In the waning days of the Roman Republic, Ptahotep, an Egyptian scribe with seemingly prophetic visions, serves the exiled Pharaoh Ptolemy XII while navigating Rome's political landscape. Torn between his loyalty to his Lord, his growing love for a local Senator, and his own burgeoning ambitions, Ptahotep faces a profound personal conflict.
Love & Ambition (Roman Republic SI)
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1. Ptahotep
Mingo
Son of a Hazmot
As he wandered down the Via Labeo on his way to Aventine Hill, Ptahotep was overwhelmed with sensation. Every step he took on the uneven cobblestones sent tremors through his sandals and up his legs. The clattering of hooves and the echoes of a thousand voices, from merchants hawking their wares to children playing, to the preaching of the priests, all produced a cacophony that pained his ears and made him long for the tranquil solitude of the Serapeum. The worst of it though was the jostling crowd, as each sudden brush of skin or fabric caused an involuntary flinch, an all-too-common occurrence in the bustling, narrow streets of Rome. Ptahotep couldn't help but wonder what sight he must present, with his slender shoulders perpetually hunched and his body recoiling with every touch, yet he knew it was more than likely his exotic features that drew the eye first.
He was far from the only Egyptian in the city, but his olive skin, dark curly hair, beautiful face and especially his strikingly bright blue eyes– a gift from his Greek mother -certainly set him apart from the throng and attracted far more glances and whispers than he was comfortable with. His androgynous appearance added to his distinctiveness, with a slightness to his build that accentuated the modest skirted kalasiri he wore, unlike the traditional Roman toga. His garment was made of wool rather than the typical linen and with sleeves added, to better protect against the colder climate. His unique attire, coupled with his delicate features and striking eyes, altogether marked him as a figure of curiosity to the Roman populace.
Several weeks had passed since he first arrived in Rome as part of his Lord's household. When Pharaoh Ptolemy XII was deposed in a popular revolt led by his own daughter and fled to Rome, Ptahotep was among the few servants who accompanied him. As his Lord's scribe, his duties were to take notes during various meetings with Senators as his Lord sought their support in reclaiming his throne. He also drafted letters, inventoried supplies, managed appointments, and more and more often in recent days, his Lord would also articulate his thoughts to Ptahotep, not so much conversing with him as using him as a vehicle to extrapolate his own thoughts. Altogether, the job, as multifaceted as it was, was arduous and often challenging, leaving him with precious little personal time. Yet, on that day, he had the entire day to himself.
Finally, Ptahotep's wanderings led him to the Temple of Mercury, a marvel of marble that commanded a moment of silent reverence. But it was not the temple alone that captured his attention that day.
"Ptahotep!"
The call of his name was loud, more than enough to be heard over the din, but was also warm with affection. Instantly recognizing it, Ptahotep turned to see Lucius, his Roman confidant, approaching him with a grin that whispered of raucous mischief. Lucius had become his guide in the city, showing him the intricacies and wonders of Roman culture. With his sturdy frame, barrel chest, and large, bulging muscles, which were actually rather typical for a young Roman of the Senatorial class, the scribe might have been too intimidated to approach him, but Lucius had proven to be a kind-hearted soul, always eager to share his knowledge and experiences with him. In the past weeks, he had become more than a guide to Ptahotep, and more than a friend.
"Magistrate Orestes," Ptahotep replied with his first honest smile of the day, tilting his head playfully, "your presence brightens the day, as always."
"Must you be so formal, Ptahotep?" Lucius' tone was teasing, a gentle chiding that belied a careless charm, his hazel eyes sparkling with amusement as he ignored protocol and pulled Ptahotep into a tight hug. "How many times must I tell you to call me by my name and not my title?"
The scribe's smile widened, his earlier anxieties dissolving in the warmth of their embrace even as he reluctantly pulled away a few seconds later, "At least one more time, as always. Besides, your accomplishment, joining the vaunted Vigintisexviri, deserves recognition, does it not?"
Lucius let out a full, boisterous laugh at that, a rich sound that echoed off the temple walls and caused all passers-by to break out in smiles of their own from its sheer infectiousness, his shaking frame causing one of his ruddy brown locks to tumble across his forehead. "Oh, if only you knew!" he laughed, "No one respects the Vigintisexviri! Clearing out the prisons, fixing potholes, we are the lords of small matters only. I'd never have bothered with it if Sulla hadn't made it a prerequisite for quaestorship. When I'm Consul, I'll repeal that silly law, let me tell you! But enough of such talk" he exclaimed, siding up to Ptahotep and linking their arms, "let's forget the burdens of duty and simply enjoy the company."
As the pair strolled into the temple, Ptahotep considered what Lucius had said. There was truly so much that he didn't understand about Roman society. Why were the people who oversaw the necessary maintenance of the city so looked down upon? In his native Alexandria, though its glory days were long behind it, the city magistrate was an honored position, charged with keeping the roads and aqueducts in top shape and overseeing any expansions to the city if they were needed. In comparison, Rome didn't even have a regulated street plan! Its streets were narrow, filthy and twisting.
As they explored the temple together, there was an ease between them, a gentle camaraderie that felt as natural as the flow of the Nile. Lucius moved with a grace that complimented his station, each of his gestures an invitation to discover the wonders of the sacred place. And although he tried to stay with Ptahotep throughout, he was just too popular and too outgoing to stay by the scribe's side for long. To Ptahotep, it seemed like Lucius was everyone's friend: priests, plebeians and patricians alike, and even if someone didn't know him personally, his toga praetexta, a white toga with a broad purple stripe that could be worn only by men of the Senatorial Class, when paired with his young age, marked him as one of the city's rising young elites, and thus a man worthy of knowing. Ptahotep would never admit it out loud, but he did feel a small stab of jealousy every time a beautiful young woman or a strapping young man would pull Lucius away from him, and yet, Lucius never strayed too far or too long, always returning to Ptahotep's side, his gaze lingering with an intensity that quickened the scribe's pulse.
The gossip of the day was all about the former Consul Julius Caesar and his recent victories against the Gauls, but Ptahotep didn't bother listening to any of it. He had chosen to visit the Temple of Mercury, of all the temples, on his day off for a reason. After hours of waiting, his turn finally came, and soon, Ptahotep alone was shepherded by an attendant deeper into the temple, and, as he approached the Inner Sanctum, the attendant beckoned for him to remove his sandals, which he did. The cool marble soothed his feet as he stepped into the chamber. The air was heavy with the scent of incense and the gentle flicker of the candles cast dancing shadows on the walls adorned with frescoes depicting Mercury's mythical exploits. While Ptahotep was no expert on Roman myths, he had learned from his mother, a former priestess of Aphrodite, that the gods of the Greeks, Egyptians and Romans were the same.
Jupiter, Zeus, Amun-Ra - they were all aspects of the sovereign of the sky. Neptune, Poseidon, Sobek - all aspects of the lord of the waters. Venus, Aphrodite, Hathor - embodiments of love and beauty. Pluto, Hades, Anubis - all aspects of Death. And Mercury, Hermes, Thoth - the divine scribe and messenger, bridging the gods and men.
There were many differences and discrepancies between their aspects of course, but his mother had taught him that those discrepancies were merely a testament to mankind's attempt to grasp the unfathomable, to give form to the formless. Ptahotep knew that while the gods were constant, their faces changed with each eye that beheld them.
It was Thoth's guidance he truly needed now. Thoth, who was the scribe and messenger of the gods, as well as the god of prophecy.
He approached the alter, his heart pounding with a mixture of trepidation and hope. The aged priest standing beside it, clad in rich brown robes, turned to him with an expectant gaze.
"I seek the wisdom of Mercury" Ptahotep croaked, his mouth suddenly turning dry. "My whole life, I have had strange visions-" Ptahotep was startled from his telling when the old priest's gaze suddenly bore into him, and from somewhere behind him, he heard something fall and clang against the floor, causing him to jump. He glanced around but saw nothing. After a few moments of tense silence, he continued, refocusing on the priest. "...strange visions. Visions of a world far beyond our mortal understanding. I see towering iron structures that kiss the sky, men who have captured the stars themselves and trapped them in glass, and a great land far across the Mare Magnum, richer than Croesus. I believe these visions must be sent by Tho-Mercury himself."
The priest nodded, as if understanding the words Ptahotep had meant to say. "The gods speak to us in many ways" he replied, "visions are but one path they tread to reach our souls. Sometimes they put things in our path, objects, people, but visions..." the priest trailed off for a moment, a faraway look in his eye, "visions are the most direct route they may take." Then the priest stepped closer, his frail hand coming up to grasp Ptahotep's shoulder. "Tell me more of what you see. There must be more. Are they waking or dreaming visions?"
"Dreaming." He answered, "the visions, they are more than images. They carry knowledge - of numbers that can move mountains, of histories yet unwritten, of secrets that haunt the very soul." Ptahotep bowed his head in shame. "The visions showed me that my Lord would be deposed, years before it happened, yet I didn't believe them and chose to do nothing." The priest nodded grimly, and, letting go of Ptahotep's shoulder, retreated to behind the alter, almost out of the scribe's sight.
"Your visions are a gift, Ptahotep." the priest called out, "never doubt that. A gift fraught with peril, yes, but also with promise. You must tread carefully however, for such knowledge is a double-edged sword." At that the priest came back into view, holding up a pouch for Ptahotep to take. "Tonight, tomorrow, any time when you are alone, pour these sacred herbs into your fire and breathe the smoke in deeply. Then, gods willing, you will find the answers you seek."
Ptahotep clutched the pouch tightly, the herbs within feeling like the key to a door he had long been afraid to open. Reaching into his purse, he pulled out four large aurei coins, worth about a quarter of his yearly salary, and handed them to the priest, who's eyes widened when he saw them. "For your wisdom and Mercury's favor." He bowed and exited the chamber. Despite the heavy bundle of herbs in his hand, as Ptahotep was led back to the public section of the temple, he realized that he had never felt lighter. Stepping back into the public section of the temple, he found Lucius waiting near the entrance, his familiar grin a comforting site amid the bustling temple. Lucius' eyes brightened as he saw Ptahotep, and without a word, he closed the distance between them, his presence a steady anchor in the chaos of the temple.
"Well, did you find whatever guidance you were seeking?" Lucius asked, his tone gentle and curious.
Ptahotep gave a quick nod, though he was hesitant to share the details, "I did."
Lucius gave a light nod, as if waiting for more information, and when none were presented to him, frowned slightly, before the frown suddenly disappeared and was replaced with a relieved smile, though not quite reaching his eyes. "I'm glad to hear that. Let's get out of here and find a quieter place to talk."
As they made their way out of the temple, the noise of the city enveloped them once more, but this time, Ptahotep felt more at ease. Lucius' presence, steady and warm, made the cacophony of Rome seem less overwhelming. They walked side by side, arms linked, their steps synchronizing naturally as they moved through the crowded streets.
"I have to return to my Lord's estate soon," Ptahotep said after a while, glancing between Lucius and the darkening sky. "But I would like to see you again. Perhaps on the Nones?"
Lucius' grin widened, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "The Nones, you say? That's quite a wait." He complained, knowing as well as he that it was only five days away.
Lucius leaned in closer, his breath warm against Ptahotep's ear. "How about a quieter evening then? You could come to my estate. I have a villa just outside the city. It's quiet, private... perfect for us to spend some time together without interruptions."
Ptahotep's heart raced, the implication in Lucius' words and the intensity of his gaze leaving no room for doubt about his intentions. Lucius' hand brushed lightly against Ptahotep's arm, a lingering touch that sent a shiver through him. "We could share some wine," Lucius continued, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Maybe even take a dip in the pool under the moonlight."
"A pool you say?" The scribe's face heated at the suggestion, the images Lucius painted vivid and tempting. "That sounds... lovely," Ptahotep managed, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Then it's settled," Lucius said, his grin widening further, his eyes filled with anticipation. "Meet me at the Forum just before sundown on the Nones. We'll ride out together."
As they continued to walk, the connection between them felt stronger than ever, the unspoken promise of the evening just a few short days ahead electrifying the air. When they reached the point where their paths would diverge, Lucius squeezed Ptahotep's hand gently. "Until later, then," he said, his voice soft but filled with meaning.
"Until later," Ptahotep replied, his heart soaring.
With that, they parted ways, and Ptahotep made his way back to the estate of Pompey Magnus, where his Lord was staying, a lightness in his step and a growing anticipation for the evening to come.
Meant to add this yesterday to celebrate the first day of Pride Month, but it wasn't quite ready. Anyway...
Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Fair warning, if guy-on-guy romance squicks you, you might want to give this story a miss, as Ptahotep and Lucius' romance arc is one of the three main parts of the story.
This is technically a self-insert, but the SI, Ptahotep, only experiences his first life as brief flashes during sleep... for now. This is probably not going to be a Radio to the Romans-type of uplift story, but some stuff, like stirrups and the concept of zero might get drip-fed to Rome at large.
Please tell me what you think! Comments sustain me! The next chapter is a Cleopatra POV (yes THAT Cleopatra, she was in Rome at this time and was only 11 years old) so look out for that in a week or less hopefully, I make no promises.
Happy Pride!
He was far from the only Egyptian in the city, but his olive skin, dark curly hair, beautiful face and especially his strikingly bright blue eyes– a gift from his Greek mother -certainly set him apart from the throng and attracted far more glances and whispers than he was comfortable with. His androgynous appearance added to his distinctiveness, with a slightness to his build that accentuated the modest skirted kalasiri he wore, unlike the traditional Roman toga. His garment was made of wool rather than the typical linen and with sleeves added, to better protect against the colder climate. His unique attire, coupled with his delicate features and striking eyes, altogether marked him as a figure of curiosity to the Roman populace.
A painting of Ptahotep walking the Via Labeo. Please ignore the horrible AI-generated eyes.
Several weeks had passed since he first arrived in Rome as part of his Lord's household. When Pharaoh Ptolemy XII was deposed in a popular revolt led by his own daughter and fled to Rome, Ptahotep was among the few servants who accompanied him. As his Lord's scribe, his duties were to take notes during various meetings with Senators as his Lord sought their support in reclaiming his throne. He also drafted letters, inventoried supplies, managed appointments, and more and more often in recent days, his Lord would also articulate his thoughts to Ptahotep, not so much conversing with him as using him as a vehicle to extrapolate his own thoughts. Altogether, the job, as multifaceted as it was, was arduous and often challenging, leaving him with precious little personal time. Yet, on that day, he had the entire day to himself.
Finally, Ptahotep's wanderings led him to the Temple of Mercury, a marvel of marble that commanded a moment of silent reverence. But it was not the temple alone that captured his attention that day.
"Ptahotep!"
The call of his name was loud, more than enough to be heard over the din, but was also warm with affection. Instantly recognizing it, Ptahotep turned to see Lucius, his Roman confidant, approaching him with a grin that whispered of raucous mischief. Lucius had become his guide in the city, showing him the intricacies and wonders of Roman culture. With his sturdy frame, barrel chest, and large, bulging muscles, which were actually rather typical for a young Roman of the Senatorial class, the scribe might have been too intimidated to approach him, but Lucius had proven to be a kind-hearted soul, always eager to share his knowledge and experiences with him. In the past weeks, he had become more than a guide to Ptahotep, and more than a friend.
Lucius Aurelius Orestes
"Magistrate Orestes," Ptahotep replied with his first honest smile of the day, tilting his head playfully, "your presence brightens the day, as always."
"Must you be so formal, Ptahotep?" Lucius' tone was teasing, a gentle chiding that belied a careless charm, his hazel eyes sparkling with amusement as he ignored protocol and pulled Ptahotep into a tight hug. "How many times must I tell you to call me by my name and not my title?"
The scribe's smile widened, his earlier anxieties dissolving in the warmth of their embrace even as he reluctantly pulled away a few seconds later, "At least one more time, as always. Besides, your accomplishment, joining the vaunted Vigintisexviri, deserves recognition, does it not?"
Lucius let out a full, boisterous laugh at that, a rich sound that echoed off the temple walls and caused all passers-by to break out in smiles of their own from its sheer infectiousness, his shaking frame causing one of his ruddy brown locks to tumble across his forehead. "Oh, if only you knew!" he laughed, "No one respects the Vigintisexviri! Clearing out the prisons, fixing potholes, we are the lords of small matters only. I'd never have bothered with it if Sulla hadn't made it a prerequisite for quaestorship. When I'm Consul, I'll repeal that silly law, let me tell you! But enough of such talk" he exclaimed, siding up to Ptahotep and linking their arms, "let's forget the burdens of duty and simply enjoy the company."
As the pair strolled into the temple, Ptahotep considered what Lucius had said. There was truly so much that he didn't understand about Roman society. Why were the people who oversaw the necessary maintenance of the city so looked down upon? In his native Alexandria, though its glory days were long behind it, the city magistrate was an honored position, charged with keeping the roads and aqueducts in top shape and overseeing any expansions to the city if they were needed. In comparison, Rome didn't even have a regulated street plan! Its streets were narrow, filthy and twisting.
As they explored the temple together, there was an ease between them, a gentle camaraderie that felt as natural as the flow of the Nile. Lucius moved with a grace that complimented his station, each of his gestures an invitation to discover the wonders of the sacred place. And although he tried to stay with Ptahotep throughout, he was just too popular and too outgoing to stay by the scribe's side for long. To Ptahotep, it seemed like Lucius was everyone's friend: priests, plebeians and patricians alike, and even if someone didn't know him personally, his toga praetexta, a white toga with a broad purple stripe that could be worn only by men of the Senatorial Class, when paired with his young age, marked him as one of the city's rising young elites, and thus a man worthy of knowing. Ptahotep would never admit it out loud, but he did feel a small stab of jealousy every time a beautiful young woman or a strapping young man would pull Lucius away from him, and yet, Lucius never strayed too far or too long, always returning to Ptahotep's side, his gaze lingering with an intensity that quickened the scribe's pulse.
The gossip of the day was all about the former Consul Julius Caesar and his recent victories against the Gauls, but Ptahotep didn't bother listening to any of it. He had chosen to visit the Temple of Mercury, of all the temples, on his day off for a reason. After hours of waiting, his turn finally came, and soon, Ptahotep alone was shepherded by an attendant deeper into the temple, and, as he approached the Inner Sanctum, the attendant beckoned for him to remove his sandals, which he did. The cool marble soothed his feet as he stepped into the chamber. The air was heavy with the scent of incense and the gentle flicker of the candles cast dancing shadows on the walls adorned with frescoes depicting Mercury's mythical exploits. While Ptahotep was no expert on Roman myths, he had learned from his mother, a former priestess of Aphrodite, that the gods of the Greeks, Egyptians and Romans were the same.
Jupiter, Zeus, Amun-Ra - they were all aspects of the sovereign of the sky. Neptune, Poseidon, Sobek - all aspects of the lord of the waters. Venus, Aphrodite, Hathor - embodiments of love and beauty. Pluto, Hades, Anubis - all aspects of Death. And Mercury, Hermes, Thoth - the divine scribe and messenger, bridging the gods and men.
There were many differences and discrepancies between their aspects of course, but his mother had taught him that those discrepancies were merely a testament to mankind's attempt to grasp the unfathomable, to give form to the formless. Ptahotep knew that while the gods were constant, their faces changed with each eye that beheld them.
It was Thoth's guidance he truly needed now. Thoth, who was the scribe and messenger of the gods, as well as the god of prophecy.
The Inner Sanctum of the Temple of Mercury in Rome
He approached the alter, his heart pounding with a mixture of trepidation and hope. The aged priest standing beside it, clad in rich brown robes, turned to him with an expectant gaze.
"I seek the wisdom of Mercury" Ptahotep croaked, his mouth suddenly turning dry. "My whole life, I have had strange visions-" Ptahotep was startled from his telling when the old priest's gaze suddenly bore into him, and from somewhere behind him, he heard something fall and clang against the floor, causing him to jump. He glanced around but saw nothing. After a few moments of tense silence, he continued, refocusing on the priest. "...strange visions. Visions of a world far beyond our mortal understanding. I see towering iron structures that kiss the sky, men who have captured the stars themselves and trapped them in glass, and a great land far across the Mare Magnum, richer than Croesus. I believe these visions must be sent by Tho-Mercury himself."
The priest nodded, as if understanding the words Ptahotep had meant to say. "The gods speak to us in many ways" he replied, "visions are but one path they tread to reach our souls. Sometimes they put things in our path, objects, people, but visions..." the priest trailed off for a moment, a faraway look in his eye, "visions are the most direct route they may take." Then the priest stepped closer, his frail hand coming up to grasp Ptahotep's shoulder. "Tell me more of what you see. There must be more. Are they waking or dreaming visions?"
"Dreaming." He answered, "the visions, they are more than images. They carry knowledge - of numbers that can move mountains, of histories yet unwritten, of secrets that haunt the very soul." Ptahotep bowed his head in shame. "The visions showed me that my Lord would be deposed, years before it happened, yet I didn't believe them and chose to do nothing." The priest nodded grimly, and, letting go of Ptahotep's shoulder, retreated to behind the alter, almost out of the scribe's sight.
"Your visions are a gift, Ptahotep." the priest called out, "never doubt that. A gift fraught with peril, yes, but also with promise. You must tread carefully however, for such knowledge is a double-edged sword." At that the priest came back into view, holding up a pouch for Ptahotep to take. "Tonight, tomorrow, any time when you are alone, pour these sacred herbs into your fire and breathe the smoke in deeply. Then, gods willing, you will find the answers you seek."
Ptahotep clutched the pouch tightly, the herbs within feeling like the key to a door he had long been afraid to open. Reaching into his purse, he pulled out four large aurei coins, worth about a quarter of his yearly salary, and handed them to the priest, who's eyes widened when he saw them. "For your wisdom and Mercury's favor." He bowed and exited the chamber. Despite the heavy bundle of herbs in his hand, as Ptahotep was led back to the public section of the temple, he realized that he had never felt lighter. Stepping back into the public section of the temple, he found Lucius waiting near the entrance, his familiar grin a comforting site amid the bustling temple. Lucius' eyes brightened as he saw Ptahotep, and without a word, he closed the distance between them, his presence a steady anchor in the chaos of the temple.
"Well, did you find whatever guidance you were seeking?" Lucius asked, his tone gentle and curious.
Ptahotep gave a quick nod, though he was hesitant to share the details, "I did."
Lucius gave a light nod, as if waiting for more information, and when none were presented to him, frowned slightly, before the frown suddenly disappeared and was replaced with a relieved smile, though not quite reaching his eyes. "I'm glad to hear that. Let's get out of here and find a quieter place to talk."
As they made their way out of the temple, the noise of the city enveloped them once more, but this time, Ptahotep felt more at ease. Lucius' presence, steady and warm, made the cacophony of Rome seem less overwhelming. They walked side by side, arms linked, their steps synchronizing naturally as they moved through the crowded streets.
"I have to return to my Lord's estate soon," Ptahotep said after a while, glancing between Lucius and the darkening sky. "But I would like to see you again. Perhaps on the Nones?"
Lucius' grin widened, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "The Nones, you say? That's quite a wait." He complained, knowing as well as he that it was only five days away.
Lucius leaned in closer, his breath warm against Ptahotep's ear. "How about a quieter evening then? You could come to my estate. I have a villa just outside the city. It's quiet, private... perfect for us to spend some time together without interruptions."
Ptahotep's heart raced, the implication in Lucius' words and the intensity of his gaze leaving no room for doubt about his intentions. Lucius' hand brushed lightly against Ptahotep's arm, a lingering touch that sent a shiver through him. "We could share some wine," Lucius continued, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Maybe even take a dip in the pool under the moonlight."
"A pool you say?" The scribe's face heated at the suggestion, the images Lucius painted vivid and tempting. "That sounds... lovely," Ptahotep managed, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Then it's settled," Lucius said, his grin widening further, his eyes filled with anticipation. "Meet me at the Forum just before sundown on the Nones. We'll ride out together."
As they continued to walk, the connection between them felt stronger than ever, the unspoken promise of the evening just a few short days ahead electrifying the air. When they reached the point where their paths would diverge, Lucius squeezed Ptahotep's hand gently. "Until later, then," he said, his voice soft but filled with meaning.
"Until later," Ptahotep replied, his heart soaring.
With that, they parted ways, and Ptahotep made his way back to the estate of Pompey Magnus, where his Lord was staying, a lightness in his step and a growing anticipation for the evening to come.
Meant to add this yesterday to celebrate the first day of Pride Month, but it wasn't quite ready. Anyway...
Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Fair warning, if guy-on-guy romance squicks you, you might want to give this story a miss, as Ptahotep and Lucius' romance arc is one of the three main parts of the story.
This is technically a self-insert, but the SI, Ptahotep, only experiences his first life as brief flashes during sleep... for now. This is probably not going to be a Radio to the Romans-type of uplift story, but some stuff, like stirrups and the concept of zero might get drip-fed to Rome at large.
Please tell me what you think! Comments sustain me! The next chapter is a Cleopatra POV (yes THAT Cleopatra, she was in Rome at this time and was only 11 years old) so look out for that in a week or less hopefully, I make no promises.
Happy Pride!
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2. Cleopatra
Mingo
Son of a Hazmot
Cleopatra lounged in the ornate hall, her fingers drumming restlessly against the arm of the chair. The inside of Pompey Magnus' grand villa, with its marble pillars and luxurious tapestries, held little appeal to an eleven-year-old girl with a mind as sharp and restless as hers. Her father, Pharaoh Ptolemy XII, was ensconced in his chambers, the mournful notes of his flute drifting through the corridors—a sign he was suffering from one of his terrible headaches and was in no mood for company; Ptahotep, her father's scribe and her sometimes tutor, was enjoying a rare day off; and by now, all of the servants and slaves knew better than to attempt to entertain her.
Cleopatra herself was feeling unusually energetic today, a welcome respite from the severe tiredness that often plagued her. She knew such moments were fleeting and precious, so she intended to make the most of it.₁ Boredom gnawed at her, and she knew there was only one remedy: adventure. The moment a plan formed in her mind, the princess sprang out of her seat, eyes sparkling with mischief as she slipped out of the hall. She had a Roman estate to explore!
She weaved through the corridors with practiced stealth, avoiding the watchful eyes of the servants who would surely urge her to rest, as if they knew her body better than she did! Cleopatra had long learned to navigate the delicate balance between managing her condition and seizing the moments of vitality that came her way. Today, she felt invincible, and nothing would deter her from discovering the secrets that lay hidden within. She soon found a doorway leading out and managed to slink outside with none the wiser.
The first stop on her adventure were the flowering gardens immediately outside the visitor's wing of the large estate. The princess quickly got bored of them though, after a few minutes spent smelling and admiring the lilies, irises and roses, she sped further down the path to her destination, a place she had only seen briefly once when she and her father first arrived at the estate. Finally, she reached her destination.
There was a reason why Pompey's favorite villa was named the Domus Rostrata. Right beside the villa's main entrance, Pompey had had the prows of several captured ships displayed, as if jutting out from the wall! And not just any ships but Pirate Ships! An odd choice for sure, Cleopatra thought, but certainly imposing in its own right! It must have been expensive too, especially since the villa was nowhere near the sea!
The princess dashed from prow to prow, studying each one. Some of them were Greek triremes, a couple she thought were from Pontus, and the one at the far end she immediately recognized as an Egyptian Felucca, which was a type of narrow, flat-bottomed ship that could easily navigate rivers such as the Nile.
She approached the Egyptian prow, running her fingers over the weathered cedar and wondered at the battles the ship must have fought in before it finally fell to Pompey. As she stood before it, Cleopatra let her imagination soar, envisioning herself as Pirate Queen Nefertari, who had ruled the Nile in all but name two hundred years before.₃ She imagined commanding a fleet of ships, her enemies trembling at the sight of her. In her mind, she was invincible, steering her people through the tumultuous waters, outsmarting her ancestor Ptolemy III, and plundering the wealth of entire cities from Syene to Memphis.
With each step, Cleopatra's fantasy grew more vivid. She climbed onto the prow and scrambled up the side as she pretended she was leading her troops in a raid, dodging invisible arrows. The wood creaked dangerously under her feet and she felt a rush of exhilaration. For a few glorious moments, she was not just a bored princess but a fierce and powerful queen of the waves.
As she reached the prow's deck, Cleopatra realized that her breathing had become ragged, a familiar weight settling over her as she struggled to control her breathing, her knuckles turning white as she clutched the edge of the prow. Cleopatra hated this weakness in herself, her mother, who was also her father's sister, had suffered from the same condition before she had passed.
However, despite the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her, Cleopatra's mind remained as resolute as ever. She would not let this moment of weakness rob her of the adventure she had so eagerly sought. With sheer determination, she pushed herself to stand, her eyes scanning the horizon as if she were truly the Pirate Queen she had imagined.
"I will not be defeated, not by you," she swore between labored breaths, her imagination personifying her body's weakness, giving it human form, a form that looked suspiciously like her elder sister Berenice, her father's usurper.
Soon enough, she was able to take deep breaths once again, her body willing to cooperate just a little longer, and so she climbed down the prow and resumed her exploring, albeit with less enthusiasm than before.
As she reached the very back of the estate, she spied stables and another garden, but both were being worked by slaves, too many to sneak past, so she continued down the path, eventually finding a small empty courtyard nestled between two wings of the house. Two ornate doors stood before her, each leading to a different wing. She tried the handle of the first door, but it was locked. Undeterred, she moved to the second door and found it unlocked. With a quick glance around to ensure she wasn't being watched, she slipped inside, imagining what hidden treasures might lie within.
Finding herself in a big, dimly lit hallway, the princess crept forward on her tiptoes. Exploring the grounds was one thing, but a guest sneaking around in one of the private wings? If she were discovered, she would get in so much trouble! As she turned a corner, Cleopatra smiled at the thought, she would never let that kind of thing deter her!
Which was when she promptly collided face-first into a guard.
Cleopatra reeled back in shock as the guard clutched at the gladius in his scabbard. The man's eyes widened in surprise, and Cleopatra's heart skipped a beat. Thinking quickly, she put on her most innocent expression. It must have worked as the man let go of his sword.
"What are you doing here, little one?" the guard asked, suspicion in his voice. "The visitor's wing is on the other side of the domus."
Cleopatra blinked up at him with wide eyes, as wide as she could manage. "I'm lost," she said softly, her voice trembling just enough to evoke sympathy. "I was looking for the garden."
The guard hesitated, his stern expression softening. "You shouldn't be wandering around alone," he admonished gently. "Come, I'll take you back."
"No!" Cleopatra blurted, then quickly corrected herself. "I mean, I'm a big girl! I can find my way back. Please, I just need to know which direction."
The guard frowned, and seemed to struggle with himself, but after a moment, Cleopatra knew that she had him. After all, it would be such a headache to turn her in, he'd have to give a report to his superior, and it would mean leaving his patrol. Indeed, a moment later, he sighed and pointed down the hall. "Straight down there, then turn left at the end. You'll find the garden entrance."
Cleopatra flashed him a grateful smile and darted off in the direction he indicated, but once she was sure she was out of sight, she slipped through another doorway, continuing her exploration with renewed caution.
She soon found herself in another corridor, this one ending in a grand room where voices echoed off the walls. Cleopatra recognized Pompey's distinctive egotistical tone, laced with irritation, but didn't recognize the second voice. However, they were speaking in Latin, a language she still didn't understand all that well. There were some words and phrases she just couldn't make out.
Cleopatra crept closer, finding a spot behind a large marble column where she could see the two men without being seen. Pompey stood tall and imperious, wearing a simple toga, his arms crossed over his chest. The other man was dressed more finely however, with gold sewn into his toga and a jeweled ring on nearly every finger. Cleopatra marveled at his finery, noting that this man, whoever he was, must be incredibly wealthy.
"Caesar was supposed to go away quietly," said the strange man, his voice calm yet edged with concern. "But with every victory he gets louder."
"Caesar is a thug," Pompey retorted, his tone dismissive. "A dog. And a barking dog non habet morsum."₄
"You underestimated him."
Pompey huffed, the sound echoing through the chamber. "We both did."
"Still," the other continued, "it's amazing, quid facto tantum. Since we pushed him out of Rome, he has gone from strength to strength. If he conquers—"
"He hasn't conquered Gallia yet and he won't!" Pompey interrupted, his voice rising. "Ego possum, of course, but him? Numquam, Crassus!"
"I served with him, not you. Capax est, brilliant even! If he conquers Gallia, he could eclipse us. Us!"
"Non faciet!" Pompey snapped, slamming his hand down on the desk beside him. "He will make a stupid mistake and get himself killed; videbis. It's just a matter of time."
"That would be bonem for you, wouldn't it?" the stranger's voice dripped with insinuation. "His wealth would pass to his daughter, your new bride, hmm? And from her to you."
"More like his debts," Pompey scoffed. "Pah! Let him throw himself at the barbarians and die a penniless disgrace, I will hear no more of it."
With that, the conversation drew to a close, and Cleopatra decided to make her escape. After tracing her steps back to near where she had encountered the guard, she followed the directions he had given her, but as she swung open the door to the visitor's wing, she collided with a familiar figure.
"Ptahotep!" she gasped, eyes wide with surprise.
The scribe looked down at her, a mixture of surprise, relief and amusement in his eyes. "Cleopatra," he said softly yet sternly, "I was looking for you. What were you doing in Pompey's private wing?"
Caught but unrepentant, Cleopatra lifted her chin defiantly. "Exploring," she replied with a crooked grin.
Ptahotep sighed, taking her by the hand. "You know you're not supposed to wander off alone," he chided gently. "Come, I'll take you back to your father."
Cleopatra's heart sank at the thought of facing her father during one of his moods, but she followed Ptahotep obediently, the mournful notes of her father's flute growing louder as they neared his chambers. As they walked together, Cleopatra's mind raced with all the information she had learned. When they reached her father's chambers, Ptahotep knocked softly. At once, the music stopped, and her father called for them to enter, which they did. The room and its adjacent bedroom and washroom were as opulent as ever, and filled with all manner of musical instruments, scrolls, papyri, and maps- maps of Egypt, Cyprus, the Nile, and of Alexandria itself. Cleopatra wanted desperately to continue looking about the room, she wanted to look anywhere but at her father, not out of shame, no, that was a foreign concept to the haughty princess, but because she could hardly stand the sight of him. She preferred to think of her father as he was in her memories, not as he was after his defeat and exile. However, she really had no other choice in this instance, and so raised her head to meet her father's gaze as she and Ptahhotep stopped in front of him.
He really was a shadow of his former self.
Her father reclined on a cushioned chair, clutching his ivory flute in his pale, bony hands. His once regal bearing having given way to a hunched posture, his shoulders sagging low as if under the weight of an impossible burden. His face, once handsome and commanding, was now gaunt and lined with traces of stress, and dark circles under his eyes testified to many sleepless nights. His hair, once a lustrous black streaked with silver, was now completely grey, and thinning to boot. His eyes, however, were the most striking change, the most heartbreaking—they had lost the spark of confidence and authority that she remembered as a little girl, instead, they were clouded with pain, sorrow, and perhaps just a tinge of madness, not that she would ever say such a thing out loud.
Growing up, Cleopatra, like all Egyptians, had believed her father to be a living god, like the long line of Ptolemies before him, all the way back to the first Ptolemy, who was blood brother to Alexander the Great himself.
She no longer believed such stories though.
As he looked up at Cleopatra and Ptahotep, there was a flicker of recognition and a brief softening of his expression, but it quickly faded back into the stern, weary gaze that had become his norm. His once booming voice was now a hoarse whisper, barely concealing the frustration and bitterness that had taken root in his heart. "Why have you come?"
"Your Divine Majesty," the scribe said, bowing deeply. "I found the young princess wandering the villa, coming from one of the restricted sections."
Ptolemy's eyes narrowed slightly, though more out of exhaustion than anger. He turned his gaze to Cleopatra, who stood with her chin held high, defiance in her eyes.
"My daughter," he began, his voice rasping, "why were you in the restricted areas? Have you no regard for our host or the trouble you might cause?"
"I was bored, Father," she replied. "There is nothing to do here, and you were... busy." She glanced at the flute in his hands, "I wanted to explore."
Ptolemy sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of his disappointment and weariness. "This is not Alexandria," he said, his voice softening slightly. "We are guests here and must respect Pompey's hospitality and rules. Do you understand?"
"Yes Father," Cleopatra replied, though there was a stubborn set to her jaw that suggested otherwise.
Ptahotep intervened gently. "Your Majesty, Cleopatra is curious by nature, a trait that will serve her well in time. Perhaps, rather than confinement, we might direct her energies towards more productive endeavors?"
Ptolemy's gaze shifted back to his daughter, and for a moment, the old spark of paternal pride flickered in his eyes. "Very well," he conceded, nodding slowly. "But Cleopatra, you must promise to stay out of restricted areas. Do I have your word?"
Cleopatra hesitated for a moment before nodding. "You have my word, Father."
Ptolemy leaned back in his chair, a small, tired smile crossing his lips. "Good. Now leave me. Both of you."
Cleopatra turned to leave, but as she reached the door, she paused and looked back at her father. "Father, I overheard something while I was exploring. Pompey and another man, a very rich man by the looks of it, were talking about Caesar. They seem worried about him."
Ptolemy's eyes snapped open, a flicker of interest adding vitality to his gaze. "What did they say?" he asked, his voice sharper.
Cleopatra recounted the bits of conversation she had understood, her limited Latin making some parts unclear. Ptolemy listened intently, his expression darkening with each word, and when she finished with a recounting of the words she didn't understand, the eyebrows of both her father and Ptahotep rose upon the mention of Crassus. When she finally finished talking, her father nodded slowly, sharing a thoughtful look with Ptahotep as if to say 'we will talk about this later.'
"Thank you, Cleopatra," he said, his voice regaining a hint of its old authority. "You may go."
As she left the room with Ptahotep, Cleopatra felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. The excitement of her adventure had worn off, and her body now demanded rest. She walked slowly beside Ptahotep, her steps growing heavier with each passing moment.
"Come, my princess," Ptahotep said kindly, noticing her fatigue. "Let us find you a place to rest."
Cleopatra protested weakly, but all the same allowed Ptahotep to guide her to her bedroom. She shot a tired glare at the four-poster bed even as she blissfully sank into the feather mattress. She had put up a valiant fight, but sleep had claimed victory in the end, as it always did. As her eyelids closed and sleep claimed her, she could just barely feel Ptahotep drape her in a light blanket.
And then she was gone.
And somewhere, on an old cedar Felucca, rocking with the gentle waves of the Nile, a Pirate Queen stood tall at the helm, ready to conquer the world.
That's it for Chapter Two! If you enjoyed the chapter, please like and leave a comment, it really helps with the algorithm!
What do you mean there's no algorithm!!!
Cleopatra herself was feeling unusually energetic today, a welcome respite from the severe tiredness that often plagued her. She knew such moments were fleeting and precious, so she intended to make the most of it.₁ Boredom gnawed at her, and she knew there was only one remedy: adventure. The moment a plan formed in her mind, the princess sprang out of her seat, eyes sparkling with mischief as she slipped out of the hall. She had a Roman estate to explore!
She weaved through the corridors with practiced stealth, avoiding the watchful eyes of the servants who would surely urge her to rest, as if they knew her body better than she did! Cleopatra had long learned to navigate the delicate balance between managing her condition and seizing the moments of vitality that came her way. Today, she felt invincible, and nothing would deter her from discovering the secrets that lay hidden within. She soon found a doorway leading out and managed to slink outside with none the wiser.
The first stop on her adventure were the flowering gardens immediately outside the visitor's wing of the large estate. The princess quickly got bored of them though, after a few minutes spent smelling and admiring the lilies, irises and roses, she sped further down the path to her destination, a place she had only seen briefly once when she and her father first arrived at the estate. Finally, she reached her destination.
There was a reason why Pompey's favorite villa was named the Domus Rostrata. Right beside the villa's main entrance, Pompey had had the prows of several captured ships displayed, as if jutting out from the wall! And not just any ships but Pirate Ships! An odd choice for sure, Cleopatra thought, but certainly imposing in its own right! It must have been expensive too, especially since the villa was nowhere near the sea!
Not quite what I imagine the Domus Rostrata looking like but close-ish. ₂
The princess dashed from prow to prow, studying each one. Some of them were Greek triremes, a couple she thought were from Pontus, and the one at the far end she immediately recognized as an Egyptian Felucca, which was a type of narrow, flat-bottomed ship that could easily navigate rivers such as the Nile.
She approached the Egyptian prow, running her fingers over the weathered cedar and wondered at the battles the ship must have fought in before it finally fell to Pompey. As she stood before it, Cleopatra let her imagination soar, envisioning herself as Pirate Queen Nefertari, who had ruled the Nile in all but name two hundred years before.₃ She imagined commanding a fleet of ships, her enemies trembling at the sight of her. In her mind, she was invincible, steering her people through the tumultuous waters, outsmarting her ancestor Ptolemy III, and plundering the wealth of entire cities from Syene to Memphis.
With each step, Cleopatra's fantasy grew more vivid. She climbed onto the prow and scrambled up the side as she pretended she was leading her troops in a raid, dodging invisible arrows. The wood creaked dangerously under her feet and she felt a rush of exhilaration. For a few glorious moments, she was not just a bored princess but a fierce and powerful queen of the waves.
As she reached the prow's deck, Cleopatra realized that her breathing had become ragged, a familiar weight settling over her as she struggled to control her breathing, her knuckles turning white as she clutched the edge of the prow. Cleopatra hated this weakness in herself, her mother, who was also her father's sister, had suffered from the same condition before she had passed.
However, despite the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her, Cleopatra's mind remained as resolute as ever. She would not let this moment of weakness rob her of the adventure she had so eagerly sought. With sheer determination, she pushed herself to stand, her eyes scanning the horizon as if she were truly the Pirate Queen she had imagined.
"I will not be defeated, not by you," she swore between labored breaths, her imagination personifying her body's weakness, giving it human form, a form that looked suspiciously like her elder sister Berenice, her father's usurper.
Soon enough, she was able to take deep breaths once again, her body willing to cooperate just a little longer, and so she climbed down the prow and resumed her exploring, albeit with less enthusiasm than before.
As she reached the very back of the estate, she spied stables and another garden, but both were being worked by slaves, too many to sneak past, so she continued down the path, eventually finding a small empty courtyard nestled between two wings of the house. Two ornate doors stood before her, each leading to a different wing. She tried the handle of the first door, but it was locked. Undeterred, she moved to the second door and found it unlocked. With a quick glance around to ensure she wasn't being watched, she slipped inside, imagining what hidden treasures might lie within.
Finding herself in a big, dimly lit hallway, the princess crept forward on her tiptoes. Exploring the grounds was one thing, but a guest sneaking around in one of the private wings? If she were discovered, she would get in so much trouble! As she turned a corner, Cleopatra smiled at the thought, she would never let that kind of thing deter her!
Which was when she promptly collided face-first into a guard.
Cleopatra reeled back in shock as the guard clutched at the gladius in his scabbard. The man's eyes widened in surprise, and Cleopatra's heart skipped a beat. Thinking quickly, she put on her most innocent expression. It must have worked as the man let go of his sword.
"What are you doing here, little one?" the guard asked, suspicion in his voice. "The visitor's wing is on the other side of the domus."
Cleopatra blinked up at him with wide eyes, as wide as she could manage. "I'm lost," she said softly, her voice trembling just enough to evoke sympathy. "I was looking for the garden."
The guard hesitated, his stern expression softening. "You shouldn't be wandering around alone," he admonished gently. "Come, I'll take you back."
"No!" Cleopatra blurted, then quickly corrected herself. "I mean, I'm a big girl! I can find my way back. Please, I just need to know which direction."
The guard frowned, and seemed to struggle with himself, but after a moment, Cleopatra knew that she had him. After all, it would be such a headache to turn her in, he'd have to give a report to his superior, and it would mean leaving his patrol. Indeed, a moment later, he sighed and pointed down the hall. "Straight down there, then turn left at the end. You'll find the garden entrance."
Cleopatra flashed him a grateful smile and darted off in the direction he indicated, but once she was sure she was out of sight, she slipped through another doorway, continuing her exploration with renewed caution.
She soon found herself in another corridor, this one ending in a grand room where voices echoed off the walls. Cleopatra recognized Pompey's distinctive egotistical tone, laced with irritation, but didn't recognize the second voice. However, they were speaking in Latin, a language she still didn't understand all that well. There were some words and phrases she just couldn't make out.
Cleopatra crept closer, finding a spot behind a large marble column where she could see the two men without being seen. Pompey stood tall and imperious, wearing a simple toga, his arms crossed over his chest. The other man was dressed more finely however, with gold sewn into his toga and a jeweled ring on nearly every finger. Cleopatra marveled at his finery, noting that this man, whoever he was, must be incredibly wealthy.
"Caesar was supposed to go away quietly," said the strange man, his voice calm yet edged with concern. "But with every victory he gets louder."
"Caesar is a thug," Pompey retorted, his tone dismissive. "A dog. And a barking dog non habet morsum."₄
"You underestimated him."
Pompey huffed, the sound echoing through the chamber. "We both did."
"Still," the other continued, "it's amazing, quid facto tantum. Since we pushed him out of Rome, he has gone from strength to strength. If he conquers—"
"He hasn't conquered Gallia yet and he won't!" Pompey interrupted, his voice rising. "Ego possum, of course, but him? Numquam, Crassus!"
"I served with him, not you. Capax est, brilliant even! If he conquers Gallia, he could eclipse us. Us!"
"Non faciet!" Pompey snapped, slamming his hand down on the desk beside him. "He will make a stupid mistake and get himself killed; videbis. It's just a matter of time."
"That would be bonem for you, wouldn't it?" the stranger's voice dripped with insinuation. "His wealth would pass to his daughter, your new bride, hmm? And from her to you."
"More like his debts," Pompey scoffed. "Pah! Let him throw himself at the barbarians and die a penniless disgrace, I will hear no more of it."
With that, the conversation drew to a close, and Cleopatra decided to make her escape. After tracing her steps back to near where she had encountered the guard, she followed the directions he had given her, but as she swung open the door to the visitor's wing, she collided with a familiar figure.
"Ptahotep!" she gasped, eyes wide with surprise.
The scribe looked down at her, a mixture of surprise, relief and amusement in his eyes. "Cleopatra," he said softly yet sternly, "I was looking for you. What were you doing in Pompey's private wing?"
Caught but unrepentant, Cleopatra lifted her chin defiantly. "Exploring," she replied with a crooked grin.
Ptahotep sighed, taking her by the hand. "You know you're not supposed to wander off alone," he chided gently. "Come, I'll take you back to your father."
Cleopatra's heart sank at the thought of facing her father during one of his moods, but she followed Ptahotep obediently, the mournful notes of her father's flute growing louder as they neared his chambers. As they walked together, Cleopatra's mind raced with all the information she had learned. When they reached her father's chambers, Ptahotep knocked softly. At once, the music stopped, and her father called for them to enter, which they did. The room and its adjacent bedroom and washroom were as opulent as ever, and filled with all manner of musical instruments, scrolls, papyri, and maps- maps of Egypt, Cyprus, the Nile, and of Alexandria itself. Cleopatra wanted desperately to continue looking about the room, she wanted to look anywhere but at her father, not out of shame, no, that was a foreign concept to the haughty princess, but because she could hardly stand the sight of him. She preferred to think of her father as he was in her memories, not as he was after his defeat and exile. However, she really had no other choice in this instance, and so raised her head to meet her father's gaze as she and Ptahhotep stopped in front of him.
He really was a shadow of his former self.
Her father reclined on a cushioned chair, clutching his ivory flute in his pale, bony hands. His once regal bearing having given way to a hunched posture, his shoulders sagging low as if under the weight of an impossible burden. His face, once handsome and commanding, was now gaunt and lined with traces of stress, and dark circles under his eyes testified to many sleepless nights. His hair, once a lustrous black streaked with silver, was now completely grey, and thinning to boot. His eyes, however, were the most striking change, the most heartbreaking—they had lost the spark of confidence and authority that she remembered as a little girl, instead, they were clouded with pain, sorrow, and perhaps just a tinge of madness, not that she would ever say such a thing out loud.
Growing up, Cleopatra, like all Egyptians, had believed her father to be a living god, like the long line of Ptolemies before him, all the way back to the first Ptolemy, who was blood brother to Alexander the Great himself.
She no longer believed such stories though.
As he looked up at Cleopatra and Ptahotep, there was a flicker of recognition and a brief softening of his expression, but it quickly faded back into the stern, weary gaze that had become his norm. His once booming voice was now a hoarse whisper, barely concealing the frustration and bitterness that had taken root in his heart. "Why have you come?"
"Your Divine Majesty," the scribe said, bowing deeply. "I found the young princess wandering the villa, coming from one of the restricted sections."
Ptolemy's eyes narrowed slightly, though more out of exhaustion than anger. He turned his gaze to Cleopatra, who stood with her chin held high, defiance in her eyes.
"My daughter," he began, his voice rasping, "why were you in the restricted areas? Have you no regard for our host or the trouble you might cause?"
"I was bored, Father," she replied. "There is nothing to do here, and you were... busy." She glanced at the flute in his hands, "I wanted to explore."
Ptolemy sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of his disappointment and weariness. "This is not Alexandria," he said, his voice softening slightly. "We are guests here and must respect Pompey's hospitality and rules. Do you understand?"
"Yes Father," Cleopatra replied, though there was a stubborn set to her jaw that suggested otherwise.
Ptahotep intervened gently. "Your Majesty, Cleopatra is curious by nature, a trait that will serve her well in time. Perhaps, rather than confinement, we might direct her energies towards more productive endeavors?"
Ptolemy's gaze shifted back to his daughter, and for a moment, the old spark of paternal pride flickered in his eyes. "Very well," he conceded, nodding slowly. "But Cleopatra, you must promise to stay out of restricted areas. Do I have your word?"
Cleopatra hesitated for a moment before nodding. "You have my word, Father."
Ptolemy leaned back in his chair, a small, tired smile crossing his lips. "Good. Now leave me. Both of you."
Cleopatra turned to leave, but as she reached the door, she paused and looked back at her father. "Father, I overheard something while I was exploring. Pompey and another man, a very rich man by the looks of it, were talking about Caesar. They seem worried about him."
Ptolemy's eyes snapped open, a flicker of interest adding vitality to his gaze. "What did they say?" he asked, his voice sharper.
Cleopatra recounted the bits of conversation she had understood, her limited Latin making some parts unclear. Ptolemy listened intently, his expression darkening with each word, and when she finished with a recounting of the words she didn't understand, the eyebrows of both her father and Ptahotep rose upon the mention of Crassus. When she finally finished talking, her father nodded slowly, sharing a thoughtful look with Ptahotep as if to say 'we will talk about this later.'
"Thank you, Cleopatra," he said, his voice regaining a hint of its old authority. "You may go."
As she left the room with Ptahotep, Cleopatra felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. The excitement of her adventure had worn off, and her body now demanded rest. She walked slowly beside Ptahotep, her steps growing heavier with each passing moment.
"Come, my princess," Ptahotep said kindly, noticing her fatigue. "Let us find you a place to rest."
Cleopatra protested weakly, but all the same allowed Ptahotep to guide her to her bedroom. She shot a tired glare at the four-poster bed even as she blissfully sank into the feather mattress. She had put up a valiant fight, but sleep had claimed victory in the end, as it always did. As her eyelids closed and sleep claimed her, she could just barely feel Ptahotep drape her in a light blanket.
And then she was gone.
And somewhere, on an old cedar Felucca, rocking with the gentle waves of the Nile, a Pirate Queen stood tall at the helm, ready to conquer the world.
1. There's no proof that I've found that Cleopatra or any member of her family suffered from Chronic Fatigue or that Ptolemy XII suffered from Chronic Migraines, but chances are that the systemic inbreeding that the Ptolemaic dynasty constantly practiced negatively impacted their health in some way.
2. Although there is maddeningly little information available online about how the Domus Rostrata displayed the prows of Pompey's captured ships, it's unlikely (though not out-of-character for Pompey) that that much of the prows were featured. During the Roman Empire, there was a similar practice, but that one only featured the rams of the ships, as seen in the image below. I took creative license because this was cooler.
3. Yeah, there was no Pirate Queen Nefertari. That whole thing is a great big nod to the character from the interactive novel Choice of Alexandria written by the incomparable Kevin Gold, whom I am likely the biggest fanboy of. If this bothers you, let me know and I won't mention her again. But I thought it was cute for Cleo to idolize her, so I put it in.
2. Although there is maddeningly little information available online about how the Domus Rostrata displayed the prows of Pompey's captured ships, it's unlikely (though not out-of-character for Pompey) that that much of the prows were featured. During the Roman Empire, there was a similar practice, but that one only featured the rams of the ships, as seen in the image below. I took creative license because this was cooler.
3. Yeah, there was no Pirate Queen Nefertari. That whole thing is a great big nod to the character from the interactive novel Choice of Alexandria written by the incomparable Kevin Gold, whom I am likely the biggest fanboy of. If this bothers you, let me know and I won't mention her again. But I thought it was cute for Cleo to idolize her, so I put it in.
"Caesar was supposed to go away quietly," said the strange man, his voice calm yet edged with concern. "But with every victory he gets louder."
"Caesar is a thug," Pompey retorted, his tone dismissive. "A dog. And a barking dog has no bite."
"You underestimated him."
Pompey huffed, the sound echoing through the chamber. "We both did."
"Still," the other continued, "it's amazing, what he's done so far. Since we pushed him out of Rome, he has gone from strength to strength. If he conquers—"
"He hasn't conquered Gaul yet and he won't!" Pompey interrupted, his voice rising. "I can, of course, but him? Never, Crassus!"
"I served with him, not you. He is capable, brilliant even! If he conquers Gaul, he could eclipse us. Us!"
"He won't!" Pompey snapped, slamming his hand down on the desk beside him. "He will make a stupid mistake and get himself killed; you will see. It's just a matter of time."
"That would be good for you, wouldn't it?" the stranger's voice dripped with insinuation. "His wealth would pass to his daughter, your new bride, hmm? And from her to you."
"More like his debts," Pompey scoffed. "Pah! Let him throw himself at the barbarians and die a penniless disgrace, I will hear no more of it."
"Caesar is a thug," Pompey retorted, his tone dismissive. "A dog. And a barking dog has no bite."
"You underestimated him."
Pompey huffed, the sound echoing through the chamber. "We both did."
"Still," the other continued, "it's amazing, what he's done so far. Since we pushed him out of Rome, he has gone from strength to strength. If he conquers—"
"He hasn't conquered Gaul yet and he won't!" Pompey interrupted, his voice rising. "I can, of course, but him? Never, Crassus!"
"I served with him, not you. He is capable, brilliant even! If he conquers Gaul, he could eclipse us. Us!"
"He won't!" Pompey snapped, slamming his hand down on the desk beside him. "He will make a stupid mistake and get himself killed; you will see. It's just a matter of time."
"That would be good for you, wouldn't it?" the stranger's voice dripped with insinuation. "His wealth would pass to his daughter, your new bride, hmm? And from her to you."
"More like his debts," Pompey scoffed. "Pah! Let him throw himself at the barbarians and die a penniless disgrace, I will hear no more of it."
That's it for Chapter Two! If you enjoyed the chapter, please like and leave a comment, it really helps with the algorithm!
What do you mean there's no algorithm!!!
3. Cassius
Mingo
Son of a Hazmot
This is the last of the main characters for this leg of the fic. I'm not totally happy with this chapter and might do some tinkering tomorrow.
Cassius Cornelius Lentulus Acerbus bounced his leg impatiently as he sat in the atrium of the office of the Praetor Urbanus. Despite the late hour, the chambers were bustling with activity. Servants and scribes moved briskly, an undercurrent of urgency in their steps. There was a definite energy in the place that seemed to say, 'something big is about to happen,' but he could only guess at what. He did not know why the Praetor had summoned him, but he doubted it was for anything good. After he had been waiting for over an hour, the minutes stretching into what felt like an eternity, a servant finally approached and beckoned him forward. "The Praetor will see you now."
Steeling himself for whatever was to come, Cassius stood, straightened his toga praetexta, and followed. He knew he looked rather different from how Senators were supposed to be. Unlike his peers, at 28 years he did not possess a robust build but was very thin and bony. He was tall, at least, but most of that extra height was in his legs and neck. Indeed, his body was... awkward, all sharp angles and jutting limbs. In such a hugely martial society as the Roman Republic, it marked him as other.
The servant led him to the inner office and Cassius found the Praetor seated behind a grand desk, meticulously reviewing a stack of parchment. Without looking up, the Praetor gestured for him to wait. The minutes ticked by, each one a clear power play, reminding Cassius of his lesser status.
After what felt like an eternity, the Praetor finally set aside his work and looked up. "My brother," he said, the words laced not with filial warmth, but with a cold possessiveness. "You took your time."
That's it? After seventeen years with barely a word, this is what he says to me?
Cassius' eyes narrowed slightly, but he kept his tone even. "I came as soon as I received your message," he curtly replied. "It's past midnight," he pointed out, "yet you're all still here. Something big is happening. Has someone declared war on us?"
Publius Cornelius Lentulus Spinther leaned back in his chair, his gaze piercing. "Oh, my brother, there is always a war," he said snidely, "but no. I am running for Consul in the next election."
Cassius' mind spun with the new information, but he couldn't keep an incredulous look off his face. "At 42? The youngest one can run? That's ambitious, even for you!"
Publius' lips thinned as he gripped his desk. "I did not, and would never, ask for your advice."
"Then why am I here?" It was an interesting conundrum. Cassius was not nearly as popular as his eldest brother, so it was highly unlikely that he would ask him to help drum up conventional support, so that just left the unconventional. Cass fought a smirk as he realized that his brother might just be requesting his help for the very thing he had long looked down on him for.
What might it be, hmm? My trading associates? Or perhaps my mercenary contacts? Planning to discretely threaten some senators into supporting you, brother?
Publius snorted derisively. "Oh, you think I wanted your assistance? I neither want nor need your help. I simply demand that you do not embarrass me more than your mere existence already does. Your mercantile pursuits are a stain on our family's prestige."
Cassius felt a surge of anger. "I engage in trade because you and Crus stole my inheritance, leaving me with nothing. You left me with barely enough to live on. While the two of you got to attend the finest schools and rubbed shoulders with the sons of Consuls and foreign kings, I could only afford the cheapest Grammaticus, my friends were the sons of merchants and craftsmen. Is it any wonder I chose the path of trade?"
Publius' eyes hardened. "You were given enough to live on respectably. Your decision to debase yourself with trade is your own failing." Publius leaned forward, his demeanor icy. "Our father's treachery nearly destroyed this family. I restored our honor by siding with the Republic against him and Catilina, even voting for his execution. Do not forget who saved the family name. The same name you trade on to make your deals."
Cassius' fists clenched at his sides. "And you think that justifies leaving me with nothing? You claim to have saved the family's honor, but all you've ever done is consolidate your own power. I had no choice but to fend for myself. Trading was not and is not a debasement; it's a necessity. I refuse to apologize for surviving."
"Nevertheless," the Praetor started, "I demand that you sto-"
"You demand?" Cassius cut him off, his voice loud enough that the servants next door could probably hear every word. "You have no right to demand anything of me! You stripped me of everything, and now you want to dictate how I live my life? No, Publius, I will not stop trading. I will not bow to your whims. If my existence embarrasses you, that's your burden to bear."
And with that, he stormed out, the door slamming shut behind him, and he didn't even slow down until he reached the street, the night air hitting him like a wave- cold and bracing. He wandered aimlessly through the nearly empty streets of Rome, his mind a whirlwind of anger and bitterness. The city was quiet, the usual hustle and bustle replaced by the serene stillness of the pre-dawn hours, the early morning mist still hanging low in the air.
As he walked, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had just made a mistake. His brother was one of the most powerful men in the city and had the friendship of Pompey, who was arguably the most powerful man in Rome. If Publius wanted to make his life miserable, he would have all the resources to do so. As the anger ebbed with each step, a question entered his mind: should he have obeyed his brother?
As soon as the thought entered his mind, Cassius stomped down on it.
Never!
He had carved out a path for himself, one that was unconventional but undeniably his own. And he would continue to walk it, no matter what obstacles his family threw in his way.
Eventually, his aimless steps brought him to the Vigintisexviri Chambers, where he and his fellows were scheduled to have a session in the morning. Glancing up, Cassius saw that the sky was lightening, dawn would arrive soon. Deciding that he may as well not go to sleep, he entered the chambers.
The room was dimly lit, the flickering oil lamps casting long shadows on the walls adorned with faded frescoes of Rome's legendary past. Cassius took his usual seat at the big table in the center of the room and unrolled his map of the Mediterranean Sea across the table.
He traced the familiar routes with a calloused finger, routes he had navigated in his mind countless times. The ports of Alexandria, Carthage, and Ephesus beckoned with the promise of wealth, each representing a strategic point in the burgeoning trade network he had spent the last ten years carving out for himself.
No, he would never give this up.
So absorbed was he in planning out routes for his ships, that Cassius didn't even notice the hours passing until the doors slammed open and the first of his colleagues shuffled in.
Gnaeus Atius Balbus, a rotund man in his early 30s, shot Cassius a tired nod before collapsing in the seat across from him, rubbing his temples as if to ward off a headache. Next entered Tiberius Claudius Nero, who despite being the youngest member at age 24, was by far the most stern and serious member of the Twenty-Six magistrates and had yet to miss a single session.
The next to arrive was Gaius Fabianus, who burst through the door with a boisterous laugh that echoed off the walls. "Salve, gentlemen!" he bellowed, clapping his hands together with a force that suggested he was about to announce a gladiatorial victory rather than partake in the day's mundane administrative tasks.
Cassius merely raised an eyebrow, offering no greeting as Gaius sauntered over to the table, his toga swishing with each exaggerated step. The plebeian's very presence causing a gust of wind that stirred the dust and ruffled the scrolls scattered before Cassius.
Sextus Antonianus followed, his entrance far less grandiose, his gait unsteady. He slumped into the nearest chair, his pallor ashen, and rested his throbbing head upon the cool stone surface. "By Jupiter, Gaius, must you always be so infernally loud?" he moaned, the words muffled by the table.
Gaius merely chuckled, unfazed, and patted his hungover comrade on the back. "Come now, Sextus, surely a little noise can't harm a seasoned party monster like yourself!"
Before Sextus could muster more than a groan in response, Lucius Aurelius Orestes glided into the room, his smile as bright as the morning sun. "Friends, countrymen," he greeted with a warmth that seemed to fill the room, his eyes meeting each of his colleagues' in turn—even Cassius despite his near-universal unpopularity.
The last to enter was the mysterious Titus Marcellus, who slipped in almost unnoticed, a silent observer content to watch the unfolding scene from the periphery.
That made eight.
Out of the current 21 members.
Of which there were supposed to be 26.
Cassius let out a sigh.
Typical.
As the banter continued, Cassius cleared his throat, a subtle attempt to draw attention. "If we may begin—" he started, but his voice was drowned out by Gaius's recounting of the previous night's escapades.
Cassius tried again, louder this time. "Gentlemen, we have matters to attend to—"
"Ah, Cassius, always straight to business," Lucius interjected with a grin. "But surely, the business of Rome can wait for a moment?"
Cassius's irritation flared. "Unlike some, I do not have the luxury of idleness," he retorted, his voice sharp. "The roads of Rome will not maintain themselves."
Tiberius Claudius Nero, ever the serious one, nodded in agreement. "Cassius is right. We have a responsibility to the Republic. Let's proceed with the agenda."
Gaius sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. "Fine, fine. What pressing issue do you have for us today, Cassius?"
Cassius took a deep breath, focusing on the matter at hand. "First, we need to allocate funds for the regular maintenance of our roads. The Via Appia and the Via Flaminia are in need of immediate repairs."
Lucius leaned back in his chair, looking mildly interested. "And how much do you propose we allocate for these repairs?"
Cassius unfurled a scroll and placed it on the table. "Based on the latest assessments, I suggest we set aside 50,000 denarii for the Via Appia and 40,000 denarii for the Via Flaminia."
Gaius let out a low whistle. "That's quite a sum. Are we certain these repairs are necessary?"
Tiberius nodded, his expression serious. "I've reviewed the assessments myself along with Cassius. The roads are in dire need of maintenance. Delaying the repairs will only increase the costs in the future."
Lucius considered this for a moment before nodding. "Very well. Let's vote on the matter, shall we?" With that Lucius casually raised his hand and soon all the other members were doing so as well. "There, it's unanimous. We'll allocate the funds as proposed. Now, is there anything else?"
Cassius took another deep breath, preparing for the next part of his proposal. "Yes, there is. I propose we widen the Via Ostiensis. As you all know, this road leads from Rome to its nearest port city. It's a vital trade route, and its current state is inadequate for the volume of traffic it sees."
Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Widening the Via Ostiensis would be a massive undertaking. Where would the funds come from? And how would you handle the disruptions to existing trade and travel?"
Cassius had anticipated this. "The initial investment would be substantial, but the long-term benefits would far outweigh the costs. Increased traffic efficiency would boost trade revenue significantly. As for disruptions, we could implement a phased construction plan to minimize impact."
Gaius Fabianus leaned back in his chair, a skeptical look on his face. "And who exactly would benefit from this widened road? You and your fellow merchants, certainly, but what about the rest of us? The Republic's funds are not meant to cater to private interests."
The irony of that statement is so thick one could cut it with a knife!
Cassius met his gaze evenly. "Trade is the lifeblood of our economy. A more efficient route to the port benefits everyone. The increased revenue will flow into public coffers, funding other projects and services."
Tiberius spoke up, albeit hesitantly. "Cassius makes a valid point, though I must admit, I have reservations. Trade is not the only concern of Rome."
Lucius took this as his cue. "Indeed, Tiberius. While I appreciate Cassius's initiative, we must consider all aspects of our duties. The Senate session is approaching, and as we all know, only one member of the Vigtintisexviri is allowed to attend as an observer. Shall we draw lots again to determine who goes? That, I believe, is a more pressing matter."
With a collective murmur of agreement—and a distinct groan from Sextus—the group readied themselves to draw lots. Cassius observed as Lucius produced a small wooden box. Inside were eight squares: seven black, one white, the latter signifying the privilege to attend the Senate session. Lucius drew a tile, not showing it to anyone, and passed the box to Gaius beside him.
The box made its rounds, each man withdrawing a lot with a blend of hope and resignation. When Cassius's turn came, he drew a black square, his heart sinking. His term was half over, yet he had not had the good fortune to be selected to observe the Senate even once. The box eventually returned to Lucius, who, with a flourish, revealed in his hand a white square.
"Ah, what luck!" Lucius beamed, displaying his prize. "It seems I shall grace the Senate session once again!"
While congratulations echoed and disappointment murmured, Cassius's suspicion deepened. Lucius's fortune defied the odds: he won twice as often as the others did.
As the group dispersed for a small break, Cassius stayed behind, drawn to the box. He scrutinized it for hidden compartments; finding none, he turned his attention to the lots. They were indistinguishable in shape and texture, yet…
Hold on, what's this?
Cassius weighed the lots in his palm. The white square was lighter—a subtle difference, but undeniable.
His pulse quickened with indignation and a sense of validation. Lucius had been rigging the draw, securing his presence at the Senate sessions.
Later, Cassius cornered Lucius in the quiet of the atrium, away from prying eyes.
"Lucius," Cassius began, his voice low and steady, "your luck at the draw is more than just fortune, isn't it?"
Lucius's smile faltered, his eyes narrowing. "Cassius, you tread on dangerous ground."
"The lots are weighted," Cassius accused, "and I suspect you've known all along."
Lucius's friendly mask slipped away, replaced by a cold, ugly sneer. "And who, pray tell, will believe you? You have no proof, and I have the Senate's ear."
Cassius met Lucius's gaze, unflinching. "We shall see about that." Cassius turned to leave, but Lucius's hand shot out and grabbed his arm hard.
"You think you can threaten me? You're nothing but a pest. If you speak out, I will ensure you are ruined. Your precious trade will be obstructed, your associates turned against you. Your name will be mud."
Cassius's anger flared, but he knew the reality of Lucius's power. He had seen how ruthless his fellow magistrate could be. Lucius's influence could indeed destroy everything he had worked so hard to build.
"Fine," he hissed, his voice shaking with barely contained rage.
In a single moment, Lucius's expression softened, and it was as if he was back to his affable, easygoing self. "There now! Was that so hard?" he asked, his voice suddenly the same cheerful tone it had been a minute before. "You know," he whispered conspiratorially, "you can always use the same method to win yourself next time!"
Cassius stared at him, the mixture of threats and bribery twisting his stomach. Every instinct screamed to defy Lucius, to call him out right then and there. But the reality of his precarious position settled over him. He couldn't afford to lose everything he had built.
With a slow, resigned nod, Cassius relented. "Fine," he repeated, and he had not the stomach to say more. Soon, the break was over and all eight of them returned to their seats.
"You know," Lucius spoke up, "I was thinking about what Cassius was saying about widening the Via Ostiensis, and I think he might have a point."
What?
Lucius continued, "Our poorer citizens rely on Egyptian grain transported to Ostia to feed themselves and their families. We should do everything we can to get that grain to them all the faster."
Cassius felt a wave of confusion wash over. Why was Lucius suddenly helping him?
Lucius glanced at Cassius, giving him a conspiratorial wink, as if they were friends, as if he hadn't just threatened to ruin him. The gesture made Cassius's skin crawl, but he managed to maintain a composed expression.
The other members murmured in agreement. Tiberius, ever the pragmatist, nodded. "Lucius is right. Speeding up the grain supply could help prevent shortages and keep prices stable."
With the room in consensus, they agreed to the proposal to widen the Via Ostiensis. Cassius watched in disbelief as his suggestion, once met with skepticism, was now embraced enthusiastically.
Lucius stood. "Very well, gentlemen. We'll proceed with the plans for the Via Ostiensis. Now, about the upcoming Senate session on the Nones. Unfortunately, I have a prior engagement that day which I must reschedule. With your permission, I shall see to it."
The group nodded in agreement, and Lucius, with a final nod, called the meeting to a close.
As the room emptied, Cassius remained seated, his mind racing. What was Lucius trying to do? Why had he supported the proposal? The memory of Lucius's wink and the mix of threats and bribery left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Lucius is a maniac, Cassius concluded, standing up and gathering his things. As Cassius stepped into the now-bustling streets of Rome, the events of the night weighed heavily on him. The encounter with Lucius had left him feeling like a pawn in a dangerous game, one where the rules were constantly shifting, and the stakes were higher than ever. His mind wandered back to the earlier confrontation with his brother, Publius, and the harsh words they had exchanged. It seemed that no matter where he turned, he was beset by powerful men seeking to control or destroy him. The adrenaline that had fueled him throughout the night now ebbed, leaving him suddenly aware of how tired he was. Deciding he needed rest to face whatever came next, Cassius made his way home. As he lay down, he couldn't help but think of the battles yet to come, both with his family and within the halls of power. But for now, he allowed himself to drift into a restless sleep.
Parts of it were filler, but I needed to introduce Cassius, who is the last of the main characters as I said above, as well as Publius and wanted to show a different side of Lucius as well. He's not the friendly, happy-go-lucky guy that he appears to be when we meet him in Chapter One, he has layers, and his ambitions come first.
Chapter Four will be back to Ptahotep and using those herbs the priest gave him in the first chapter. What will they do? Find out next Sunday!
If you found any mistakes or have any critiques or comments please leave a reply!
Cassius Cornelius Lentulus Acerbus bounced his leg impatiently as he sat in the atrium of the office of the Praetor Urbanus. Despite the late hour, the chambers were bustling with activity. Servants and scribes moved briskly, an undercurrent of urgency in their steps. There was a definite energy in the place that seemed to say, 'something big is about to happen,' but he could only guess at what. He did not know why the Praetor had summoned him, but he doubted it was for anything good. After he had been waiting for over an hour, the minutes stretching into what felt like an eternity, a servant finally approached and beckoned him forward. "The Praetor will see you now."
Steeling himself for whatever was to come, Cassius stood, straightened his toga praetexta, and followed. He knew he looked rather different from how Senators were supposed to be. Unlike his peers, at 28 years he did not possess a robust build but was very thin and bony. He was tall, at least, but most of that extra height was in his legs and neck. Indeed, his body was... awkward, all sharp angles and jutting limbs. In such a hugely martial society as the Roman Republic, it marked him as other.
Cassius Cornelius Lentulus Acerbus
The servant led him to the inner office and Cassius found the Praetor seated behind a grand desk, meticulously reviewing a stack of parchment. Without looking up, the Praetor gestured for him to wait. The minutes ticked by, each one a clear power play, reminding Cassius of his lesser status.
After what felt like an eternity, the Praetor finally set aside his work and looked up. "My brother," he said, the words laced not with filial warmth, but with a cold possessiveness. "You took your time."
That's it? After seventeen years with barely a word, this is what he says to me?
Cassius' eyes narrowed slightly, but he kept his tone even. "I came as soon as I received your message," he curtly replied. "It's past midnight," he pointed out, "yet you're all still here. Something big is happening. Has someone declared war on us?"
Publius Cornelius Lentulus Spinther leaned back in his chair, his gaze piercing. "Oh, my brother, there is always a war," he said snidely, "but no. I am running for Consul in the next election."
Cassius' mind spun with the new information, but he couldn't keep an incredulous look off his face. "At 42? The youngest one can run? That's ambitious, even for you!"
Publius' lips thinned as he gripped his desk. "I did not, and would never, ask for your advice."
"Then why am I here?" It was an interesting conundrum. Cassius was not nearly as popular as his eldest brother, so it was highly unlikely that he would ask him to help drum up conventional support, so that just left the unconventional. Cass fought a smirk as he realized that his brother might just be requesting his help for the very thing he had long looked down on him for.
What might it be, hmm? My trading associates? Or perhaps my mercenary contacts? Planning to discretely threaten some senators into supporting you, brother?
Publius snorted derisively. "Oh, you think I wanted your assistance? I neither want nor need your help. I simply demand that you do not embarrass me more than your mere existence already does. Your mercantile pursuits are a stain on our family's prestige."
Cassius felt a surge of anger. "I engage in trade because you and Crus stole my inheritance, leaving me with nothing. You left me with barely enough to live on. While the two of you got to attend the finest schools and rubbed shoulders with the sons of Consuls and foreign kings, I could only afford the cheapest Grammaticus, my friends were the sons of merchants and craftsmen. Is it any wonder I chose the path of trade?"
Publius' eyes hardened. "You were given enough to live on respectably. Your decision to debase yourself with trade is your own failing." Publius leaned forward, his demeanor icy. "Our father's treachery nearly destroyed this family. I restored our honor by siding with the Republic against him and Catilina, even voting for his execution. Do not forget who saved the family name. The same name you trade on to make your deals."
Cassius' fists clenched at his sides. "And you think that justifies leaving me with nothing? You claim to have saved the family's honor, but all you've ever done is consolidate your own power. I had no choice but to fend for myself. Trading was not and is not a debasement; it's a necessity. I refuse to apologize for surviving."
"Nevertheless," the Praetor started, "I demand that you sto-"
"You demand?" Cassius cut him off, his voice loud enough that the servants next door could probably hear every word. "You have no right to demand anything of me! You stripped me of everything, and now you want to dictate how I live my life? No, Publius, I will not stop trading. I will not bow to your whims. If my existence embarrasses you, that's your burden to bear."
And with that, he stormed out, the door slamming shut behind him, and he didn't even slow down until he reached the street, the night air hitting him like a wave- cold and bracing. He wandered aimlessly through the nearly empty streets of Rome, his mind a whirlwind of anger and bitterness. The city was quiet, the usual hustle and bustle replaced by the serene stillness of the pre-dawn hours, the early morning mist still hanging low in the air.
As he walked, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had just made a mistake. His brother was one of the most powerful men in the city and had the friendship of Pompey, who was arguably the most powerful man in Rome. If Publius wanted to make his life miserable, he would have all the resources to do so. As the anger ebbed with each step, a question entered his mind: should he have obeyed his brother?
As soon as the thought entered his mind, Cassius stomped down on it.
Never!
He had carved out a path for himself, one that was unconventional but undeniably his own. And he would continue to walk it, no matter what obstacles his family threw in his way.
Eventually, his aimless steps brought him to the Vigintisexviri Chambers, where he and his fellows were scheduled to have a session in the morning. Glancing up, Cassius saw that the sky was lightening, dawn would arrive soon. Deciding that he may as well not go to sleep, he entered the chambers.
The room was dimly lit, the flickering oil lamps casting long shadows on the walls adorned with faded frescoes of Rome's legendary past. Cassius took his usual seat at the big table in the center of the room and unrolled his map of the Mediterranean Sea across the table.
He traced the familiar routes with a calloused finger, routes he had navigated in his mind countless times. The ports of Alexandria, Carthage, and Ephesus beckoned with the promise of wealth, each representing a strategic point in the burgeoning trade network he had spent the last ten years carving out for himself.
No, he would never give this up.
So absorbed was he in planning out routes for his ships, that Cassius didn't even notice the hours passing until the doors slammed open and the first of his colleagues shuffled in.
Gnaeus Atius Balbus, a rotund man in his early 30s, shot Cassius a tired nod before collapsing in the seat across from him, rubbing his temples as if to ward off a headache. Next entered Tiberius Claudius Nero, who despite being the youngest member at age 24, was by far the most stern and serious member of the Twenty-Six magistrates and had yet to miss a single session.
The next to arrive was Gaius Fabianus, who burst through the door with a boisterous laugh that echoed off the walls. "Salve, gentlemen!" he bellowed, clapping his hands together with a force that suggested he was about to announce a gladiatorial victory rather than partake in the day's mundane administrative tasks.
Cassius merely raised an eyebrow, offering no greeting as Gaius sauntered over to the table, his toga swishing with each exaggerated step. The plebeian's very presence causing a gust of wind that stirred the dust and ruffled the scrolls scattered before Cassius.
Sextus Antonianus followed, his entrance far less grandiose, his gait unsteady. He slumped into the nearest chair, his pallor ashen, and rested his throbbing head upon the cool stone surface. "By Jupiter, Gaius, must you always be so infernally loud?" he moaned, the words muffled by the table.
Gaius merely chuckled, unfazed, and patted his hungover comrade on the back. "Come now, Sextus, surely a little noise can't harm a seasoned party monster like yourself!"
Before Sextus could muster more than a groan in response, Lucius Aurelius Orestes glided into the room, his smile as bright as the morning sun. "Friends, countrymen," he greeted with a warmth that seemed to fill the room, his eyes meeting each of his colleagues' in turn—even Cassius despite his near-universal unpopularity.
The last to enter was the mysterious Titus Marcellus, who slipped in almost unnoticed, a silent observer content to watch the unfolding scene from the periphery.
That made eight.
Out of the current 21 members.
Of which there were supposed to be 26.
Cassius let out a sigh.
Typical.
As the banter continued, Cassius cleared his throat, a subtle attempt to draw attention. "If we may begin—" he started, but his voice was drowned out by Gaius's recounting of the previous night's escapades.
Cassius tried again, louder this time. "Gentlemen, we have matters to attend to—"
"Ah, Cassius, always straight to business," Lucius interjected with a grin. "But surely, the business of Rome can wait for a moment?"
Cassius's irritation flared. "Unlike some, I do not have the luxury of idleness," he retorted, his voice sharp. "The roads of Rome will not maintain themselves."
Tiberius Claudius Nero, ever the serious one, nodded in agreement. "Cassius is right. We have a responsibility to the Republic. Let's proceed with the agenda."
Gaius sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. "Fine, fine. What pressing issue do you have for us today, Cassius?"
Cassius took a deep breath, focusing on the matter at hand. "First, we need to allocate funds for the regular maintenance of our roads. The Via Appia and the Via Flaminia are in need of immediate repairs."
Lucius leaned back in his chair, looking mildly interested. "And how much do you propose we allocate for these repairs?"
Cassius unfurled a scroll and placed it on the table. "Based on the latest assessments, I suggest we set aside 50,000 denarii for the Via Appia and 40,000 denarii for the Via Flaminia."
Gaius let out a low whistle. "That's quite a sum. Are we certain these repairs are necessary?"
Tiberius nodded, his expression serious. "I've reviewed the assessments myself along with Cassius. The roads are in dire need of maintenance. Delaying the repairs will only increase the costs in the future."
Lucius considered this for a moment before nodding. "Very well. Let's vote on the matter, shall we?" With that Lucius casually raised his hand and soon all the other members were doing so as well. "There, it's unanimous. We'll allocate the funds as proposed. Now, is there anything else?"
Cassius took another deep breath, preparing for the next part of his proposal. "Yes, there is. I propose we widen the Via Ostiensis. As you all know, this road leads from Rome to its nearest port city. It's a vital trade route, and its current state is inadequate for the volume of traffic it sees."
Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Widening the Via Ostiensis would be a massive undertaking. Where would the funds come from? And how would you handle the disruptions to existing trade and travel?"
Cassius had anticipated this. "The initial investment would be substantial, but the long-term benefits would far outweigh the costs. Increased traffic efficiency would boost trade revenue significantly. As for disruptions, we could implement a phased construction plan to minimize impact."
Gaius Fabianus leaned back in his chair, a skeptical look on his face. "And who exactly would benefit from this widened road? You and your fellow merchants, certainly, but what about the rest of us? The Republic's funds are not meant to cater to private interests."
The irony of that statement is so thick one could cut it with a knife!
Cassius met his gaze evenly. "Trade is the lifeblood of our economy. A more efficient route to the port benefits everyone. The increased revenue will flow into public coffers, funding other projects and services."
Tiberius spoke up, albeit hesitantly. "Cassius makes a valid point, though I must admit, I have reservations. Trade is not the only concern of Rome."
Lucius took this as his cue. "Indeed, Tiberius. While I appreciate Cassius's initiative, we must consider all aspects of our duties. The Senate session is approaching, and as we all know, only one member of the Vigtintisexviri is allowed to attend as an observer. Shall we draw lots again to determine who goes? That, I believe, is a more pressing matter."
With a collective murmur of agreement—and a distinct groan from Sextus—the group readied themselves to draw lots. Cassius observed as Lucius produced a small wooden box. Inside were eight squares: seven black, one white, the latter signifying the privilege to attend the Senate session. Lucius drew a tile, not showing it to anyone, and passed the box to Gaius beside him.
The box made its rounds, each man withdrawing a lot with a blend of hope and resignation. When Cassius's turn came, he drew a black square, his heart sinking. His term was half over, yet he had not had the good fortune to be selected to observe the Senate even once. The box eventually returned to Lucius, who, with a flourish, revealed in his hand a white square.
"Ah, what luck!" Lucius beamed, displaying his prize. "It seems I shall grace the Senate session once again!"
While congratulations echoed and disappointment murmured, Cassius's suspicion deepened. Lucius's fortune defied the odds: he won twice as often as the others did.
As the group dispersed for a small break, Cassius stayed behind, drawn to the box. He scrutinized it for hidden compartments; finding none, he turned his attention to the lots. They were indistinguishable in shape and texture, yet…
Hold on, what's this?
Cassius weighed the lots in his palm. The white square was lighter—a subtle difference, but undeniable.
His pulse quickened with indignation and a sense of validation. Lucius had been rigging the draw, securing his presence at the Senate sessions.
Later, Cassius cornered Lucius in the quiet of the atrium, away from prying eyes.
"Lucius," Cassius began, his voice low and steady, "your luck at the draw is more than just fortune, isn't it?"
Lucius's smile faltered, his eyes narrowing. "Cassius, you tread on dangerous ground."
"The lots are weighted," Cassius accused, "and I suspect you've known all along."
Lucius's friendly mask slipped away, replaced by a cold, ugly sneer. "And who, pray tell, will believe you? You have no proof, and I have the Senate's ear."
Cassius met Lucius's gaze, unflinching. "We shall see about that." Cassius turned to leave, but Lucius's hand shot out and grabbed his arm hard.
"You think you can threaten me? You're nothing but a pest. If you speak out, I will ensure you are ruined. Your precious trade will be obstructed, your associates turned against you. Your name will be mud."
Cassius's anger flared, but he knew the reality of Lucius's power. He had seen how ruthless his fellow magistrate could be. Lucius's influence could indeed destroy everything he had worked so hard to build.
"Fine," he hissed, his voice shaking with barely contained rage.
In a single moment, Lucius's expression softened, and it was as if he was back to his affable, easygoing self. "There now! Was that so hard?" he asked, his voice suddenly the same cheerful tone it had been a minute before. "You know," he whispered conspiratorially, "you can always use the same method to win yourself next time!"
Cassius stared at him, the mixture of threats and bribery twisting his stomach. Every instinct screamed to defy Lucius, to call him out right then and there. But the reality of his precarious position settled over him. He couldn't afford to lose everything he had built.
With a slow, resigned nod, Cassius relented. "Fine," he repeated, and he had not the stomach to say more. Soon, the break was over and all eight of them returned to their seats.
"You know," Lucius spoke up, "I was thinking about what Cassius was saying about widening the Via Ostiensis, and I think he might have a point."
What?
Lucius continued, "Our poorer citizens rely on Egyptian grain transported to Ostia to feed themselves and their families. We should do everything we can to get that grain to them all the faster."
Cassius felt a wave of confusion wash over. Why was Lucius suddenly helping him?
Lucius glanced at Cassius, giving him a conspiratorial wink, as if they were friends, as if he hadn't just threatened to ruin him. The gesture made Cassius's skin crawl, but he managed to maintain a composed expression.
The other members murmured in agreement. Tiberius, ever the pragmatist, nodded. "Lucius is right. Speeding up the grain supply could help prevent shortages and keep prices stable."
With the room in consensus, they agreed to the proposal to widen the Via Ostiensis. Cassius watched in disbelief as his suggestion, once met with skepticism, was now embraced enthusiastically.
Lucius stood. "Very well, gentlemen. We'll proceed with the plans for the Via Ostiensis. Now, about the upcoming Senate session on the Nones. Unfortunately, I have a prior engagement that day which I must reschedule. With your permission, I shall see to it."
The group nodded in agreement, and Lucius, with a final nod, called the meeting to a close.
As the room emptied, Cassius remained seated, his mind racing. What was Lucius trying to do? Why had he supported the proposal? The memory of Lucius's wink and the mix of threats and bribery left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Lucius is a maniac, Cassius concluded, standing up and gathering his things. As Cassius stepped into the now-bustling streets of Rome, the events of the night weighed heavily on him. The encounter with Lucius had left him feeling like a pawn in a dangerous game, one where the rules were constantly shifting, and the stakes were higher than ever. His mind wandered back to the earlier confrontation with his brother, Publius, and the harsh words they had exchanged. It seemed that no matter where he turned, he was beset by powerful men seeking to control or destroy him. The adrenaline that had fueled him throughout the night now ebbed, leaving him suddenly aware of how tired he was. Deciding he needed rest to face whatever came next, Cassius made his way home. As he lay down, he couldn't help but think of the battles yet to come, both with his family and within the halls of power. But for now, he allowed himself to drift into a restless sleep.
Parts of it were filler, but I needed to introduce Cassius, who is the last of the main characters as I said above, as well as Publius and wanted to show a different side of Lucius as well. He's not the friendly, happy-go-lucky guy that he appears to be when we meet him in Chapter One, he has layers, and his ambitions come first.
Chapter Four will be back to Ptahotep and using those herbs the priest gave him in the first chapter. What will they do? Find out next Sunday!
If you found any mistakes or have any critiques or comments please leave a reply!
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