Sanctimonia - Part II

Marcus shook free of his grasp. “Amulius! What is this about? What have you heard?”

Amulius quickly surveyed the deserted alleyway. “I think I may have an explanation for our friend Lucius’ behavior this morning.” The tone of Amulius’ voice told Marcus that this explanation could not be pleasant.

“Tell me.”

“After the mob was cleared, I lingered a while near the forum, still wondering over what had happened, hoping to find some clue as to why. It appears the gods heard me, Marcus, for I had not been there long before I saw Servetius, one of Lucius’ senators, hurrying towards a man who was skulking in the shadow of an alley like this one. I followed him stealthily, and blessed Mercury must have lent silence to my feet for I was not detected. When I was closer, I recognized the other man. And who do you think it was? It was one of those ruffians that charged out of the crowd and started the whole riot! And what do you Servetius was doing? He was paying him! Paying him!”

“That a Roman consul should resort to such bloody tricks to silence his rivals!” Marcus fumed. “Inciting a mob to strike them down! It is the height of dishonor, and I will make sure this is known by the entire city!”

“But Marcus, it is more than that. Servetius then said the man, ‘And you will get rest when the job is finished, for come tomorrow the great Lucius will be lord of this city, and in a more fit position to reward those who served him best.’ Then the man bowed and left, and so did I! I have come to find you, all the time fearing I was seen listening to Servetius. Marcus don’t you see what this means? Lucius will march on Rome!”

Marcus caught his breath as the full impact of Amulius’ words hit him. It could not be so. “March on Rome?” he asked in stunned disbelief. “No, Amulius. Surely the Senate will-“

“The Senate is his!” cried Amulius. “Steadily bought and paid for these past months. His last real opposition was removed today!”

“But the people-“

“Will be crushed by Lucius’ army. What chance do they have? His legions are encamped just outside the city, Marcus. He will march them through the gates tomorrow and then all hope will be lost. Rome will be conquered by her own son.” Amulius was silent and turned away, as though his own words had defeated any hope within him.

Marcus was silent as well, but his mind was a whirl of thought. Rome could not be conquered! No, Rome was the greatest of nations, the shining light to the rest of the world! If the Roman republic should die and in its place a dictator be raised, what champion would freedom have? No, Marcus would not allow the death of liberty while strength remained in his limbs to prevent it.

“Something must be done, Amulius.”

Amulius turned to him, a lost look on his face. “But what, Marcus? What can be done? We have no Senate, we have no legions, we do not even have our own guards! The balance seems stacked against us my friend, and the only way we could-“ Amulius stopped short, looking through Marcus as a thought was born in his mind.

“What, Amulius? Do you have an idea? Speak, man!”

Amulius looked at Marcus’ face, and then said very slowly, “If the legions have no leader, there will be none to lead the legions.”

Marcus blinked, not comprehending. “Amulius, this is no time for childish riddles! Do you have a plan or don’t you?”

Amulius’ voice was hard now. “Marcus, it will be very difficult for Lucius to march on Rome if he is dead.”

Silence fell between the two as that last word hung in the air. “Dead.” Murder! Marcus recoiled from the very thought. That Rome should be saved in such a fashion! “Amulius! Hear what you are saying! This would make us no better than Lucius himself! No better than common thugs and hired knives. No, there must be some other way.”

“No, Marcus, there is not.”

“I will not kill a Roman consul in cold blood, Amulius, and I won’t let you do it either.”

“But think, Marcus!” Amulius grabbed Marcus by the shoulders, his fingers digging into his skin. “Think how many will die if Lucius does not! Think of your wife, your children! Think of Rome! Will you let Rome die?”

Marcus shivered at hearing his own thoughts thrown back at him. It did not make him think any kindlier of the idea, and yet…and yet were there not things precious enough to protect by any means? Things in whose defense even murder would be justified?

“But the people will hate us as murderers.”

“No! They will hail us as saviors!”

Marcus Maxentius, Savior of Rome. It did have a nice sound. It was an honorable title, to be sure, one that would last down through the ages, and perhaps inspire other men to serve their country with honor. But was it worth it? Was saving a thousand lives worth ending one? Was saving freedom worth the spilling of blood? Will you let Rome die?

"Amulius, do you own a sword?"

Sanctimonia - Part I

It had been a busy day in the forum; busier than usual. While it was not uncommon for the senators there to hurl insults at each other and for the mob watching the proceedings to be somewhat roused, today there had been physical violence done. Marcus Maxentius, Roman senator, went over the scene again as he slowly made his way home from the forum.
The consul Lucius, newly returned from wars in Cilicia, had been speaking passionately as usual, making a ploy to increase his own power by suggesting, quite insistently, that three senators be expelled from the senate. These three had long been considered the strongest opposition to Lucius, and as the consul spoke, painting a vivid picture of his foes as little less than the ultimate debasement of human kind, his bought senators showed their approval, the people became caught up in his words. The atmosphere was so charged that when the three rose to defend themselves, a group of men rushed forward from the mob and proceeded to mercilessly beat them, the rest of the people soon following. It was several agonizing seconds before the senators could be pulled, bloodied and shaken, from the murderous crowd. And all this time Lucius had done nothing. He had simply stood and watched, and smiled. The senators were expelled.
Marcus had been shocked and confused. He had intended to speak in defense of the expelled senators, but what could one man do in the face of such a wild mass of humanity? And why would Lucius do such a thing? What was he trying to accomplish? Marcus knew the man bore no love for his political opponents, but to allow them to be beaten, even killed seemed vicious even for Lucius.
As Marcus was passing the baths, pondering these questions he heard a familiar voice calling his name. Turning, he saw his friend Amulius, a fellow senator, hurrying toward him with an urgent and worried expression on his face. When Amulius reached him, he grabbed his arm and whispered fiercly, “Marcus, grave news. But not here. Come.” And with that he was off down the street, Marcus barely able to keep up. Amulius walked as though he suspected he was being followed: glancing to the left and right, over his shoulder. Finally, he swerved into an alley and pulled Marcus in after him.

Remember

What a gift is life.

Decisions

The little boy stared forlornly at the litter of puppies rolling and playing behind the fence. One of them, with brown fur and a white tipped nose, bounded awkwardly up to the fence on too-large feet and stared back at the boy. The boy's frown slowly edged into a smile, and he reached down a hand to pet the dog. His tail wagging, the brown puppy permitted himself to be stroked a few times before running off to follow some new and exciting smell. The eyes of the boy followed the dog as he went, but then were attracted to another puppy, a solid black one, who came walking up and was duly petted until he too went about his puppyish business.
"Well, son," said the boy's father as he came walking up. "Have you decided which one you want?"
"Not yet, Dad. I'm still looking."
"Still looking? Son, we've been here for more than an hour. You've had plenty of time, so surely you know which one you want by now."
The boy turned to his father, his eyes full of tortured indecision.
"I don't know, Dad! I don't know! Do I have to pick just one?"
"Only one. But think," the father's comforting hand engulfed his young son's shoulder, "that one puppy will be just your own. Your one puppy to love and raise and train all yourself. Think how much fun you'll have! Why, if you had two, you could only have half as much fun with each of them. Better to have one real good dog."
Turning back to the fence, the boy grasped it in a death grip and swept his eyes over the furry, slobbery spectacle it contained. "But," the boy's voice was low and sad. "But if I pick just one, that means we have to leave all the other ones out here, right? And all the puppies are so nice, Dad. I think they would all be good pets."
"Well son, just pick your favorite."
"But Dad...I like them all."