all agreed that if Regulus had survived, he would have bestowed the corona civica upon him; Palus granted him honourable horse trappings. I don't care who it is that Annicus, Germanicus or their friends get to represent them at court, they do not have a chance against the man of the hour. This case has been already won."

I wanted to be as confident as my patron.

The words sounded empty to me.

"What do you suggest I do, Bassus?"

"Come with me, Considus." He offered. "If they think that you are too old to be a legionary, there is always need for a good capsarior."

I shook my head, rejecting the offer.

"I will not leave Rome until I know what has happened to my family. I cannot risk being absent when we find something."

Bassus knew that insisting was pointless.

"So be it, Considius. I ask you a favour of you: do not do anything. There will be justice once we come back."

I compromised with silence. Making no promises I would be unable to fulfill.

Departing as stealthy as he had arrived, Bassus rejoined the rest of the consular army. He let me rest at his house and instructed his slaves to obey any of my requests.

I quickly found that my patron's taste was too delicate and pleasurable to me; I was unable to find rest inside the walls of his house. With too much time in the wee hours, I started bothering the slaves, forcing them to send messages, summoning supporters of the Reds to secret meetings. Used to see his servants as Bassus' faces, they complied as if the old driver himself was issuing the commands.

To my surprise, I ended up surrounded by my own gang, my message of bitterness and resentment finding fertile ground among the violent and desperate. Soon I had men patrolling Aventine on my behalf – or to be precise, on the part of the Reds and Bassus. I spent my days drinking with guests; my nights reading reports and plotting. My temper darkened and I started to ruminate illegality. Too many had lost their homes and workplaces, forced into exile or slavery. Committing one or two criminal acts in the name of common good started to sound very tempting; after all, was not Bassus' lawyer some wondrous kid? If the patrician boy was any good, he would be able to cover up any unlawful reverie on my part.

Piece by piece I started to perceive a pattern in the evictions and apparently erratic activities of Pleuratus and his collegia. People would lose their homes, shops would lose customers, ruffians would close or vandalize those that resisted. Germanicus' workers would then move in to fill the void, demolishing the former houses and workplaces, preserving only the façades. There was a cancer growing in the ruin and debris of the Aventine, feeding off the suffering and exploitation of its people.

Whatever were the plans of Pleuratus, they could not be good for the Hill or Rome. Nobody would take issue if I brought them to a halt.

Law be damned.

Red supporters started causing small incidents, throwing roof tiles and excrement at workers. The College of Contractors responded predictably, sending ruffians as bodyguards. Unable to keep provoking the workers, the clientela of Bassus turned their attention to the wagons that carried building materials and cleared debris. An arms race descended upon the Hill, the situation derailing into open warfare. Without scruples holding me back and intoxicated by my initial success, I decided it was time to deliver Germanicus and friends a blow they would not be able to ignore and hopefully, recover from.

A provincial noble whose countryside house was torched by the Celts was building a magnificent urban estate on the most unlikely of places – the Aventine. The College had just finished cleaning the site and was preparing to start the labour, guards stationed day and night around its expensive building materials. The perfect target.

After a day of tense racing at the Circus Maximus, the right missives brought many frustrated supporters to the construction site, where well-positioned slaves were generous with Bassus' wine. After some token resistance, the guards knew better than to stand against the inebriated mob.

By dawn the site was utterly destroyed.

I celebrated in seclusion, looking forward to the inevitable realization from Pleuratus that they would not be able to continue without suing for peace. He would come to the table and I could ask for the return of my family.

I miscalculated.

I assumed that Pleuratus was like the typical criminals of the Aventine. His mindset was something else.

He surprised us in the middle of the night, accompanied by twenty or so of his men. Silent as cats, they extinguished all lights and captured the slaves. Pulled from bed by four pairs of arms, I was thrown at his feet.
Impressed upon me was how ungermanic Germanicus was. Tall and well-built, olive skin, curly hair and green eyes, he had much more in common with Greeks than with the giants of the savage North. Physical attributes aside, he dressed the part: fox skins, hair and beard dirty and long, an animalistic demeanour as he moved around the room.

The maniac was playing a character. And he was good at it.

"Go to the stables and break the legs of every single horse you find." He growled. "Do not touch anything else. I do not want a speck of dust displaced unless I say otherwise."

"This brutality is unnecessary." I babbled, still groggy from sleep and wine. "Bassus and the Reds are innocent. I am the one responsible for all your troubles."

That stare. Utterly crazed, clear in its message:

I know and I do not care for a second.

"Rome thinks that the Reds are responsible for ruining my interests in the Hill. Accept it, barber. I am the only thing keeping some measure of order in this cesspool and I will only do so as long as Rome fears me. Will I let the City think that a charioteer's team can defy me? No."

Two of the men brought to us the bronze vessel that Bassus loved so much. Pleuratus grinned ear to ear.

"This will be perfect." He grabbed a heavy iron bar as if it was nothing, unceremonious dismantling the beautiful Corinthian; soon a pile of deformed metal. "Have you ever seen anything this marvelous, tonsore? Form and art crying itself into nothing. The best of all musical compositions."

"There is no need for violence between us!" I offered. "Everyone has a place in the Aventine, if there is anything good about the Hill is that. I only want my family back; it is that easy to settle things between us."

"In case you have not noticed, the Aventine has changed." Pleuratus ignored me, turning his back and preparing to depart. Bassus was dangerous, a nasty combination of influence, money and loyal fans. I was a nobody. Everything about this situation consumed me with unspeakable rage. I had fallen so low, all to learn nothing about Camilla and barely able to get the attention of their captors.

I was a Roman of the gens Considia and here stood a foreign imposter, acting as master of our Hill and our people. Confident that I had read Germanicus' character well, I did something that he could not ignore.

Reaching towards the nearest source of light, I grabbed an oil lamp and threw it against Pleuratus' back, burning him. He halted, clenching his fists and appreciating the pain as flames spread and died across his pelts.

I did not see him move.

His smoking form towered above me, pulling back a fist from my stomach and rising it against my chin. Drunk and inconsolable, I did not even attempt to dodge, accepting all the violence he dispensed. Grabbing me by the neck, Pleuratus whispered at my ear.

"You seem to have got your wish, old man. Send my regards to Sisyphus."

I was used to tavern brawls, but I never faced someone like this. I was not fighting against a human being, facing instead a brick wall that kept crumbling on top of me. Laying in a pool of my own blood, the last thing I heard before losing consciousness was a threat.

"If you or anyone else intervenes with our plans, your wife will be the first to suffer. You can be sure that your children will not be the last."

 

[StrigaRosa]

The City had mourned the loss of a Consul.

Seeking answers to the unimaginable, the People sought communion with the divine.

The Vestalis rose to the occasion, leaving Rome in a pilgrimage to the black poplars of the Forest of Aricia. Incited by celestial inspiration, one of them left in a quest for the lost knowledge of kings and the hundred fathers of the Romans.

In the second week of the expedition the sacred flame at the temple of Vesta grew wild and uncontrollable, seriously burning the Vestalis Maxima and endangering her life. The omens were not auspicious; the spiritual quest declared a failure. Funeral arrangements were made.

As the City quietly prepared to bury an empty urn for the shade of the lost Vestalis, small feet reached Rome, arms locked around costly blood-soaked mysteries.

The Vestalis rose to the occasion.


The trio of senators moved through the crowded streets as fast as they could, their bodyguards and clients attempting to divert the flow of the unruly masses; their urgency only drew the curiosity of onlookers, earning them a growing entourage. While two of them were sensible enough to change into more casual and loose tunics, the leading senator pushed around in his toga, no longer white, as the servants failed to protect it from dirt and dust.

They finally reached their destination in one of the major streets at the foot of the Palatinate leading to the Circus Maximus. Dozens of workers plastered and painted over walls of some dilapidated houses. Three lictors curiati stood watch over the work site, quickly moving to stand between the senators and their wards.

"Salve, senatores. I'm afraid this endeavor is being overseen by the priesthood of Vesta." One unhappy-looking lictor curiatus explained.

"The priestesses are stepping out of line, this must be immediately stopped!" The toga-wearing senator argued, causing the religious guard to open his mouth in protest. Catching a glimpse a little girl wearing a crown of daisies and a tall and thin woman with long hair and a restive exasperated face, the senators forced their way through, without wasting any time dealing with underlings.

"Canuleia, Ovidia!" One of the senators in casual garb called them out. "This sort of meddling upon the affairs of elected magistrates can't stand. What is going on here?"

The tall one rolled her eyes, crossed arms and stepped back a couple of steps, revealing a third priestess; a small pear-shaped young woman with olive skin and members covered in bruises and cuts was too busy coordinating the workers and painters. Noticing the new arrivals, she faced them, her eyes and wide smile shining through her exhaustion; the senators were shocked and baffled. She was loving everything about that moment.

"Arpineia." The senator with the toga stepped forward. "I should have figured that you would be behind this. What you think you are doing? Did your lose your mind?"

The radiant Vestalis' words were projected by soft but powerful vibrations of her vocal chords.

"I follow divine providence and inspiration, and I lost whatever timidity I had left." Arpineia lifted her arms and chin. The youngest - Ovidia - clasped her hands together, as the eyes of the tallest almost rolled out of their orbits.

"Egeria spoke to me, sharing the knowledge we need to preserve our community and the unity between Peoples. She was particularly insistent about the need to simplify and repeat messages that reinforce social solidarity and interest in political affairs."

"Those are good news, Arpineia." The previously silent senator spoke. "However, if you are to act upon that which you have learned, you must go through the Consuls or at the very least through the Pontifex Maximus. They can properly seek the advice of the Senatus and see that everything is done properly."

"With the due respect, Senator, one of the Consuls is dead. The other is fighting up North, alongside our dear Pontifex Maximus and a third of the Senate. "Arpineia lowered her arms, continuing on the same suave tone. "It could take months to do something in which every day counts. We must perform a call for action and fan the flame of civic spirit, and we must do it now!"

"Enough." Said the toga senator. "As expected from an equestrian Italian, you forget that acting recklessly with good intentions can, and often is, more damaging than going through the proper checks and balances even if that means waiting. Do not mistake consideration and respect for the mos maiorum with hesitation, Vestalis"

"We can easily confirm if this action is guilty of overstepping legal bounds, Senator Canuleius." One of his peers interrupted, waving towards the tall exasperated Vestalis. "Historiae et iuris collegium, is that not under the care of Canuleia Vestalis? I do not think we can get a better jurist, given the extraordinary circumstances mentioned by Arpineia Vestalis."

Not very happy, Canuleia put her hand over Arpineia's left shoulder; the smaller Vestalis' face twisted in pain.

"The actions of the priesthood of Vesta have historical precedent and constitutional support on their side; as long as they use their own stipend and act through private individuals and propriety, they do not need to answer to any magisterial authority, nor do they need to submit themselves to a Senate hearing or popular vote. Of course, the moment they need to use public resources, impose upon public affairs or need support from the coffers of the State, they willl be in violation of the constitution and mos maiorum."

"I'm satisfied." The quiet senator acknowledged before departing. "I can't wait to see what you youths are preparing. Vale, Vestalis."

"Something about this stinks of populist pretensions, Arpineia." The toga wearing Senator Canuleius pointed his finger accusingly at the round priestess. "I will keep my eye on you and your Collegium; I will present a motion the moment you slip and give me a reason."

Arpineia's smile shrunk, pooling around her delightful cheeks until it vanished into a thin smirk of determination.

"This is going to get worse before it gets better." Arpineia's raised left indicator, describing a wide circle as if encompassing the whole Urbe. "Because of things like that, these?" Now it was the right indicator, a smaller more intimate circle that seemed to point to the Vestalis and their workers. "They are going to be part of the solution and not hide behind sacred walls. No matter what some might think, we refuse to be invisible."

Tensions were raising, everyone exchanging glances. Arpineia and Canuleius seemed moments away from openly challenging each other.

"It seems today everyone wants to quiz you in History and Law, Canuleia." Little Ovidia spoke with her ominous voice. "Do you mind if I review a not so old case with you? I fail to grasp the intricate details, no matter how much I think about it."

"Sure, my love." Canuleia's pained expression softened a bit. "Which one would that be?"

"Why was former consul Publius Claudius Pulcher tried and found guilty of incompetence after he lost the Battle of Drepanum, during the last war? I thought a commander could not be blamed by the whims of Fortune that would lead to loss of a well-fought battle. No matter the circumstances."

"Oh. That." Canuleia and her senatorial father exchanged glances. "Claudius Pulcher was not dragged to court for his defeat against the Carthaginians. It was his failure to acknowledge the omens and mistreatment of the sacred birds that made him an impious traitor."

Arpineia's face once again beamed.

"Would you, Canuleia, say that he got his due because he disrespected sacred chicks?" Rolling her eyes, the tall Vestalis nodded in agreement.

The senator finally conceded defeated and considered the value of a tactical retreat, giving a side glance towards the shapes and stains that the painters were spreading across the repaired walls.

 

[StrigaRosa]

Stormy clouds gathered over the calm lake. Alongside the distasteful sulfur discharges, they ruined an otherwise beautiful day. Heaven and hell collided, causing something to implode over the waters; a wave of yellow, gray and white mists covered the realm of sensible reality. A Greek walked over the scalding vapors, tall and tanned, owner of an impeccable auburn beard. He held in one of his a feminine mask of wrinkled and broken wax. On another, a long bronze tube engraved with intricate patterns - too precise for even the most gifted of contemporaneous artisans. Jumping over bubbling jets of water and playfully toying with the steam, the man made his way towards the shore; he danced in honour of his good fortunes, to a tune only he could hear. He threw his melted mask into the water and searched for a convenient rock. A cloud of steam dispersed, revealing an extravagant silk cloak and a long blue tunic with golden linings of arcane lineage.

Dressing up and sitting down, the Greek relaxed and meditated. The world was split, shifting and rearranging. When he opened his eyes, he was no longer besides the volcanic lake, surrounded instead by the black sand of some Italian coast, seagulls soaring above him. A ship anchored nearby, its crew patiently waiting. A smaller boat approached, those aboard waving as they recognized the man.

"Captain!" A kemet man, whose bearing betrayed his responsibilities as navigator, greeted the Greek. "Welcome aboard. We have missed you; I hope you were successful?"

"Better than what I could expect. Here." The Greek man put the bronze tube in the hands of the closest companion. It was eagerly exchanged between the curious crew. "If I put this on the hands of the right person, we can live the rest of our lives like kings. Take it to my quarters, I will decide on a course later. Before we proceed, Ammon, tell me exactly what happened while I was playing slave of the Latins. Where are our other ships?"

"Xenophon was caught by a storm and went back to Regium for repairs; the Salaminia decided they could make some money with the Celts were last seen sailing to meet their leaders and negotiate an escape from Italia."

"Let's sail south, so that we might meet in Regium. Then we join forces with the Salaminia and take the Gauls aboard. Once we have separated them from their spoils, we dock on Carthage - where we sell them into slavery. We then return home to Alexandria and spend their ill-gotten treasure." The cheers of the crew barely let the captain conclude. "I will retire for the day, for I am in deep need of rest; if anyone disturbs me, I hope - for their sake - that they are bringing wine and figs."

The Greek crawled towards the captain's quarters, straight to bed. As he laid there, his sleepy eyes searched the room for his prize, finally finding it over a soft pillow. He slowly narrowed his eyes, studying the shining trophy with his mind's eye.

"How do you plan to use this relic, Diodorus?" A female voice with a metallic echo invaded his mind, its accent marked by an archaic dialect of Greek. "Nothing is sacred to your kind."

"Hello, Sybil. Which of them do I have the dubious honor of receiving in my head? Is it Cumae? Sounds right, none of the others would care about Romans."

"I see that you have met my sisters. Excellent. You must know then, that we do not lent ourselves to vague concerns and I would not waste my words addressing you personally if it was not extremely important. I expect you to listen carefully, for this might be the first and last time we speak."

"Wait, wait! Before you continue, let me show you something." Diodorus rose, pacing himself around the room while snapping his fingers, looking for something. "I do not like to communicate mentally, my mind tends to wanders and the result is an awful, awful migraine. Perhaps we can find you another receiver."

"You may stay awhile and listen instead of meandering around. It is of no use. Whatever primitive setup you managed to scrounge, it will not work."

"My sweet Sybil, please, give me some credit. I assure you, this one will work." Diodorus removed a wolf pelt from a coffer, opening it to reveal a bronze head - stark bright representation of an austere beauty. Lifting it from its linen headrest, the Greek laid both bronze relics together on the same pillow. With a cocky smile, he asked: "Are you still there, Sybil?"

The bronze head tilted.

"Perfect synchronization." The metallic voice now echoed within the bronzed lips. If its owner was somehow distressed by the implications of the Greek's possession of this artifact, it kept to itself. "Now, Diodorus of Alexandria, shall we return to the issue at hand? What is your intent for the content of that tube? Do you even understand what you came to possess?"

Diodorus limited his answer to a shrug.

"To be perfectly honest, I do not know what I have. Not exactly. I do not know, but that is irrelevant. I know, it is dangerous reading material; one of Numa Pompilius infamous black books. The groundwork for Roman society and its covenants with gods and their people, sealed and bound in tubes like these. Sure, it is not as valuable as the name of the City's divine protector, however, someone determined or desperate enough could use this to weave some powerful and nasty spells. Perhaps even purge these wolves from the face of the Gaia.

The Sybil remained silent, as if the words of the Greek had given her much to think about. However, it was waiting to see if he had something else to add.

"Are you that person? Are you so desperate, so determined to see Rome fall, Diodorus?"

"Me? No, I am afraid I am much more pragmatic. I need silver and gold for my own needs and Romans have been very good at creating enemies. Who do you think will give me a better price? I was thinking about selling it to the Carthaginians, but I cannot ignore the fact that I had to kill quite a few of their agents to get my hands on this thing. What does the great Sybil think? Will they greet me as a fellow merchant or cut me down as a thief?"

No answer from the head.

"I can always go to the Barcids, but we both know how they are. They will not pay for anything that they can take by force. Did I mention how good it is that Romans have so many enemies? I might even find someone in Italia or go East and peddle my goods on Anatolia or Alexandria. What is that? I do not need to sail that far away? Do you think the Macedonian brat wants to learn his letters with the diaries of old Numa?"

"Those last three might be your most wise and sensible choices, Diodorus." The head interrupted the pirate's taunts. "That is, if your goal is to extinguish once and for all the democratic ideals of the Hellenistic world. The feeble pockets of freedom of the Greek-speaking world only survive due to the uneasy balance of forces between the three hegemonies. Something with this much power can give the world another grand tyrant."

"You finally say something that can sway me, Sybil." The Greek pirate released a loud chuckle and grabbed the bronze tube, spinning it between his hands. "If giving it to East hurts my people and the West promises me no security, I should seek buyers North. Sure, this particular Gallic horde is a horse with a broken leg, but there is no lack of Celts. And I am a patient man; if the Celts are not interested, there is always the mysterious Germanic tribes of the dead ice country."

"There is an option you still have not considered." The Sybil pointed out.

"South? Sure, I know some people there, but they suffer already with the Punics. If the Romans were gone, their fortunes would take a turn for the worse. No, they would not profit from this."

"You might just destroy it, Diodorus. Nobody knows you took it, nobody will be looking for it. The world thinks its secrets gone. Dip it into vinegar, seal with pitch and throw it into the depths of the ocean. It does not belong to you, nor any other mortal. You should never have dug it out from the collective consciousness of Alba Longa, and nothing good can come from something gained through such treachery. Have you considered the fate you condemned that bright young woman to? I know the responsibilities you shoulder; that behavior was beneath you and disgraced your mantle."

The pirate frowned; his grin reached ear to ear but his dead eyes betrayed his displeasure.

"Oh? Why would I do that; the distasteful creature I apparently am? Sybil, stop. Be they flesh or metal, I know when someone is withholding knowledge in an order to manipulate others. Can it be that the witch from Cumae has a soft spot for the Romans? To the point that she is willing to sacrifice her goals? Oh yes, I know all about that. Your sisters can be quite talkative when self-preservation seizes their circuity."

The head turned, its empty eyes staring down Diodorus.

"Among the tribes of Italia there are children of Men that can preserve the ideals and knowledge of their predecessors. Your people failed, Diodorus, their ascension a flawed one that changed and twisted them - the sins of forebears are their burden. Against all odds, the continuation of their work may only be possible with the help of the heirs of their former enemies. Just look at your fellow countrymen: their leaders feed cancerous growth in the darkest corners of the world and embrace decadent lives. Whatever you or others might think about the Romans, I came to believe that they may be the vector through which Humanity is to be saved."

Diodorus could not contain another chuckle.

"Do you need some new parts, Sybil? Something must have fried these last centuries; you are not making any sense. How about we negotiate a compromise? I go to Cumae with a big hammer and shatter you into a million tiny pieces, a nice mercy killing? I bet your sisters would thank me, they must be embarrassed with your actions. Imagine, the great Sybil of Cumae, siding with a barbarian people over the children of Hellas!"

"My calculations are flawless." The Sybil stood her ground. "Rome will survive this conflict with the Gauls, and all those that will follow. Carthage will break, as will all the kings and queens that parade over the corpse of Alexander. Or they will fail to establish an unbroken line of civilization, giving way to another age of Ice and Darkness that will devour everything. I have no doubts. The only variables are if some distant Eastern and Western pillars of light will march through the night."

"I refuse to accept that, Sybil." Diodorus face darkened and he lost his smile. He then forced a mirthless one. "Even if only because the picture you paint is excessively dramatic."

"Will Diodorus also refute the facts behind my conclusions? There are no alternatives among their rivals. If left for themselves, the Punics will soon return to old habits or turn to terrible masters; the Etruscans have long ago cast their identity and cultural unity in exchange of profit. The world of Greek inheritors has stagnated - besides a few bastions like the Cloud-City of Siracusa; nobody creates anything new and the wars of despots stop the exchange of learning. Even those that dedicate their lives to scholarly pursuits depend on the whims of Fortune. And do I even need to tell you, of all people, about the Doom of Aegypt?"

His temper flared, the pirate throwing the head to the floor.

"Is life under the heel of barbarians preferable to destruction? We both know that it will all end in tyranny and savagery - sooner or later. Is your plan to make all of us slaves, Sybil? That would be quite fitting, considering your original design."

"I do not understand your questions, Diodorus. They are tainted by emotion, hard to me to relate. But I have to say, being surrounded by foolishness and ignorance is how I have existed for centuries. I have managed, I am sure your ego could handle it too. Teach them then, so that they might be guarded against pettiness and false paths."

Picking the head and shutting it behind his coffer, Diodorus brought his hands to his brow; he pondered his next move. A series of violent shakes rocked the ship, forcing him to postpone such contemplations. Accompanied by desperate screams, Ammon broke into the captain's quarters.

"Captain, something is climbing aboard! It has to be after your prize!"

Diodorus flipped his bed over and uncovered a curved sword - a long harpe. After hesitating for a moment, he took the bronze tube and hid it under his clothes.

The ship shook once more, throwing some of the less experienced sailors across the deck.

"It is coming." The Sybil echoed inside the Greek pirate's head.

"Who?"

A long arm appeared at starboard, followed by a long creeping leg. The movements were disturbingly agile, as the intruder limbs bent in ways impossible for human articulations, crawling like a massive gray humanoid spider.

"The Last Rebel."

A lightning-fast swing threw many of the still resisting crew members to the water, immediately followed by a set of quick jumps. The attacker rocked the ship once more, stressing the sailors as they armed themselves with swords and spears. Diodorus took a good look at it. It was a real giant, uncanny gaunt and lean, as if someone had stretched a human being near its breaking point. It had skinny, long limbs and a deformed skull. Its teeth were vicious and prominent, its beard a living mass of wriggling tentacles. Big dark eyes that looked like spheres of stolen night sky studied the ship. The Greek captain noticed that the creature was trying to cover its right side, its arm dangled - burnt and useless.

"Curses, it is the guardian of Alba Longa. How did it find me?" Diodorus groaned between clenched teeth.

The creature continued to search ship, ignoring the combatants that approached it on all sides; focused. It found Diodorus, shouting with unholy rage and charging towards him, pushing down a pile of barrels that stood in its way. The Greek wrapped himself around his cloak, dodging out of the way without effort, his feet never failing to follow the balance of the ship. Diodorus started picking up and throwing any ropes and cargo he stumbled on, creating obstacles for the guardian that could slow it down.

It was a futile effort, as the creature jumped over the barrels like some sort of profane frog, making timber creek and break, opening gaping holes across the deck. Diodorus swung his harpe, the curved blade slicing the muscles of its left leg as the Greek rolled out of the way.

Slowing down a bit and shifting the leg that supported its weight, the guardian still managed to keep the pressure on, forcing Diodorus to fight defensively, dodging and parrying, never managing to create an opening or having the opportunity to riposte.

The eyes of both fighters met for a brief moment, an image projected inside Diodorus' mind. The Greek, one hand holding a bloody knife and another raised to the sk: a purple-dressed man laying at his feet. The fool tried to keep his entrails inside his belly, as another purple one was being lifted by invisible forces, suffocating.

"I was there; I know what happened. What about it?"

Perhaps it was meant as a simple distraction, no higher purpose. The burnt arm seemed to burst with renewed life, forming a fist and aiming straight at Diodorus' head. A spear landed at the creature's flank, gaining Diodorus enough time to escape. Running towards the mast, the Greek jumped on top of a box and used the impulse to climb halfway the risen wood. Gathering enough momentum, he jumped back, flying over the guardian and slashing its back and neck all the way down. The landing was difficult enough without the monster reacting in pain, spinning and kicking Diodorus with such violence that he fell into the water.

Holding to a broken plank, the captain climbed back to his ship, sensing the approach of the creature with every tremor. That kick was far from the only attack that struck the Greek; another mental assault confronted him with the stolen texts and the destruction the guardian sought to inflict upon them.

"Captain!" Ammon appeared at the right moment, getting a hold on Diodorus as he almost lost balance due to the mental intrusion. "It is unstoppable! What are your orders?"

"Any ideas how to deal with your little friend, Sybil?" Diodorus thought, knowing the oracle was still listening in.

"If it is a thing they are not, is our friend. There is nothing you can do to stop their advance, not once they decided on a goal. It is like facing a force of nature."

"Excuse me my assumptions. See, when..."

"Attention!"

Someone shouted a late warning, as the creature picked up one of the crew and threw the poor man against Diodorus, the captain ducking barely in time to avoid being hit; a brief moment later he heard the man hitting the water. Right, the guardian wants the relic? Diodorus took the bronze tube out and waved it in the direction of the guardian.

"This is what you want, is it not? You came here for this? Then come get it!"

The creature charged at him once again, Diodorus dancing so that he could face the guardian's burnt flank; as they circled each other the creature made a move to grab and snatch the Greek. It failed, but its efforts trapped the captain. Forced to block the follow-up attacks with his sword, a desperate Diodorus threw himself under the guardian, sliding towards safety.

With a pained cry the creature made its diminished patience known. Snapping its arms as they seemed to grow even longer, it climbed the mast, making to the top with two lunges. Diodorus looked up, wondering what the guardian was going to do.

It jumped.

Lower jaw dislodging, leaving a gaping and expanding maw. The rest of the body seemed to dangle in disturbing angles, lifeless as the voracious maw sucked the mast, broken planks, light barrels and abandoned weapons.

Everything was being dragged into that toothy vortex.

"That is new." The Sybil mechanic voice remarked.

"Out! Everyone dive out!" Diodorus shouted. "Abandon ship and swim as further away from me as you can. Abandon everything."

The crew did not force the order to be repeated, jumping into the water. It was with pain that Diodorus joined his men, the ship being utterly dismantled and swallowed. The guardian just stood there, obscene figure floating towards the water, ripples heralding its imminent approach.

A tired Diodorus reached the coast, struggling to regain his breath, surrounded by exhausted companions.

"I told you to go away! Keep going, I will distract it as you make your escape. I have what the monster wants."

"Give me the relic, captain." Ammon begged. "I can be a distraction, you have to lead the others."

Diodorus shook his head.

"I am the only one that can face it and survive. Besides, the men need their navigator more than their captain. Split in two groups, one goes north and other south, try to meet with the crews of the Xenophon and Salaminia.

"Captain…"

"Carthage. In three weeks." The Greek turned to face the creature, as its mouth closed and it landed over the debris of what had once been the pride of his fleet. "Go!"

With the others safe and sound, Diodorus reached for higher ground and clung to his scythe-like sword. The guardian darted out of the water like some massive gray shark, never slowing down as it approached the pirate. Diodorus was ready to strike at it, eyes narrowing; it was then that he noticed how the cuts he had previously dealt had sealed themselves shut, some sort of thick black smoke keeping the skin together as flesh was restored to its pale dirty color. Diodorus flexed his legs, unwilling to gamble his life away.

The creature stopped half-way, opening its maw and seeming to suffocate with something caught in its throat. After much struggle, it managed to pass and spit something bronzed. The head of the Sybil rolled towards Diodorus' feet.

"Where did you come from?" The Greek asked, surprised.

"The Underworld, believe it or not." Sybil stated. "Diodorus, you do not want to be caught by it."

"No kidding. I hate that place." Diodorus clenched his teeth. The guardian had recovered from the tribulations, approaching slowly but determined. "How do I kill it?"

"It is impossible. They can only be sealed or delayed, never destroyed. Me and my sisters tried every method we could think off, they all failed." Sybil explained. "The Sea People's achievements cannot be underestimated. Just as the content of that tube."

The guardian stared at Diodorus, then at the bronze head possessed by Sybil, then back at Diodorus; its expression could only be read as absolute sadness. The Greek felt his mind once again assaulted, such shattering force that made his nose bleed. Islands covered in buildings of iron and stone, a sea filled with crystal spirals. A black sky and a massive volcanic explosion, entire cities obliterated in seconds; pestilence and war between people wearing strange armors and bizarre beasts.

"I… do not understand." Diodorus babbled. It was an uncomfortable feeling.

"Do not feel bad, that is not expected from you." Sybil intervened. "They are talking to me."

The guardian shook its head, assuming an aggressive posture but refusing to attack. Instead, words in a strange alphabet bleed reality, dancing around it, red and black swirls. Another wave of mental images, this time confronting Diodorus with his deception: him on the guise of a slave accompanying a young Vestalis.

"Really? You are trying to make me feel guilty for leaving her? She was on her way to become an Arcani, have you any idea of the damage they have been doing across the world? But you do not care, do you?"

"Really? You are trying to make me feel guilty for leaving her? She was on her way to become an Arcani, have you any idea of the damage they have been doing across the world? But you do not care, do you?"

The creature did not reply to the taunts in any way. Or perhaps it did, sending an image of itself, shaking its head in disapproval.

"She was not an Arcani. Or another type of Triumphant." Sybil clarified. "I tried to talk with her and she seemed unable to hear me. You abandoned an innocent girl to her death without anything resembling a reason."

"Don't bullshit me, Sybil. I felt her awakened spark."

Silence from the head as if the intellect behind it was otherwise occupied.

"That is interesting. That means she has to be a member of the other group." She finally added.

"Corvus? Impossible. They have been destroyed."

"You are probably correct. But she had no previous training; nor she displayed any Triumph before you felt her. She was a natural spark and you had just witnessed her first time."

Diodorus expression was of pure disbelief.

"Zeus, Poseidon and all the gods of Olympus. And I left her to die? Alone?"

The guardian bent its head ever so slightly, expression twisting into one of curiosity. Was the Greek feeling genuine remorse?

"She is worth a fortune! One natural, spontaneous Triumphant without any strings attached? Have you any idea about how rare they are?"

The Greek pirate could feel the disapproval of the the Sybil and the creature. A shout announced the end of the cease-fire, the alien words disappearing as its muscles and tendons exploded, doubling in size. A scarlet wave filled the emptiness of its pitch-black eyes. Diodorus raised his right hand, daring him to advance.

"You are not the only one hiding tricks under their tunic. Shall we dance?"

The guardian advanced, a side strike making the Greek lose his wind. Trying to regain distance, Diodorus was caught unaware as the creature's beard animated itself into dozen tentacles that grabbed his sword arm. Knowing that the fight could be lost or won in this moment, Diodorus did not waste any more time. A flask appeared, one which he broke in the face of the enemy; black mist covered both combatants. His movements hidden, Diodorus pulled a knife from his sandal and stabbed the creature multiple times, making it pay the price for proximity.

As the attacker recoiled in pain, Diodorus found himself free. Jumping back and tripping over the rocks, the Greek recovered his second wind and once again danced, this time half-covered by the black smoke. The mists seemed to grow thicker instead of dispersing, slowly describing the shape of a monstrous snake coiled around the guardian, squeezing him tighter and tighter, resisting its unbridled fury and refusing to stop the embrace.

The Greek quickly grabbed Sybil's bronze head and sprinted as fast as he could. Behind him, the guardian had managed to break free from the smoky snake, advancing in pursuit of Diodorus. Dodging and awkwardly swinging the haspe, the captain gave a side glance to the vanishing smoke, once again giving it shape and purpose. The reformed snake quickly caught up with the fighters, circling as Diodorus used it as a stair to climb the sky and as a barrier between him and his enemy.

The guardian growled and kept striking, not drawing any response from Diodorus; all he did was move around the snakes back, rising higher and higher so that they could be at the same level. Diodorus turned the blade of his scythe-sword upwards, reflecting something. A dark and twisted shape. With a smile, the pirate saw the creature turn around to face this new construct.

It was only part snake, this creation of Diodorus. The guardian found itself facing a feminine torso and a disgusting face crowned with serpentine hair, the dense smoke that made her opening, revealing two shining rubies that served as eyes. Eyes that met the guardian's, as its pale skin turned grayer and grayer, its movements slowed down and its maw immortalized in a surprised gasp.

Diodorus dispersed the smoke and departed, already hearing the stone crack. As soon as he felt slightly safer, he spoke to Sybil.

"You told me it was not your friend, but it was clear that it too had an interest in your pet barbarians. What is going on?"

"Diodorus, you must see reason." The mechanical voice corrected him. "Even when our beliefs are on opposing sides of the spectrum, we are both children of Mankind that wish to give their parents a proper future. We both recognize these people as our best chance. Why don't you?"

"I will never understand why, from all the tribes and peoples of the world you had to pick a people of refugees and bandits. They are the afterbirth of the world."

"You are a citizen of the world, an adventurer, someone that knows the odds of success and the inevitability of failure. You know that someone will eventually fail, and one of these days, it will be in a disastrous way."

"Pains of the trade. And life." Diodorus shruged. "You just need to abandon what does not work and move on."

"That is the path of reason and logic. But there is a collective madness that affects the Roman race, that makes them unable to accept their failings. They never surrender nor they never abandon any endeavor they start. When they are broken, they use the fire of their passions to forge themselves back together as steel. My sisters might have put their hopes on Greeks, Kemet, and Persians, assuming that the culture and desire for understanding the cosmos should guide their choices. I, on the other hand, know how frustrating the pursuit of knowledge, truth, freedom and greatness can be. Therefore, I plan for the long haul, betting on a people that will never give up and will keep trying to improve their Fate. Persians and Kemet faded into the sands, the Hellenistic world is in its twilight. Rome, those unwanted men and women that believe in ridiculous things like Democracy, Law and Virtue, they will never accept that they live in a world where those do not exist." A pause. "Diodorus, you can play a crucial role in the development and maturation of this unexpected people."

"Spare me the propaganda, Sybil. I will sell the treasure of Numa at the best price I can get and then set sail away from these coasts. I will never again set foot in this savage peninsula."

"I do not ask much from you. They already have all they need to thrive. They only need someone to teach them how to handle knowledge, that lets them expand their horizons and tap their full potential."

Diodorus shook his head and opened the tube, raising it to his ear and listening to the electrical crackle within. The sea called him. Diodorus pulled his arm back, gathering balance for the throw, advancing only to stop at the last moment. He smuggled the tube away.

***********

Weeks later, at the port city of Beneventum; an anonymous Diodorus found himself in a fetid tavern. Some group calling themselves the Sons of Dido wanted to buy the Book of Numa, no matter the price. All he had to do is to wait for a trio of merchants to make the exchange. Shaking a cup of cheap wine and with the tube containing his treasure laying on the top of his table, he waited.

Three clearly Punic men entered the establishment, their purple tunics covered by heavy wool cloaks. Diodorus turned to them and raised his glass as a greeting.

To his surprise, the merchants disappeared in a blink. Fearing treachery, Diodorus looked around the tavern. He caught a brief glance of a speeding flash and stared right at the empty seats in front of him.

Sitting in front of him was a tall woman, half of her body hidden by a scarlet cloak whose brim was decorated with a pattern of stelae. She smiled as Diodorus noticed that his precious tube had disappeared.

"Are you my contact?" The Greek asked, unable to discern the ethnicity of the woman. She was definitely not of any Italian tribe and her slightly Asiatic features could indeed account for a Punic origin. Or even a Greek, an agent of one monarch or another. Discreetly, he reached for one of his daggers.

"In a way." She replied in coarse Latin. "I represent another party interested on your deal, defenders of one of the regional powers and their allies. You might have heard of us, we are known as Corvus."

"I am no friend of Rome, it is better if you just leave." Diodorus replies, trying to find the best option: a blade between the woman's eyes or at her throat. "Besides, I have doubts about your alleged identity. The Corvus have been exterminated to the last man."

"But not to the last woman, it seems." For a moment, her smile darkened. "I will not lie, we are not what we used to be. But we heard a lot about you and your work and we are impressed. I am inclined to believe we are natural companions. The King of Pergamon spoke highly of…"

"Just as I am no friend of Rome, I am no friend of any monarch, despot, tyrant or autocrat." It was Diodorus' dry answer. "You are wasting your time and mine. Return my propriety. Now."

The tube appeared on the woman's open palm.

"Only keeping it safe as we talk, there are very nasty people looking for this. It would be unfortunate if they got it." Diodorus grabbed the Book and hid it, the woman showing no intention to stop him. "Furthermore, our group agrees that Hermes Trismegistus is the best person to keep the Books of Numa Pompilius safely hidden."

Diodorus frowned.

"Now there is a name I was not expecting to hear this far from home."

"Your efforts are not forgotten nor have them gone unnoticed, Magus." The woman seemed to grow more cheerful as Diodorus expression betrayed his surprise. She deposited a bloody linen rag on top of the table, a disturbing symbol embroidered in yellow. An enormous shining sun, flooding everything with sunbeams that stretched and ended in greedy grabby hands. "I want to thank you for all you have to do protect Mankind over the years."

"Aten…" Diodorus mumbled. "Is this recent? Is it back?

The woman nodded in agreement.

"I could try to persuade you to join the Corvus, appeal to shared ideals or our continuous fight for restoration of Liberty to all peoples. For good or ill, I am currently calling the shots and that is not my style." The woman pulled her cloak away, revealing her deep eyes and blond hair. "All those things are illusions, distractions of the simple truths. It is my duty to protect the Republic. Your self-declared goal is to protect Humanity. Anything that threatens "all of Humanity" also includes this "Public Thing" that I seek to defend. I am not here to buy or recruit you, Diodorus."

"Hard to believe, considering what you know of me." Diodorus replied with a cocky smile. "After all, you are fully aware about how good I am. What do you want from me then?"

"Nothing." The woman pulled the cloak up, leaving only her wide hopeful grin visible. "All my meager resources are at your disposal. Consider the Corvus at your service."

Diodorus ripped the embroidered sun in two.

"What are you waiting for? Let's save the world."

 

[StrigaRosa]

The site had not been chosen by accident.

The hills over which the city of Veii had once sprawled were saturated with tunnels, open wounds of the Roman conquest. Centuries have passed, the city never allowed to scar and heal.

Veii had once been the richest community of the Etruscan League, perhaps even of the entire peninsula. First among equals, masters of culture and finance, self-proclaimed Lords of Italia. Nobody expected the Gauls to vanquish the "civilized people". Nobody expected the scum that lived in that slum called Rome to break free. Even after the city had been taken, everyone expected the Romans would just their filthy hills and let themselves be assimilated by the grandiose Etruscan culture.

Nobody expected the Citizens of Romulus and their stubborn determination, who gutted Veii and butchered it for all of worth, stone by stone scavenging its carcass, giving Rome a second foundation.

No longer the center of the world, why would the affluent and novelty-hungry elites bother rebuilding Veii? They moved to Rome and the Campanian countryside, taking away any chance the city would have to be reborn.

Nobody chooses to live in Veii. Only the most desperate and dejected poor linger; people that had a piece of silver to their name departed to more auspicious slums.

It is not to say that nothing grows in Veii. Sewers neglected for centuries, poisoned wells, ransacked buildings, feral dog packs and clogged aqueducts. One crop finds this soil fertile.

Discontentment.

So it goes, the gathering came to pass. Hooded figures slowly made their way towards a large underground chamber, created not by intentional engineering but by the collapse of two major tunnels. Being this close to Rome made Veii the perfect hideout for those seeking to plant a knife in its vulpine underbelly. They had the venue; they had the audience.

A purple multitude they were, if one was feeling kind or colorblind. If you lived in Veii you would have to make do with the cheapest dyes, and some probably just soaked their rags in blood. Discussion was well and alive, arguments rolling along like barrels of pitch, looking for a metaphoric spark. All they needed was a good kick - and a juicy target.

The bulkiest of the hooded men, with some actual purple pigment, stood over the gathering. A greasy beard peeked out of his mask, a rebel refusing to be restrained. He tried to impose some order by punching the wall, causing dust and dirt to fall on the audience.

"How many times have we been over this? The Temple of Saturn is too hot, it is impossible to rob. Are you too dense to understand my problem with it? It is in the god-crammed Forum." He shouted left and right, punctuating with additional punches.

"We have to keep trying!" Someone close to the front shouted back; the bearded one grabbed him by the tip of the hood and gave him a good shake.

"It is the third time this month. Everyone has the same brilliant idea; everyone thinks they will be the one that makes rich. "The magistrates are distracted, they will never notice me." Or: "The Crows and Eagles are a thing of the past, I am stronger, faster and smarter than any decadent Roman. Everyone of worth is up North with the legions, I can allow myself to be careless, foolish and stupid." The sheer arrogance. Is anyone here just as blind? Step forward. If you want to be used for thunderbolt practice so badly, I can make your wish come true!"

"B-but Grand Veiente, we need money to free our brothers! The Carthaginians have severed ties after the Sicilian fiasco, it does not matter how much we dye our hoods." A dissident voice uttered, receiving words and nods of agreement from those safe in the back rows. "We are forced to deal with pirates, and they know exactly how much we depend on them. They keep raising the prices; we need the Treasure that Roman greed begot. We have no other choice.

A long exasperated sigh.


"Get something in that thick head of yours." The beard clenched his fists against each other. "Unless you can wield the power of Tinia or withstand a thunderous discharge, you are unready to even steal a latrine. Forget about the city of Rome. I pondered about this for a long time and came up with an alternative."
The Grand Veiente threw a silver coin towards some of the rebellious murmurs in the back.

"What is this?" One of them asked, picking it up. "Seems like some Roman coin."

"Wrong!" Shouted the Grand Veiente. "What matters is exactly how non-Roman the coin is! Romans do not make coins: Romans use coins. This and all the others are mined in the South and either Sicilia by Greeks. Since it all comes from the outside, we need to intercept the silver while it is on its way to Rome."

"That has to be even more dangerous than stealing from the Temple of Saturn." one of the women pointed out as she adjusted her hood. "Any shipment of specie will be heavily guarded, their route and schedule a well-kept secret. They will send only auxiliary forces whose loyalty is absolute; it will be hard to infiltrate or coerce them."

This seemed to satisfy the beard.

"Finally, someone here is thinking straight. You are correct, this would be a futile attempt under normal circumstances. However, we have obtained a secret weapon." The Grand Veiente signaled someone outside the chamber, some poor half-dead man, legs and arms exhibiting bandages - covering the burns and stinking ointments that feebly tried to save his life. "This brother of us seized a boon from the latest fiasco. During the failed assault, they stumbled upon some Vestalis nailing some announcements in front of the temple. Without any Lictor bodyguard, she became a valuable hostage."

"Where is the Vestalis?" A rebel inquired. "We do not need to rob people anymore, we can demand a prisoner's exchange!"

"A Triumphant rescued her before she could be smuggled out of the Temple, but they foolishly let our brother escape. You see, he had taken something from the priestess."

The Grand Veiente revealed a signet ring bearing the sigil of bridge arching between rising flames.

"Only the ruling consuls can order the coinage of a new batch of coins. Just as any other official document issued by the Senate and the People of Rome, it has to be audited, authenticated and archived by the priestesses at the Temple of Vesta. The gods support our endeavors, and they have taken Gaius Atilius Regulus to the Underworld". He offered them another glimpse of the signet. "With this ring, we can forge a letter from the dead consul, prepared and sent before his untimely death. In it he orders more coins to help with the war effort and establishes very strict delivery instructions and the identity of the escort. As you expect, they will be our own brothers."

"Wow! That is quite impressive!" Another feminine voice interrupted him. Everyone turned around, looking for its owner. They found a tiny and plump woman, somehow unnoticed until now; she was wearing a nice hood and cloak, dyed with an intense and expensive pigment. "That actually could have worked! I must confess, here I was, dismissing all of you as a bunch of idiots. I should have known better than to underestimate other people. I apologize, I'm awful."

"Reveal yourself!" The beard demanded. The woman obeyed, her visage disturbing everyone around her. The leader stepped back, horrified by the gentle wrinkled face of an elderly woman.

"Mother?"

The tender smile turned into a malicious smirk, the intruder throwing the hood towards the Grand clearing a path. The terrorists were unable to do anything but express their surprise and horror.

"What are you doing here?"

"No, no, it cannot be you…"

"What are you even wearing?"

Each of them seemed to react as if they were seeing someone different - yet, always familiar, surrendering to chaos and failing to present an unified answer. Laughing at their lack of discipline, the intruder escaped the center of the chamber. She revealed herself in all her glory to the Grand Veiente, touching her noise with the index middle fingers as she winked.

Comparing their notes after the encounter, none of those present would remember the same woman. They all could agree on what she was wearing, a white and blue tunic - not long enough to protect the modesty of many of the women perceived. A lot of leg and leaving the arms revealed as it gently wrapped around her neck. The most curious element of her garb was her heavy, bulky scarf - a military focale of vivid dark red.

The paralyzed terrorists finally reacted, snapping back to the furious commands of their leader.

"It is a trick! She is one of them! TRIUMPHANT! Do not let her escape these tunnels!"

"Come here, boys." The invader invited. "I will be very displeased if any of you gets away!"

"Get her!"

She did not show any terror, nor did she try to evade the circle of attackers. All she did was lower her arms in a rapid arc; the sheer flow of power levitated her a few millimeters off the ground. The clothing of the closest terrorist ignited, as the exposed skin of another suffered - as if boiling hesitated. They would never have guessed that these were just the obvious collateral effects of her unleashing power. The woman once again raised her arms and lowered her head, eyes semi-closed and blinking furiously. A fragmented crown of light arched over her head and cyan touched her eyes. The very air dried, as if all the underground moisture had been sucked out of the tunnels.

Her arms descended as the woman twirled around herself.

An extremely precise heat wave flooded the tunnels, triggering the survival instincts of the terrorists. They ran away, trampling and stumbling. As their strength was sapped away, one by one they gave surrendered to unconsciousness.

Touching the ground, the woman shook her head, disappointed.

"This was quite anti-climatic." She pouted, grabbing one of the hoods. She pinched it, the dye staining her fingers as the fabric ripped. "How embarrassing, I had to face such light-weights during my first fight."

She shrugged. It had been a good test drive for her abilities. All she needed to do was recover the signet and this first outing would be a flawless success.

The Grand Veiente had fallen just like the others, the signet forsaken a meter away from him. As the woman moved to pick it up, she sensed movement behind her. She turned as fast as she could, only to find herself facing the bearded leader. A quick and brutal headbutt left her dizzy, but she tightened her grasp around the signet and refused to let go. All she felt was pain and the ferrous taste of blood. Her opponent lifted her with one hand, clenching her chin and pushing her against the wall. She struggled and kicked him, feeble attempts to free herself.

"Really? You must be the weakest Triumphant I parlor tricks." The Grand Veiente snarled. "This is what I expected from a Roman. I do not even know if you are really a woman or not, but wearing that face is not going to save you. What is that you people say? Ah yes. Memento Mori."

As the man delivered a devastating punch, the woman took a deep bite into the hand holding her, forcing a release. The fist struck the wall, debris and dirt covering both of them. Trying to recover her breath, she tried to gain some distance. The terrorist leader chuckled and grabbed the ends of her scarf, pushing with so much strength that her neck nearly snapped.

"You once had to be someone special to play the myths and receive a Triumph. I am surprised that someone would awaken a divine spark and still be so feeble." The Grand Veiente insulted her. "It seems a poor receptacle ruins even the best grapes: your festering city could not ask for a more fitting champion."
He forced the woman to turn. Her eyes rolling were the only hint for what was about to happen. A jet of flames - eloquently answering the insults - ignited his clothes, burning most of his torso. As the man struggled for his life, she put off the smoldering tips of her scarf. Finally free, she stood over the Grand Veiente.
"Go ahead, she-wolf. You have claimed your prize. Leave or kill me."

The Triumphant landed her sandal against the bearded face of the terrorist, pinning its head against the floor. She proceeded to make her position clear.

"You know why you are nothing? I need you to understand." She uttered with soft voice, refusing the path of loud fury.

"Because of you. You took everything from us!"

"No, you gave it away, you threw it away. We filled a void you created. And even if you replaced us, the same would happen - because you never learned. You are a little sad creature that believes that confuses restraint with weakness. You see us as tyrants but are unwilling to free yourself; you just want to replace us at the top. Change nothing else; The Grand Veinete still laughed.

"Oh, that is just precious. You think you have won."

She raised an eyebrow.

"This is not your so-called republic, she-wolf. Do you think we need to sniff each other's butts until we come to a consensus? I do not need or care for the opinion of these fools! I did not sit idle holding the signet, the letter was forged, the men picked and the plan has already been set in motion."

Her eyes narrowed as she pressed her foot against his windpipe.

"This could have ended here."

"What happened to restraint?" He groaned.

"From where I stand? It does not take much. Any meek girl could finish you off."

"Go ahead. Show the sheepherders how hungry the wolves are." The terrorist babbled on, unable to keep his eyes open. "Let them fear losing more sheep, let them gather for some good old-fashioned wolf-hunting."

"I'm wasting my time with you..."

The woman turned and left, trying to make her way out of the tunnels. Of course, it had to be tunnels; nothing good happens underground.

Almost there. She could already see the light. Such a beautiful day waited for her above.

"You really need to be more aware of your surroundings." A voice, chasing her, pointed out. The Triumphant faced another woman, sweating as she leaned against the tunnel walls.

"I recognize you! You were the one that had anything smart to say!"

"Forget about that." The woman dragged herself closer, an inquisitive look in her face "Why do you look like me? And is that what I am supposed to look like? I'm not imagining things, right? That is supposed to be me."

"Pretty clever, don't you think?" The Triumphant gave a little shake and a wink. "I wanted to be an inspiration".

"Right. That. Forget it, I followed you because I heard what you said." The Triumphant's face beamed with an almost childish eagerness, eyes sparkling in anticipation. "This is a different from the the Triumphants I am used to; that was not the brutality and oppression I came to expect from your side. When the Grand Veiente grab you, all I could feel was fear for you; the fact that you were a Roman did not weigh my mind. I cheered for you, even if he was not that different from my companions. I believe that there is another way to do this, that we are not supposed to spiral until savagery until one of us remains.
The Triumphant opened her arms as if to hug her, but the woman stepped back, hands raised.

"Do not get me wrong. I still despise your people; Veii is still a ruin - because of Rome. The Grand Veiente was right when he said we need to join together and put you down. I am not your client or you friend, I am someone that has decided that if we are to stand against Rome we have to offer something besides another tyrant." She opened her arms wide, leaning in and exposing her neck. "Perhaps this was not what you sought to inspire, but it is what I concluded today; perhaps you should burn me here and now."

Her own face, worn by another, frowned.

"What is your name?"

"Aritimesia." She replied, defiant.

"You know something is not right with the world and you are trying to change it - in your own way. I am happy for you, Aritimesia. I wish Fortune travels with you."

The Triumphant climbed back into the light, a deep feeling of dread twisting her stomach. She felt as if she was making a terrible mistake.

"Tarentum."

Back to the woman still shrouded by darkness.

"If he sent a letter, it had to have been to the Tarentum mint. You should start there."

An exchange of nods, both taking different paths towards the future.

 

[StrigaRosa]

I awoke in darkness. For a moment, I believed I was at Bassus' house, deep into the night. Feeling the floor, I notice how cold and uneven the stone was. Continuing my blind exploration, I realized how irregular, rough and foreign my surroundings were. Some sort of tunnel? Narrowed eyes caught glimpse of pale light. Its source turned out to be a circle of lamps surrounding a willowy woman. Between teenage and maturity, she wore and moved in a gracious manner, pushing her fantastic hair aside while biting a pomegranate, obviously bored. Noticing my presence, she regained a more composed bearing, greeting me.

"Salve, good man." Despise her gentle tone, the corners of her eyes betrayed her disappointment. "I beg your pardon, for I do not know what to tell you. It is, perhaps, possible that I might be the one responsible for your sudden arrival? That would be terribly embarrassing, you see; it was another one I summoned, it is another one I await for. If I am the one behind your troubles, please, let me compensate you in some manner."

I reached for the lights, realizing how cold I was and how much I yearned for heat. The youth kept her head high, deceptively calm as she waited for an answer.

"No, my lady, I do not think you are in any way responsible." I muttered, rubbing my hands against each other. "I have made so many bad decisions these last few days that I would not be surprised if one of them had put me in this position."

The smile she shared was sad and knowing.

"I understand." She followed my stare, unconsciously focused on the fruit that she so reluctantly ate. The youth offered me half of the pomegranate. I was famished. "But sharing a light meal with you would bring me some peace of mind."

I did not hesitate and devoured the offer. My stomach still craved sustenance and the small flames did little to appease me; after having rushed to fill the void, I accepted that I needed more.

"I need to return home." I declared in a single breath. "I should not be here."

The youth agreed with a nod.

"The voices might have been silenced, but is an imposed one that brings nopeace. It has been way too long ever since a mortal ventured forth; nobody can help you find the way back." A tense pause. "I do not even know if such feat is still possible."

"Nobody ventures here? Not even the one you wait for? Maybe they can assist me."

"Perhaps."

The situation was improving, but I was not willing to sit and wait - no matter how polite the company was.

"Where will I end up if I follow that tunnel?"

"Somewhere and nowhere but as my heart tells me that you will find yourself in a familiar place. Two sources of help you might encounter: furious telluric voices driven to madness - willing to listen to their woes; and august celestial authorities that only answer to patrician lamentations."

"Obviously." This sounded all terribly familiar to me. "After all, only a patrician might address the gods without causing offense."

Why did I say that? Maybe this was what they call a religious experience. Stepping back, I asked the youth a new question.

"Are you exactly? Some sort of goddess?"

She smiled.

"Am I?" A mocking shine in her eyes. "I do not know how I might answer to such question; but that can by itself be am answer for I am no Man or Beast. But I can assure you something: I do not consider myself offended."

I stared back at the tunnel. It seemed to call for me.

"I feel like I do not have much choice in the matter." Her silence confirmed that she shared that belief. "I will throw my dice. Vale."

"Vale, Marcus Considius. Remember that in order to return home, you must return home. There is no lack of distractions below; keep yourself loyal to your purpose whatever happens."

Cryptic nonsense.


I continued through the cold corridors. I still do not know what moved between shadows and never had any intention of finding out. Whatever was able to click like that and released such laments was too mad, degenerate and violent. Even if I was quite confident that I was either dead or at the very least in a coma, my instincts screamed that I should act with caution; this sort of tunnel could not exist anywhere close of Rome; someone would have already clogged it with filth.

Speaking of Rome, I found myself someplace that deeply wanted to be Rome. However, this was a Rome that I could never call home. The hills rose too high, the river-bed was too wide, the moon shone too bright. What was supposed to be the Palatine was covered by temples and the Forum did not have a single shop; a neighborhood of marble instead of brick, pale and sterile, lacking any of the colorful energy that permeated the center of the Roman world.

I felt an irresistible pull. I found myself in the middle of streets simultaneously empty and crowded.

I needed to concentrate, finally managing to distinguish translucent figures around me, performing pantomimes of daily life, pushing each other in a race to no place at all. I was between shades and lemurs, and at the same time it was like I never had left the Urbe.

Deciding to follow the advice of the strange woman, I tried to find my way back home; crossing into parallel streets, I walked into what passed as Aventine here. Even in the sterile Underworld the place remained cluttered, claustrophobic and fetid. Dealing with paths and buildings that were increasingly familiar, I noticed details that I had previously missed: instead of bricks, tombstones were used; human bones have ground and used as mortar; the graffiti and curses scrawled on the walls were painted with - still dripping - blood. This is still one Rome, but one Rome suspended between dreams and a morbid necropolis to its own ruin.

My shop was exactly where I expected to find it, much more real and intense than its surroundings. I leaned my face against the wall. I could hear laughing and Camilla, the sharpening of iron scissors and the innocent conversation about urban banalities. I was back home. I tried to enter and return to that which I had abandoned. I found myself unable to do so. Something was keeping me, holding me at the threshold. No matter how much I tried, I could not cross it. It was like I had an anchor wrapped around by waist.


I looked around, confused. Shades surrounded me. They had expressions quite similar to my Aventine friends, the casual air of someone that was used to let fists do the talking. Waving discreetly towards them, I focused in crossing the threshold. Taking a deep breath of tepid air, I took notice of the black mists that clung to me, woven like a toga of living shadows. I could cross over – after all, I did not belong to this world, - however, it was another matter for the lemurs and they could not ride alongside. But how could I explain it to them? I tried to grab the mists and snare the shades; slithering between by fingers, as slippery as eels and much more determined. I could see on them faces twisted by anguish and pain, begging for my favour.

As time went by, more and more shadows surrounded me, similar expressions on their non-faces. I hesitate. I was of the gens Considia; living or dead, the peoples of the Aventine were my people. I remembered the youth and how friendly and courteous she was in rejecting me; she expected a patrician. I had found no elites on my wanderings, even with that shining creature waiting for them. If she was forced to wait what hope these lemurs had? As if any arrogant patrician would dignify themselves to visit the entrails of Rome or the Aventine. These despairing spectres screamed in silence, anxious to speak again.

Only a plebeian could return their voice.

"All is well." I rose my hands in an attempt to appease the shades. "You need a representative? I accept. You will not be forgotten."

The lemurs fell over me, dragging me in a grey deluge. Climbing all the way up to the Forum, thousands of spectres, centuries of silenced Romans waited. The shades dropped me over a black slab – a gigantic replica of the Lapis Niger. Ancestral and savage spirits emerged from the slab, so old that they barely looked human. Somehow the spectres had produced a chair – the seat used by a Tribune. Apprehensive stares fell on me, the intent quite clear: the committee had gathered. The absence of other candidates meant I had been elected. It was my time to accept: I would either become a Tribune of Shades and Lemurs or face oblivion.

I sat on the chair.

Powerful lemurs emerged from the Curia - the shades of Senators. Their leader was a spectral consul with triumphant crown that shone with the light of an invisible Sun, escorted by a monstrous and giant crow with ruby eyes.
I knew patrician disapproval when I saw it, with the Senators and Consul almost exploding with displeasure. It made perfect sense. Why would a Shadow Senate be happy with the existence of an Infernal Tribune? The living Tribunes are not loved by magistrates and senators, why would the representatives of the common dead expect different treatment?

Unlike those of the real Rome, I was uncertain if my Tribune office made me sacrosanct; fortunately, dead plebeians were good at reading the situation and dragged me towards the limits of the city.

"No, take me back to my shop." I begged, ignored. Crossing the threshold of Rome and sending me for a strange exile, the lemurs abandoned me to my new duties.

The walls of the Shadow Rome were seized by mist, slowly materializing in the shape of a gargantuan warrior-king, crowned with tall stag horns and dressed in wolf pelts. The mega lemur studied me for a long moment and extended its enormous hands, trying to grab me. I ran, despair guiding my escape. My body refused to move, paralyzed by spectral emissions. Closing my eyes, I thought about Camilla as fingers closed around me.

I took a deep breath, the smell of maritime breeze and wet soil flooding my senses; flashes and the sound of rain hitting the ground followed. From a pool of my own blood, across haunted tunnels and a patrician. I had found no elites on my wanderings, even with that shining creature waiting for them. If she was forced to wait what hope these lemurs had? As if any arrogant patrician would dignify themselves to visit the entrails of Rome or the Aventine. These despairing specters screamed in silence, anxious to speak again.

Only a plebeian could return their voice.

"All is well." I rose my hands in an attempt to appease the shades. "You need a representative? I accept. You will not be forgotten."

The lemurs fell over me, dragging me in a grey deluge. Climbing all the way up to the Forum, thousands of specters, centuries of silenced Romans waited. The shades dropped me over a black slab – a gigantic replica of the Lapis Niger. Ancestral and savage spirits emerged from the slab, so old that they barely looked human. Somehow the specters had produced a chair – the seat used by a Tribune. Apprehensive stares fell on me, the intent quite clear: the committee had gathered. The absence of other candidates meant I had been elected. It was my time to accept: I would either become a Tribune of Shades and Lemurs or face oblivion.

I sat on the chair.

Powerful lemurs emerged from the Curia - the shades of Senators. Their leader was a spectral consul with triumphant crown that shone with the light of an invisible Sun, escorted by a monstrous and giant crow with ruby eyes.
I knew patrician disapproval when I saw it, with the Senators and Consul almost exploding with displeasure. It made perfect sense. Why would a Shadow Senate be happy with the existence of an Infernal Tribune? The living Tribunes are not loved by magistrates and senators, why would the representatives of the common dead expect different treatment?

Unlike those of the real Rome, I was uncertain if my Tribune office made me sacrosanct; fortunately, dead plebeians were good at reading the situation and dragged me towards the limits of the city.

"No, take me back to my shop." I begged, ignored. Crossing the threshold of Rome and sending me for a strange exile, the lemurs abandoned me to my new duties.

The walls of the Shadow Rome were seized by mist, slowly materializing in the shape of a gargantuan warrior-king, crowned with tall stag horns and dressed in wolf pelts. The mega lemur studied me for a long moment and extended its enormous hands, trying to grab me. I ran, despair guiding my escape. My body refused to move, paralysed by spectral emissions. Closing my eyes, I thought about Camilla as fingers closed around me.

*​

I took a deep breath, the smell of maritime breeze and wet soil flooding my senses; flashes and the sound of rain hitting the ground followed. From a pool of my own blood, across haunted tunnels and now in a storm-weathered harbor. I did not recognize the place and I could hardly see one foot in front of my nose; darkness, shadows and waters distorted my sight.

Wait. Shadows, in this murk?

I rose my hand so I could touch my nose, noticing that my arms and face were covered by living shadows that moved on their own, ignoring the constraints of lighting or my will. I blinked violently, confirming this was not a trick of my mind. The voices in my head were real enough to worry me, for they clearly verbalized thoughts beyond mine - things that could only have been born from the collective conscience of the manifesting shades.

Not all voices where in my head. Some came from behind me. I turned around, confused. I had brought a little of the Underworld with me, living shadows and two daemons. One was a bizarre figure, dragon, eagle and woman; the other was a proud winged being, carrying a whip and a cruel venom-dripping dagger.


"My sweet Adrasteia, look at this." The eagle-dragon woman was delighted, whistling inside by mind. "The great avenger is afraid of us."

"You must be mistaken, dear Poenia." The austere divinity corrected her companion. "What client would be afraid of their patron?"

"Any client worth its salt." I growled between clenched teeth, filled with natural disgust. "Any relationship requires attention and care."

"We could not wish for anything else." Poendia declared and Adrasteia agreed with a soft nod. "A client without anything over their shoulders would not serve our purposes. No, no, no, what are we even talking about now? We are here as patrons, demanding services from our client and invoking the oath and offers expected from our part. There is no more to it. This relationship can only work if both sides fulfil their duties."

I stared at both of them, incredulous. Godlings, ghosts and now spirits. What had happened to my chaotic and yet simple life?

"Let it be done." Adastreia made her whip snap with thunderous intensity. "I think you will find your first task personally satisfying."

The figures disappeared, leaving me alone with serious doubts about my sanity. I felt the shades turning my neck, confronting me with something that was happening on the port.

Amidst the strangeness of a foreign mob. I recognized a familiar and Roman face; the puffy and disgusting visage of Tinnus Annius disembarked from one of the ships, followed by an escort of gladiators and ruffians.

My heartbeat rose, fueled by renewed hope. Finally, I would have some answers - served alongside delicious vengeance.

I was not even fully conscious about the way I was moving, so subtle and determined, almost as if I hovered over the floor. My legs were not moving on their own, the living shadows forming instead tentacles that pulled me around. I focused my mind, controlling them, my body leaning over as I was transported, slithering over the muddy roads like the most bizarre snake.

Titus Annius did not travel lightly; sad as a pig in the rain, he insisted in observing as the slaves unloaded his belonging – or to be precise, the possessions that he had stolen from the people of Rome. My initial instinct was to jump on top of him and punch his mouth until he told me the truth about Camilla; the spectres had other ideas, turning my head towards the water. Covering me in a protective sphere, the shades took me to the sea. I started to sway my arms in panic, trying to swim back to the surface and avoid drowning; the Underworld spectres opposed my efforts, drawing me deeper and deeper - towards the hull of the ship. It was with great relief that I verified that the ectoplasm covering my face somehow allowed me to breath.

Looking around I was able to make out the distorted figures, still busy unloading. I focused all my willpower in sculpting the shadows, intertwining them in a long and strong thread, extending it towards the surface. Clumsy and blind, I felt around through a foreign and incorporeal appendix. Bit by bit I advanced, believing to be close to one of the slaves. I pulled.

A poor slave was dragged to the water, falling and struggling in panic. What he was carrying - a particularly heavy trunk - threatened to dive into the sea. Shouts and orders followed, everyone dropping everything to save the treasures of the usurer.

I broke the waterline like a starving predator, shaking the ship and jumping over slaves and gladiators. Titus was isolated, with only two bodyguards by his side. I was surprised by how much the spectres longed for violence, the shades evading and trying to disarm combatants, leaving the little piggy to me. Clenching my fingers and making a fist, I pulled my arm back and I buried my hand into his belly. It was satisfying, but I needed much more, unleashing all my frustration on Annius, stopping only when he fell to the ground, unable to breath. The members of his escort had rescued the trunk. Feeling that I needed some privacy, I wrapped the usurer in shades and brought him with me as I climbed the top of houses and depots.

It was on the roof of a temple to an unknown divinity that I released him. There was no man left in Titus Annius, only a ball of shame and fat; crying and whimpering, his expensive clothes stained with his own excrement. While pinning him with one hand, I revealed myself to him. He dared to look me in the eyes, he regretted immediately, shaking as if he had just seen a ghost.

"Where is my wife? Where is Camilla?"

The pupils of his eyes dilated.

"The barber? How..." He bumbled, finally bowing before me. "I swear to Minerva and Quintius that this was not my idea. I want people to contract debt and keep paying the rising interest rates! They made me do it, they wanted the proprieties and did not care the least about the money. Everyone that could inspire other plebeians to rise up had to be eliminated. Please, I ask you, spare me and I will tell you everything I know!"

"Where. Is. My. Wife."

Titus Annius opened his mouth but uttered no sound. Something emerged from the back of his head; something translucent, grey and scarlet. No.

No. No.

A spear born from the shades had killed Titus Annius. I had killed the coward willing to speak instead of dying with dignity and protect the interests of his companions and superiors. Just after he confirmed that there was an actual conspiracy. Not only unfounded rumours or paranoia: Someone sought to destroy the Aventine.

I tried to keep the spectres restrained - they had already caused too much damage. The adrenaline and bloodlust made them extremely stubborn, and they rejected my will. They dug through the dome, the front of the sacrificial altar and the naked basement on the sacred depths.

I was dragged to the Underworld, two voices echoing in my head.

"We have fulfilled our part of the deal. Now it is your turn to prove the worth of your word, Tribune."

*​

The stench made it clear to me that I had returned to Rome – the true and bare Rome. The shades had traveled with me, but they did not remain in my company for long. They dispersed, eager to explore the Rome of the livings; I was not the only that longed for home. It was difficult to think of my infernal taskmasters as individuals with worries, personalities and needs, even as it was increasingly apparent that their deaths had not erased their Humanity. They still were Roman citizens, with memories and bonds to the Urbe.

It was dark, but I knew these alleys like the calluses on my hands. I found myself in a clearing covered by debris, created by the demolition of various houses. Someone had covered the few standing walls with graffiti and - at much sacrifice and expense - oil lamps, assuring that light enshrined plates of lead and stone.

Filled with grammatical errors, the plates represented the feelings of the peoples of Aventine, congealed in physical form. The rage against the patricians and Senates that allowed these catastrophes to happen, the powerless cycle of answering violence with violence, the treason of civil society in name of greed, the confusion of losing everything that was dear and familiar, the fear of inviting divine retribution, pestilence, famine and death through impious behavior.

Sulking is not part of Roman nature; those plates invoked curses, justice and retribution, promising terrible fates to criminals and the reclamation of Rome from the hands of those that tried to divide it. They were bleeding, they were hurting. But they had not been broken.

Those that did not have anything left begged the assistance of the infernal gods. An extended list of cursed names, scum that had escaped mortal justice and eroded human spirit.

I recalled the desperate spirits of Lemuria, specters that were in positions just as gloomy or even worse than the torments endured by their descendent; lost souls so limited in their options that, -from all plebeians in Rome- had picked me to be their Tribune, their voice.

All these curses. All these offerings.

No help was coming from the Underworld.

Unless I was to become that help.

I called back the shades and lemurs, compressing them so hard against me that they became a living uniform of whispers and darkness. I raised my right hand, the lead plates bending and twisting, attracting the attention of my spectral allies. A legion of minds assimilated the information contained within them, becoming one with the curses, every word reforged into promises of censure and vengeance.

Titus Annius had been only the beginning.

What was the next name on the list?

 

[StrigaRosa]

What a poor excuse for a gymnasium. An open square surrounded by naked walls scrawled with curses; sweaty rags and a pitiful punching bags had been carelessly laid around. She did not mind the poor conditions of the building; being in the periphery of the Urbe, it had the real estate to develop an impressive palaestra. Piles of rock and wooden beams supported temporary hallways that protected spectators from the elements and created private training spaces. It was not impressive, but it was a safe space where the young and poor could mingle and study, improving themselves and recover from the savagery of the world.

She still could not call Rome her home; yet, she was happy to call these her hunting grounds.

Lidia pushed the gates of the gymnasium, approaching the center of the palaestra. Her golden hair was covered by a wig and a kerchief, her light exercise tunic revealing muscles that were usually disguised by padding, olive oil shining over her artificially bronzed skin. She saluted the youths in the central halls, busy with their training and reading material - but most just goofing around. Her fellow athletes waved at her, Lidia advancing to meet them. Happy, she rose her hands high, clapping as she described a wide circle, kicking into the air a cloud of dust and dead leaves.

She had their full attention.

"What day is today?"

"Bellum! Challenge! Challenge!" The younger members started to howl.

Lidia lowered a hand to her ear, as if she had not heard the crowd.

"I do not hear anything. What day is today?"

"Challenge! Challenge! Bellum!"

Two servants entered the field, carrying a black tablet between them. They told Lidia the name at the top: Kleitomachos. Accepting a piece of chalk, she lifted the tablet towards the sky.

"What happened to Acastus?"

"Defeated!"

Lidia scratched a mark in the tablet.

"Myron of Siracusa? Kurodon the Cynic?"

"Defeated! Defeated!"

Another two marks.

"What about Kleitomachos?"

The public started to boo, increasing in intensity as Lidia repeated the question, over and over.

"Where is the prodigy of Hellas? Where is the master of a hundred modalities? The Greatest of the Olympians?"

A cascade of insults.

"Who is your champion?"

"Lidia! Lidia!"

"Who represents you?"

"Lidia! Lidia!"

"Who Kleitomachos refuses to face, week after week?"

"Lidia! Lidia! LIDIA!"

The pugilist threw the tablet to the ground.

"It seems he is not just afraid of sex and copulating dogs. It seems the best of Greece still refuses to meet mu challenge ." Lidia cracked her knuckles. "Anyone here is brave enough to compete for my title?"

A fulminant confrontation followed up, a row of athletes challenging Lidia as spectators gambled and celebrated the sport. Sliding under the uppercut of a pugilist of similar height and skill, Lidia finished the encounter with a circular arc and dropping her momentum with her swinging fist. A new challenger approached, Lidia working her feet and never lowering her guard. Punches connected against his arms like waves against cliffs, his defeat crashing down with a feint and a jab. Another man was introduced to the ground by an arm that bent and leaned in a dangerous hook.

Excitement gave way to boredom, new challengers providing only sweat and humiliation; nothing kills the interest in bets more than a clean string of victories.

As spectators abandoned the palaestra, Lidia asked for a towel and surrendered the field. Two pugilists replaced her at the center, as she drifted to wax her cestus in one corner.

"Salve, Lidia." She was greeted by a stubby and bald middle-aged man. His large torso, covered in scars, and muscled arms marked him as a classic gladiator. "I see you are just as stubborn now as you were as a kid. Look at these empty halls; if you want to put asses in the seats, you must listen to your seniors."

"This is no amphitheater and I am not a gladiator, Calpurnius." Lidia smiled, washing her brow. "What was good for you is unlikely to work for me."

"Fair." Calpurnius admitted. "But can you entertain the request of an old man with too much free time? One last affectionate act for someone with one feet in the Underworld?"

Her smile turned into laughter.

"The combat in which Caeso Calpurnius will perish still has to be added to the program, you still have fire within you." Lidia pointed with her chin towards two empty spots. "But you are right: I should lend my ear to a friend and club-mate."

"For whom do you fight, Lidia?" Calpurnius enunciated as he sat down. "You very rarely face an opponent that lets you let it all out, so I assume you do not do it only out of respect for your opponent and in name of good sport. For the public? You are doing a miserable job if that is the case; you are so distant, you concentrate so much in the fight that the rest of the world seems to disappear. That makes you brutal, but you forget that you have to sell that fight, share with the audience the impact of each blow."

Lidia crossed her fingers, thoughtful. The gladiator's words were not without merit.

"You already know why. I fight because it makes me feel strong and confident, it let's me communicate to others my skill and determination. I do not want to be seen as a simpleton brute or bully. But for someone like me, radiating strength and competency is the best way to inspire people. Hopefully I will inspire the eloquent and wise to speak for me."

Calpurnius chuckled.

"Ah! You have been spending too much time in the Palatinate. Strength and competency are the most inspiring traits… ridiculous! One day, you will lose. It might not be due to no fault of your own; you can give it all, but it is simply not your day. And then what? Do you intend to win every single match until you defeat and lose all supporters? You are damn good, but being skilled is not everything. There will be encounters that you cannot win no matter what; there will be times when the price that victory demands is not one that you are willing to pay. Everyone wins, everyone loses, even children know that. Why do you subject such important matters to the whims of Fortuna? If you want to inspire the public, you need to focus in the way that you deal with successes and failures. You have to rely on your supporters, so show them how reliable and constant you are."

Lidia forced a smile as her mind turned to the battles she had faced during her exile; how often defeat or retreat were not an option. Challenges she failed outside of the palaestra, dooming her friends and their peoples.

"I suppose I do not think much about such things." She shared a genuine smile. "Or at least, not as much as you do. What am I doing that annoys the very people that I seek to inspire?"

"You do not share the moment. As I mentioned, you're really bad at pitching the fight. You need to get the audience involved, make them feel your effort as their own, show vulnerability and hesitation. And when someone manages to plant a fist in your face, they will know how much you are struggling, how much it hurts. Convince them that it is your worst moment and yet, you are making your stand and you will not move one step back."

"This is pugilism, Calpurnius, not the games. It is not even my main job, it is essentially my otium. Exercise and relaxation." Lidia stretched lazily. "I get to release all the pent-up frustration in a rewarding way."

The intense stare of the old gladiator made her twist her face in a grimace.

"Gods. You are terribly concerned about me. Is this because of the club? I will pay my share and I will not renegade my responsibilities."

"You managed to secure your freedom, the last thing I want to see is your raising debts landing you under the mancipatio of someone."

"You heard about those, hum?" Lidia murmured. "It could not be helped; I had to do so in order to protect someone else's liberty."

Her trademark cocky smile.

"You know what? I miss Adara. What do you say we gather the club for a feast, honor and share some happiness with her? There is someone special that I want to introduce to you guys."

Caeso Calpurnius gave her a friendly slap in the back, jesting as he approved of the idea. He did not notice that he had lost Lidia, the eyes of the woman scrutinizing the heavens.

Catching a glance of a black armor hovering over the city.

"I have to go." Lidia removed Calpurnius' hand, forcing her expression stark. "I will not forget your advice, old friend.

 

[StrigaRosa]

Aeneid stood at the entrance, anxiety crushing her heart. The enormous Raven of the Underworld leaned against the woman, curiosity shining in its ruby eyes. The lofty specter of an impossible ancient man waited, extraordinarily fit for someone dead for one century, wearing consular symbols and garb.

"Lidia." The lemur that had once been Marcus Valerius Corvus called with a paternal warm tone. "It must be hard to return to this place after all these years. I want you to know that while Shadow Senate has yet ti recognize you, this was and will always be your home. You do not have to prove anything to anyone. We can postpone to a more auspicious day."

The Raven cawed and gently pushed her forward. Aeneid lowered her hood and smiled, taking a moment to caress the bird's feathers.

"I have to do this, I want to do this." Lidia declared as she crossed over. A soft hum permeated the air as the very walls reacted to her Triumphant nature; crystal spheres shone bright with light, the flooring warming up to a kinder temperature and the gurgling of water, it all reminding her of the hidden complexity needed to keep the site remotely habitable.

"It is good to see people around the Nest. This has been shut for too long." Valerius Corvus hovered towards the entrance. "It will take time for everything to be up and running, so I will let you explore for a while."

"Is the Senate in session?"

"The Shadow Senate is always in session." A sigh the infernal consul.

"Some things never change." Lidia added with a smile, her eyes fixated in the cracks in the roof. The flapping of wings signalled the departure of her companions. She lowered her gaze, shamed. Everything in the Nest judged her, blaming the woman for its current condition. She found herself visiting the biggest section, the baths. A sad Lidia stared at the large pools; completely dry, no personal belonging or clothing hanging from the curved corners that offered some privacy. With loud echoing s a thin but determined water thread tickled from the tubes, luring her closer.

"It is a mystery to me how we still do not have these back in Rome proper." The warmth of the water against her lacerated hands was reinvigorating, relaxing her with a simple gesture, evocative of better days. The baths, immaculate and decorated with vibrant colors, curtains of exotic cloth of the East marked this spot a world apart from the rest of the Nest. A toothless child sneaked in, dirty blond hair, awkward growth spurt; all she care for was to run between the curtains and spy on the guests. A man in the late forties laid in the largest pool, his eyes shut and his clothing scattered in the floor. The tale they told was one of violence and struggle, torn and stained with the blood of many.

"A bath is supposed to be a relaxing experience." The man exuded in a tired but still jovial voice. "How am I supposed to do that with a spy around, Lidia?"

The child revealed herself, embarrassed as she struck the floor with her feet.

"I can't stop thinking about something my parents said." She bumbled an excuse.

"What is so important that could not wait for another time?"

"The master will leave as soon as he is free!" She screeched with indignity that only a child can muster. "You will just rush out and become Keraunos, ready to beat up more bad men!"

Master Keraunos could not help but laugh at that. His true power was limitless patience; at least for Lidia's outbursts.

A gust of cold air permeated the baths, Keraunos had left the water. Dressing a light tunic and leaning over a cane, his face twisted in pain as he sat down in a bench; he pointed at Lidia, asking her to sit at his side.

"At the market some people called me and my parents servi - slaves." Lidia explained. "They tried to explain what it means but I do not understand! If am a servus of master Keraunus, that is good, for the master is the smartest person I know. Surely, he can explain it better. Please, master, teach me!"

Keraunos answer was delayed by a sad smile.

"Where I am from, slave - the equivalent to what the Romans call servi - are nothing but thinking tools and not considered people." Lidia gasped in shock. She was a person! Her parents were definitely people that had made another person through their mutual love and respect! "That is not the case here, for every single free citizen might end up a slave through misfortune or their actions. Slavery is a transitory state, literally someone "whose life was spared", that would have died and cannot continue to exist depending on another."

The little child closed her mouth, thoughtful.

"I remember mom saying something like that. How master saved them and they had a life debt; without master Keraunos I would never have had been born and for that I belong to him."

"It is not entirely wrong, but it far from the most accurate statement." Keraunos nodded in agreement. "However, when you grow up you will realize the terms involved are more complex and how much I really own to your family."

"Why?" Lidia was as curious as she was unbearable. "Does it involve things like Libertas?"

"Liberty. Where did you hear that word?"

"Master Keraunos!" The girl pouted. "That is the word they say the most in the Nest! Liberty this, liberty that!"

The man laughed, feeling his bruised kidneys before continuing.

"They are not wrong, for Libertas is the most important thing in their world. Nothing defines Roman identity as the yearning and struggle for liberty."

Lidia lifted an indicator towards her lips and nervously nibbled the finger.

"My parents say that as I was born a slave, I do not have liberty."

"That is true, my child."

"But I want to be just as free as the others!" Lidia demanded.

"There lies the cruel reality, Lidia." Keraunos could not restrain another painful laugh. "No one is born free - slave or not. Our mothers risk their very lives bringing us into this world, both of our parents work to keep us fed, clothed, safe. Both them and the State invest in our education. Friends and enemies help us become ourselves. We truly become worthy of calling ourselves men and women when we realize how much we are each others masters."

Lidia blinked, did not getting even half of it.

"Lidia, do you recall the aedile?"

"Master Valerius!"

"Yes, him." Keraunos proceeded. "As his client, it is my duty to present my respects and offer my services; it is his duty as a patron not to see me humiliated and assure I do not want for food or protection. Furthermore, Master Valerius owns his position and everything else to his father and must in every action he takes consider how it will reflect upon his family, at the risk of his life being forsaken. All of us contribute to the State, which in turn watches over the interests of us all, even the slave that has little besides their master. Servitude is part of human nature; only those that abandon their Humanity and hide in the world of beasts and monsters can call themselves unbound and unshackled.

The child shrunk, hugging her legs and touching the knees with the chin.

"Father told me something similar. The world existed before I was born and will remain long after I am gone. I must respect everything that those that came before did to offer us this opportunity, to allow us to live. I do not want to be a wild thing!"

"Your father taught you well."

Lidia would never forget that talk. Nor the great question.

"Is Liberty a lie? Since we are all each other's servi, nobody must be free."

"Liberty is truth, Lidia, maybe the only truth that descended upon this world from platonic realms." Keraunos countered. "Nobody is born free; fact. However, a virtuous human being works every single day so that when they rest at night freer than they were at dawn. The world is full of putative tyrants that see themselves as your master and want to steal your liberty. Liberty is something that you pursue, that we must fight for with each breath, that we must share. This is the weight that falls over the shoulders of heads of family, state and any person that finds themselves responsible for another: they must not only fight for their own personal Libertas, but assure that those that rely on them do not see their own liberty threatened."

"How do I set myself free? How do I achieve Libertas?"

"Fight, fight and do not stop fighting." Keraunos revealed. "This is why I am here, sitting next to you; by talking with you about this, I am giving you freedom. No, that is not entirely correct; by letting you free yourself, I also set myself free - this is the true meaning of being a servus. Your life has been spared; due to circumstances outside of your control, you lost control over your own liberty. A master's duty is to guide you back, help the slave once again become owner of their life and capable to decide the terms of their fight for Libertas. Anyone that delays or restrains someone's return to freedom for their own selfish gains betrays the entire relationship. Dialogue, a good life, civic sense, communal sacrifice, curiosity for the surrounding world, all these set someone free. Little by little, the slave we all are becomes a Man. Our entire life we spend somewhere between servus and Vir. Or at least that is how the Romans see it."

Lidia stared at her master, burning with determination.

"I want to be a Vir. Why don't you free me now, master Keraunos?"

"Lidia, listen to me carefully." Attention given, the words engraved in her mind for the rest of her life. "The most cunning trick a tyrant can do is convince people that liberty is something that can be given, that there are people that can give or take it away. Whenever someone seeks to offer you freedom, that person only seeks to use you for their personal interests. True liberation can only be achieved by improving as a person, taking control over your life and struggling to make your dreams real."

"Sounds hard."

"It is the hardest thing you can do, for there are many temptations that seek to rob one of their liberty. Unless you dedicate your body and soul to be a Vir, it is impossible to know if the decisions you make are fruit of your free will or if you are just a fugitive, a slave to your own fear and delusions. The heaviest shackles are not clasped around your wrists but inside your mind."

Aeneid rose, drying her hand against the cloak. She went towards the large atrium at the center of the complex, full of weirdly beautiful plants and fungi that grew in the gloom of the Underworld, disturbed only by spectral bugs. Still with Keraunos haunting her mind, she found herself thinking about other Lidia: always too tall for her age, short hair tied by a kerchief. The youth ran between the bushes, jumping over improvised obstacles.

Master Keraunos joined the scene. Diminished and with a full mane of gray, much more of his weight was supported by the cane. He joined her at the center of the atrium, coughing all the way. Lidia stopped her exercises, helping the elder to one of the benches.

"Your parents tell me that you grow stronger every day, that you run faster and further away. It brings warmth to my heart to see the virtuous woman you are becoming." Pause for coughing. "I would be a liar if I did not admit to have some doubts about your education; your mother begged for forgiveness for not being able to teach you letters."


Lidia cleared the sweat from her brow, her face reddening when confronted with her failure.

"I do not want to get my mom in trouble, master Keraunos. Believe me, she tried. I am the one unable to learn. If someone needs to be punished, it has to be me." The silence that ensued established that Keraunos was not seeking excuses or someone to blame; he wanted to understand what was going. "The letters dance between my eyes, it is impossible for me to make any sense of them."

"Reading is important, Lidia. Reading allows you to relate to others, discover the point of view of people one world always or beyond the veil of death. It is an important step to cultivate your Libertas and Virtus."

"I know, master." Lidia nodded. "However, if you allow me, that is what books tell you. To me they offer nothing, only headache and confusion. What master Keraunos describes I see in the face of all those that I meet, I feel in the beating heart of every man and woman that I greet. I finally start to understand everything you have been trying to teach me about liberty."

"Oh?" Keraunos feigned surprise. "And here I was thinking that I would not manage to teach you anything before dying. So be it; if books do not teach you anything, it falls to me to stop lazing around and earn the right to call myself teacher. Let me share with you what one hard life and many books drilled into me."

"Thank you, master!" Lidia displayed genuine interest. "There is something that has been gnawing my bones: I see more and more people trying to find true liberation, gambling the liberty of others, slipping out of their path and conspiring to subjugate their peers and climb a bit more while replacing metal chains for golden ones. So many ways to defend it, so many versions of liberty, I am afraid of losing my perspective. How can I be certain that I am living a good life without trampling upon the freedom of others? How do I know I am Vir?"

Keraunos paused to contemplate the garden. Today, with decades of experience, Lidia knew that he was pondering which answer would fit the developing personality of the girl.

"Do you enjoy running, Lidia?"

"More than anything else." That was the youth's readied answer. "Nothing like the wind against my face, the changing scenery, new things at each moment, my racing heartbeat. Nothing pleases me like a good run."

"It is obvious that athletic pursuits clearly give you pleasure and happiness." The old man coughed. "However, when you get distracted or push yourself too hard, you might fall and get hurt, suffer from exhaustion and cause terrible pain by ignoring your limitations. Even what gives you the most pleasure can also inflict the worst suffering."

Lidia nodded. It was obvious. What was Keraunos' point?

"There it is: all you need to know to have a virtuous life. Keep this guide close to your chest and you will be an exemplary citizen."

"That's it? All there is to it."

"The idea might be simple; trying to actually apply it to reality broke men and women wiser than I am." Keraunos was quick to add. "Focus in that that gives you pleasure, as well as that which brings happiness to others. Of course, never forget the specter of suffering. If something, no matter how pleasurable it might be at the moment, brings pain and torment to your or another, you must stop and change your course of action."

Lidia looked at her fists, closing them.

"What if the only thing I am good at is violence? The only thing I can do is cause suffering."

Master Keraunos started coughing violently, almost falling from the bench. Lidia caught him, finding herself and the old man covered in his blood.

"We do not have much time left, Lidia. Soon you will have to take my place in the Corvi. And that is a mystery to which I never found a satisfying answer." A sad smile. "I hope that you find in the heart of others that which has eluded me among scrolls and books. The only advice I can give you is that if you have to trade blows for something, make sure that it is the last resort and what you are defending is worth it. If you knock someone down with one hand, be ready to lift them up with the other."

Aeneid crossed the atrium, lights appearing as she walked, some of the strangest vegetation wasting away as she approached. There were many exits; she picked the one most familiar to her.

The gymnasium was in worst shape than any of the other divisions. Half of one of the walls had collapsed, scattering weights and throwing disks and destroying various training dummies. A large cork board was covered in scrolls, some eaten by worms, others still keeping tabs on Triumphants, their tasks, registration of enemy confrontations and other notes. Or so she had been told; those were tasks for which Lidia needed others. Besides the board was something she did not remember, a new addition: a large map of the Mediterranean, crisis points marked as well as the last known positions of the Corvus. Aeneid confirmed that the last time the map had been updated, all the Crow were in Rome.

All but one.

One of the pins - one with a bone-white head - was fixed somewhere beyond the limits of the map. Lidia picked the pins one by one, leaving the map empty. She returned to the training dummies, raising the only one that remained whole. Verifying that her cestus was tight enough and cracking her knuckles, she gave herself permission to unleash her frustrations upon the poor target.

A teenage Lidia darted around, wearing a white cloak instead of her usual scarlet, switching between a blur and stasis just long enough to unleash powerful blows, keeping her frenetic pace for intense minutes. She stopped only when a bald man with the obvious bearing of a veteran entered the gymnasium.

"Where is master Keraunos, Nox?" Lidia inquired, out of breath and tired, hugging one of the training dummies. "He asked to review my development; I can barely wait to have permission to act outside of Rome!"

The man lifted one of the finger in order to interrupt the girl.

"Keraunos is too sick to test you."

"What happened?" Lidia released the dummy, worried. "He was really looking forward to it."

"He is old, Lidia. It happens to everyone; there is not much light or clap left in his spark. Just another reason for you to finish replacing him. I prepared a special surprise."

The floor of the gymnasium shook, a stone pillar raising in the middle. The telluric intrusion started to fragment, slowly revealing an enormous humanoid creature: gray skin, elongated skull, enormous and pitch black eyes, long fangs and a disturbing tentacle-like beard. With an infernal scream they sealed the underground entrance.

Lidia jumped into their shoulders, laughing and swinging like a small child.

"Orcus! I saw how you faced those tomb raiders! It was amazing!" The creature spun its arm with inhuman articulations, managing to grab the girl. "Can you teach me something after the exam?"

The veteran Nox smiled, throwing a pomegranate at Lidia.

"They are your exam." Lidia and Orcus fixed their eyes in each other for a moment; Orcus projected inside of Lidia's mind an image of both of them fighting. Against what everyone thought possible, Lidia grew even paler, face seized by terror as she ran towards the nearest corner. The creature reached to their mouth with their claws, detaching the lower jaw and growing tentacles pushing it towards the floor. Their limbs spread as it felt to all four like some freakish spider.

"Good luck, Pars Alba. Your trial is simple: all you have to do is keep the fruit until the end." Nox gave her his best wishes before turning into silvery mist.

Lidia was still trying to understand what was going as the impossibly wide of Orcus started to pull towards it all the content of the gymnasium: training dummies, weights, sweat-drenched clothing, replacement uniforms. Everything, including a stunned girl that was running in the same spot, searching for something that she could grab without dropping the pomegranate. Such a futile exercise! Lidia fought to sustain the same distance, but the suction was too strong, forcing her to run faster and faster in order to avoid being swallowed. Quickly that became insufficient, the girl noticing with horror as the distance slowly but surely shrank.

Admitting the futility of resistance and avoiding tiring herself for nothing, Lidia slowed down a bit, getting closer to Orcus. Exploiting the sudden acceleration, she jumped and kicked the creature right in the nostrils.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Lidia screamed exasperated as she spun around its neck, trying to avoid the tentacles. She jumped on Orcus' back, punching it violently; they groaned but kept swallowing with the same intensity. Giving in to despair, Lidia threw herself against the creature's legs, applying her weight to force Orcus to fall. Watching as her examiner vacillated, Lidia sighed in relief and eagerly used her speed to jump between limbs, wounding them.

Orcus fell to the ground, granting Pars Alba the luxury of dreaming about victory. Lidia smiled, pondering if she should try to recover distance or continue to face Orcus. Her dilemma did not last long, the very floor betraying her.
Instead of raising from the ground, her examiner had somehow inverted gravity for one critical moment, throwing Lidia against the roof and lifting themselves. The effect ended as suddenly as it had been triggered, throwing the girl against the floor. Her senses drowned by the pain, took a while for her to realize two important things.

Orcus was once again sucking her in. She had dropped the pomegranate during the battle, the fruit happily rolling towards Orcus' mouth.

"No, no, no." Lidia begged, shaking as she tried to raise; all complaints were in vain, her examiner glad to eat the pomegranate.

It was over. She had failed.

Had she? Dis Pater no.

She was Vir.

Pars Alba frowned, pulled her white hood up and for the first time in her life flashed the cocky smile that would become the trademark of Triumphant Lidia. Evoking the absolute form of her divine spark, Lidia rushed towards the mouth of a shocked Orcus, eyes shining with white light.

A long silence ensued, the creature looking around the gymnasium. It took it great effort, but Orcus managed to fix their jaw back. Nox reappeared, arms crossed.

"I never thought it would take this much." The veteran admired. "Color me impressed."

A gust of wind broke into the gymnasium, a beaten Pars Alba stopping in front of them, eating from an open pomegranate.

"Your stomach leads to interesting places." Lidia remarked. "That would explain a lot about how your missions tend to end."

"Go get some rest, Lidia. Master Keraunos will want to know how well you fared." Nox congratulated her. "Let's go, Orcus."

Initially following Nox, Orcus turned back; Lidia gave them a side glance. The creature shared an image of her, doing exactly what she was planning to do. Staring back into those deep black eyes, no words exchanged, Lidia understood that Orcus knew what she was planning to do; somehow they understood her and were trying to dissuade her.

"I must do this. I hope you and the others might forgive me one day."

Orcus nodded with their enormous head, leaving Lidia alone.

The girl did not waste time. If Orcus had realized, it would not take long for others to follow suit. Master Keraunos had taught her that she had to find her own Libertas; no matter how much she tried, she felt that within Rome and under the service of the Corvi she could not develop further. It torn her heart from her chest, but maybe she could find her Libertas somewhere far away, in another corner of the world.

Lidia knew that if she hesitated even for a moment she would persuade herself to stay. Loyal to her resolution, she ran faster than she ever ran in her life.

Aeneid did not notice as tears started to drop. She barely noticed the training dummy breaking under her blows or the return of Valerius Corvus.

"You must have so many questions. About what happened after you left." The lemur consul remarked in a low, sweet tone.

"Only one." Lidia dried her eyes. "Why was I not able to say goodbye? I did not even give them an opportunity to let me go; all I did was run away. If I had said goodbye, I believe in my heart that they would forgive me, no matter how hard it would be for them."

Valerius Corvus smiled.

"You became a woman ten times bolder and stronger than anyone trained within these four walls. I look at you and I dare to hope that the Corvus will fly again, towards heights they never reached before. Wherever they might be now, I am sure that they would be proud that you are continuing their work."

"Right, work. I forgot, there is always something to do in the Nest."

"Rest is the domain of tyrants and the tyrannized. The free Man only has Liberty to keep working for."

"Not this Vir." Lidia excused herself. "This has been a long day. Good night, consul. We start early tomorrow."

She found no bed in the Nest, she found no bed in Rome.

Linens awaited for her across the sea, a warm bed in another company, in another continent.

She did fly high.

No chains held her down.

 

[StrigaRosa]

Nobody was ready for the reopening of Marcus Considius's shop. Rumours claimed him to be dead, the brutal peace installed by Germanicus allowing an illusion of normality to creep across the Aventine. Most people would prefer to believe that they could proceed with their miserable lives, trying to rebuilt something among the ruins of their suffering.

A life that included avoiding anything to do with the Considii.

His status as a newly-returned pariah did not last long. The olive oil lantern, lit every night in front of his door, attracted those that had lost everything during the remodelling of the Aventine. The word was spread among the plebs, the barbershop becoming a site of asylum and a focal point to a new resistance. Clients slowly returned, knowing that any change would come from between those four walls. Nothing would be worse than to be caught unaware of a new wave of troubles - that was how you got yourself killed.

"I don't know if I will accept working as a porter at the port." Declares the first client of the day, an Etrurian refugee, a new arrival to Rome. A growing group of plebeians sat at the entrance of the barbershop, gossiping as they waited.

"Caecinus, you work as a carrier for how many, five or six different patricians?" Considius pointed out as he sharpened his blades. "At a certain point, what is even the difference?"

"Everything! There are faces, names, whole identities driving every task. It is not simply a job, it is purpose for my life. I'm not just a stipend and a number, I am part of their lives."

"And being a porter would not take that away from you? It is hard but honest work, a way to contribute to the State with sweat instead of blood." The cold blades brushed against the warm skin of Caecinus, the dexterous fingers of Considius perfectly matching the facial curves and his expressive muscles. "You will still be an active part of the community."

"There is little dignity in working for pay. Is that what I am to be? Caecinus, the porter; all the richness of the nature of a Roman citizen reduced to that."

"If you put things that way, I can easily see your dilemma." And so laughed the man; known as tonsore, tonsore of the Aventine and only after that Considius. "It eludes me how one may preserve their sense of self when they are reduced to a face and a profession."

"Exactly, tonsore." The other plebeian lamented on. "I do not want to be known for my work, I want to be remembered by the things that I am able to achieve in my moments of leisure."

"Enough crying, Caecinus." One of the men waiting shouted. "We are what we do, not what we claim we want to do! If you spend most of your day carrying grain and bricks for other people, you are a porter and a porter is what you are going to be! If you want to be anything else, spend more hours working on that!"

Caecinus span on his seat, rewarded with a scratch; a scarlet line across his cheek. Each plebeian stared the other down, a moment of tension quickly disarmed by loud laughter from Considius' complaining client.

"Then you should call me Caecianus Somnus, for what I do most is sleep!" Voices cried in support. Surrounded by laughter and an empowering wave of human comfort, Considius resume his assault on the beard.

The mood of casual friendship was interrupted by the arrival of a tall and ripped man, caressing his beautiful curly hair as his penetrating green eyes inspected the interior of the shop. He entered, three construction workers with unfriendly faces escorting Considius' client back to the streets of Rome.

Germanicus sat down on the barber's bench, waving with one hand so the tonsore approached. He stroke his three-days beard.

"That boulder was lighter than I expected, Considius. You actually made all the way to the top and back. I'm impressed." Lemurs whispered, their words taunting Marcus, trying to inspire violence. Lost in diverging thoughts, the fingers of the man caressing the various tools of his craft. The crime lord rambled on. "It is strange to have you back, especially when your miraculous recovery correlates with the death of my good friend, Titus Annius. A life paid for another, perhaps? The ways of the gods are capricious and a proper person should waste their mind contemplating infernal reasoning."

Silence fell upon the store, Considius failing to react. The lack of words seemed to provide Germanicus with what he required; the man smiled as he fixed his gaze towards the plebeian and indicated his beard.

"My position demands a certain level of reasonable cruelty, as you witnessed first hand. That aside, it does not mean I am unable to feel sympathy for your or those that you claim to represent." The leader of the collegium continued. "There is no need to prolong bad blood and conflict beyond what is strictly necessary, an example has already been made and both parties have already lost too much. I think we all learned a lesson about Concordia and harmony; what happened, happened, and we must move on."

Marcus Considius did not give a reply, his callous hand gripping the left shoulder of the other man, his routine gestures instinctive and automatic. He raised his fingers towards the beard, crudely measuring it as he selected the right tool. The tonsore leaned towards a shining blade, sharpened a few moments before; a lemur limb stopped him, offering instead a blunt and rusty set of scissors. The spirits of the Underworld refused to be silenced, theirs the only voices that Considius paid attention to.

If Germanicus was still waiting for an answer, he kept it well hidden, eyes locked on Considius and his scissor. From his point of view a relation of dominance and submission had been established, the tonsore a broken man that had been dragged down to his proper place. The crime lord felt the rising tension as Considius reached for the back of his neck, a tap hinting that he should turn his head to the front. Feeling the scissors pressed against his cheek and Considius' careful work, a satisfied Germanicus allowed himself to relax at the apparent impotence of the barber.

System shock made him open his mouth, desperately gasping for air.

The Tribune of Shades pinned him down with inhuman strength, keeping Germanicus steady on his bench, digging into his neck with the closed scissors. As the tides of pain seized his reality, Germanicus understood the malice behind the choice. Considius was not going for an easy kill, slowly tearing and shredding a path to the jugular, maximizing suffering and sparing no mercy. Without many options and tears on his eyes, the crime lord tried to call for his men, delirium making him see living shadows strangling them.

With a horrid wet sound, the tonsore pulled out his scissors. A gush of blood covered his face and clothing. Germanicus was livid, ready to fade into the Underworld.

"These are the only terms that I accept." Considius hissed. "Your death and your secrets."

The scissors descended with violence. Iron shards flew as it broke, forcing Marcus to close his eyes. He opened them to find no sign of Germanicus. In his stead, a tall blond woman, her cloak ripped by the blunt blade, her skin untouched and unbroken. As she turned on her seat, she shared a cocky smile, Considius noticed that someone had freed Germanicus' thugs from the lemurs and spirited them away.

"Marcus Considius, I presume." The woman raised her hand in greeting. "I heard about your new responsibilities and came to present myself to my latest…

She did not get to finish the sentence, interrupted by a ferocious punch that projected her out of her seat. Still clasping the ruined scissors, the Tribune of Shades pointed forcefully, his entire body shaking with anxiety. His eyes brimmed with power, losing colour and becoming a mesh of heavy grey and bronze; lemurs answered to the emotional call, shrouding him in his spectral armour of curses.

"I am Aeneid." Lidia announced, adopting a pugilism stance and raising her fists.

"I do not care." Considius growled with clenched teeth. "Germanicus was my prey, it was owned. What did you did with him?"

"Germanicus? Oh yes, you mean Pleuratus. Ridiculous name and awful taste, but Rome has nothing to gain with his death. You do not gain anything."

"Where he is?" The Umbrae Tribunus charged towards Aeneid, howling his demands. "His acts against the Aventine and my family warrant all sorts of punishments. And then more!"

A cascade of tentacles tried to grab Lidia, the woman dodged, refusing to touch them or approach Considius. With her impressive speed, it would be all too easy to abandon the scene and escape, and yet, she always remained only two steps further than what was strictly needed, goading the lemurs. They were hungry for celestial touch, stretching themselves thin; just not enough to force Considius to close the gap.

"Horrible and unforgivable things have happened on your corner of the Urbe. Pleuratus might have done all his deeds on the behalf of another, but he is only the lackey of greater powers. He is more dangerous to them alive. Please, Considius."

"What do you understand about what he did to us? You are guided by that patrician logic. You only see tools that you can use." Considius finally advanced, spectres consuming all light in the interior of the shop. The walls seemed to contract and expand, with the effect of turning the barbershop impossible large. Recognizing the interference between their two Triumphs, Aeneid prepared herself against dangerous eventualities; Umbrae Tribunus exploited this moment of hesitation to push Lidia towards a corner, joining hundreds of lemurs in a single fist of darkness.

"Tsh, tsh." Aeneid let go, frowning eyebrows and biting her tongue as she regained her confident smile. As the spectral punch descended, she jumped, impelled by her Triumphant celerity, knee meeting Considius' stomach and kicking him out of the shop. It was easy to turn the conflict into a speed race, pushing the other Triumphant through streets, down the hill, quick punches followed by sudden sprints. Cornering Marcus against a dead-end, she grabbed the man. She leaned her brow against his.

"Look at me. Is this the face of privilege?" A short shake-up. "I know what it is to lose everything, I know how tempting it is to punch your way away from self-pity. Will you listen to me?"

Considius pulled his head back to prepare a head-butt. With an audible sight Lidia pre-emptively struck him.

"I will admit, you are a strong one. But strength gives you no authority and I am surrounded by the fears and hopes of the people!" The shadow of Considius' on the wall developed a new silhouette, lemurs feeding it into something titanic, singing a requiem for the mortality of Lidia and trying to suppress her Triumph. It was dangerous, the legitimacy granted to Umbrae Tribunus contested Aeneid's vision by dimming her spark.

Such threat only made Lidia's goal clear.

Sparks surrounded her eyes and feet, specters once again shrouding Considius' face. The Tribune of Shadows attempted to flank Lidia with an attack in two fronts, fists covered in lemurs in an imitation of Aeneid's cestus, other specters animating a copy made of living shadow. The alley distorted into the tunnels of the Underworld, the woman well aware that she would have a single shot. She grabbed the man and threw him to the ground, ignoring the shade and speeding towards the main streets.

The chase continued, the lemurs did not give up the hunt and inspired Considius to speed up, lending him more of their power. Aeneid accelerated just enough to stay at the horizon, a prize impossible to catch up to. Arriving to the walls of Rome, she was forced to slow down, inspecting for possible exits or a way to avoid the insane traffic, ubiquitous to the gates of the Urbe.

Marcus Considius approached from the top,

tentacles raising him like cables, penetrating the walls and pushing him towards them. More shadows took over the day, warning the woman about the urgency of retreat. An inelegant solution presented itself, inviting Lidia to run across the wall. And so she did, only to find her path cut down by lemurs. Tongue sticking out, she gained impulse by kicking the cold stone and jumped, trying to surprise Marcus through the air.

A shadow whip struck her face, tearing her hood. Lemurs drank her blood, lifting her with a greedy cut across her nose.

"For a moment I believed you untouchable." Considius stopped for a moment to congratulate himself. One of the lemurs still held what remained of the broken scissors, pointing them towards Lidia.

"I take good care of my skin. Lower those Shades and I can share some tips with you!" She shouted, landing on a low roof and cleaning the blood.

"As a fighting taunt that is pretty lacking." A new exchange of blows followed suit, forcing Aeneid to jump between buildings to dodge.

"What? Taunt? My offer was sincere." A loose tile made Lidia slip, forcing her to awkwardly tumble back to ground level. Considius got too close, fists raised. Dropping her dominant hand in a hook, suddenly rising it straight towards Umbrae Tribunus' chin. Such concentrated violence would ruin anyone's day, even that of a Triumphant.

"Wait one second, I recognize that maneuver!" The stunned Considius recognized her despite her pale completion. "You are Lidia Bella!"

"That pun is something I regret every single day." Aeneid gifted him a smile. "It is always a pleasure to meet a fan."

"Fan? I lost the earnings of two months because of you!"

"Lesson one, Considius." Lidia raised one finger and wiggled it around. "Never bet against me! We need to establish this early if we are to have a working relationship."

The conflict between the two Triumphant seemed to be getting to a close for a moment, grey abandoning Considius' eyes. The lemurs did not share the same feelings, still sensing the celestial promises that sprouted from the Triumph incarnated in Lidia. Spurned, they delivered another attack, so unexpected that it made Aeneid quiver.

"The spectres are still furious, I do not know what is going on! I never seen them so restless." Considius shouted.

"They just remember my taste, everything is fine." Aeneid forced her most confident smile, hiding the pain that she felt. "Follow me, Considius. Do not spare me for one second or they can turn against you. Chin up, such is the burden of the Infernii.

They climbed the walls together, trading blows all the way up. The lemurs looked more and more eager, failing to be hampered by human limitations; Lidia was growing tired, unwilling to lose more of herself to the Triumph. Marcus was worried, hoping that whatever Lidia had planned would work.

To his surprise she jumped from the walls, landing on a trash and dejections pile, crossing on her tip toes over the sewers and stopping at the borders between city, road and fields. An astonished Marcus observed as her right feet scratched a line on the grass.

The specters slithered behind the woman, ignoring the excrement of civilization in their pursuit, once again arming Considius with lemurs and animating a shadowy duplicate.

Aeneid lifted her palm and challenged him to advance, cocky smile and all.

Umbrae Tribunus crossed over the line, Marcus Considius arriving to the other side. The lemurs were not able to pass through, remaining bound to him through a spectral umbilical cord that slowly withered away. Under the implacable will of Apollo the lemurs moaned as they got separated from Marcus and was dragged back to the Underworld.

"You are a Tribune, Considius." Lidia explained to the confused barber. "The powers entrusted to you are the same as your mundane orthologues, they do not extend beyond the sacred limits of Rome. Without the authority the lemurs elected upon you, nothing anchors them to the world of the living and there is nothing left to them besides surrendering to the fact."

Marcus nodded, believing that made sense for the most part, despite the events with Atticus suggesting that there were exceptions to the rule. Lifting his head up, he noticed the shadows that darted across the ground, reforming the duplicate of Umbrae Tribunus. Aeneid's expression was genuinely impressed.

"Amazing. How a little of my blood was enough to keep them cohesive for this long."

The woman disappeared.

The shadow-tribune turned to the barber, the expression on his empty face composed of silent specters that was impossible to read. Fearing the worst, Considius did not hide his relief to see a cestus going through the duplicate, followed by the entirety of Aeneid. The eyes of the woman had disappeared behind scarlet and alabaster blurs, her gestures colored with an inhuman aura. The lemurs finally dispersed and she regained her usual expression as Marcus instinctively grabbed something that had collided against his chest. He found himself staring down at an amphora of Bruttium wine.

"I know that my motivations might not make much sense to you." Aeneid held her hand out, offering a cup. "Fear and hope, you say, but above all fear. Good sense of purpose, but a reactive one; I focus only in one thing. I avoid suffering, in any shape and form."

"I'm sorry, my friend." Considius helped himself to the wine. "Did you take a good look at the Urbe? Suffering is everywhere."

Lidia pulled the hood up in order to hid the loss of her smile.

"Sometimes there is no path for happiness, only choices between major or minor suffering. Pleuratus must live. For now." She looked sadly towards Umbrae Tribunus, Marcus discreetly putting a leg behind the line she had marked, lemurs gradually responding to the call and preparing for an eventual offensive. "I know what he did, I know of his involvement in the disappearance of your family. Considius, I am someone that has to see the world beyond my fists; someone smarter than either of us will be required to solve this delicate trap."

"I must try." Exchange of nods showed how both agreed on that. "I cannot distract myself with banalities, I need to get my family."

"I know." Lidia breathed in. "The Shadow Senate wishes to replace you, there is a young man being trained to take your place. I saw enough of you to conclude that you are a touchstone for the plebs and a pillar of the community. I want to help you maintain this position, but for that you must act with the acumen that the office demands. If even I manage to learn anything, how easy it will be for Marcus Considius?"

"You are a good woman, Lidia."

"Am I? I am this close of starting a war. Talk about avoiding suffering; I bite my own tongue at the hypocrisy. Tell me, Umbrae Tribunus; how much your blood boil for the opportunity to dethrone an oppressor?"