[ROME] The Triumph of Pannonia

[Gaius Manlius Licinus]

Sol was four hours before zenith in the heavenly vault, and the Forum of Rome was all a bustle. There was the usual mob, the Plebs going about their business among the markets. There was gossip among the Patricians. The atmosphere in this place was always an indistinct buzz of commotion, for it was the beating heart of Rome.

"Domus, your proclimation."

A slave tugged on Manlius Licinus's toga as he changed coin with a messenger. Always punctual, his slave kept his dealings a matter of concise precision.

"Good. Bring the podium."

Two more slaves tugged along a wooden pulpit, upon which Licinus stepped upward. Nobody paid him mind, nor did they usually, until his glorious voice cut through the murmoring candor of the Forum.

"Hear me Romans! Come Plebian and Patrician to hear this most fortunate proclamation on this seventh day of April. Our Hallowed Caesar, the Glorious and Fair Marcus Julius Atellus, Emperor of Rome, Son of Venus, and Brother of Isis, has deigned this day to favor all Romans. No taxes shall be decreed upon market transactions."

Licinus flourished with a wave of his hand, his boastful voice carrying with a mighty baritone sound through the Forum, which had by now all turned to attention.

"Your Emperor wishes blessings and fortune upon you, and all of Rome. To show such glad tidings, Mighty Caesar has declared a Triumph to be held within Rome today, to honor the valor bestowed by the Seventh Legion of Rome, against the dread barbarian horde of Pannoria, enemies of Rome. Go, and prepare to receive the honors victory has bestowed upon the people.

If you desire to pay tribute in homage to the Triumph, the temples to Jupiter Optimus Maximus, and Mars will be happy to receive alms."

Licinus bowed with a flourish, holding a fisted right hand over his left breast.

"Go proudly citizens. Rome prevails."

[Marcus Marcius Philippus]

"Gods, I can't stand that man's voice!" grumbled Marcus Marcius Philipus as he strolled round the outer edge of the Forum. "No man should have such a voice. It carries too far and does no-one any good."

"Surely, Marcus Philipus, you will not deny that he does Rome some service with it?" chuckled his companion on this circumnavigation of the Forum.

"Titus Didius, would you deny an old man his right to complain?" growled the aging senator.

"Not at all, old man, but would you deny the truth?" the younger man asked.

"If it permitted me to complain on a bright day such as this, yes."

The younger man laughed rather more loudly at that.

[Publius Cassius Capito]

"Marcius Phillipus, you're but the most loveable stormcloud I know."

A big hand squeezed the grey-haired senator at the shoulder, as Senator Capito gave salutations to his colleague.

"Surely even you can find some pleasant trifle to distract yourself."

He glanced from side to side, at the growing throng that was readying itself for Caesar's triumph.

"See? The plebs busy themselves just so. They're only too eager to taste the scraps on Caesar's table. And what scraps! I'm told the Pannonian women have curiously blonde hair, and very fine bosoms. I may just visit the slaver this week. Perhaps that may buy my docility on the Senate floor this week, or so your youngest, wisest Caesar would like to think."

[Marcus Marcius Philippus]

The heavy hand descending on his shoulder from behind caught Philippus a little of guard. He felt just a mite foolish for flinching back in surprise.

"Publius Capito," he sighed, "You know better than to do that to an old man! My heart is not so strong that I can take many such suprises."

He tugged at his purple bordered toga which his colleague had disturbed, then waving a hand at his companion said, "My friend, Titus Marcius Didius recently returned from Gaulia. Titus Didius this is Publius Cassius Capito, a senator of some note and man who ought to know better than to surprise old men and," he said little quieter, "to speak so of Caesar."

[Publius Cassius Capito]

"Marcius Didius, salutations."

Publius embraced Philippus' colleague, and pulled back.

"A friend of Phillipus is a welcome man. And what of your exploits in Gaul? I hear a tidy fortune is to be made in the province. I would entertain your stories at your leisure."

Pausing at a merchant's wares, Capito held up three fingers, and a man went to work filling three cups with wine.

"Bacchus willing, lets drink and speak our peace. Philippus needn't trouble you with doomsaying, I intend no ill speech toward Caesar. The young emperor has done well in Germania, and Rome's triumph is the triumph of all. Yet, when the last trinket is passed about, the last goblet of wine quaffed, the last slave spoken for, we must all return to the Senate, and remind ourselves that the State needs sustenance in addition to sweets."

Capito shrugged, as he passed his colleagues some wine.

"The Senate could do well with Caesar Atellus. We have a most excellent opportunity to guide his reason."

[Marcus Marcius Philippus]

"Ah, but young men seldom listen to the harping of their elders with any seriousness," bemoaned Philippus,"They are especially deaf to us at times when they have recently been lauded."

The other two laughed politely at this comment whilst he took a swig of wine. Thirst quenched Philippus grinned at his fellow senator, "So tell me, Capito, to where would guide the reason of the First Man of the Senate, should the gods permit that you be heard over the braying of the trumpets and the shouts of adulation emanating from the plebs?"

[Publius Cassius Capito]

"Olives and door mice may bore a Patrician, but find a pleb that doesn't graciously thank Ceres for a crust of bread. To do magic with a spear and a standard, or with trinkets and games, one man can do such. Famine and flux cannot be cured by triumphs, nor can the needs of the people be ignored by them."

Capito smiled thinly, drinking again.

"Far from me to be so dour on a blessed day. Give Caesar his Triumph. Tomorrow begins another day."

[Marcus Julius Atellus]

Caesar's palatial estate looked over the Palatine, a sprawling abode adorned with bright colors, austere stonework, cyprus trees, and gardens. Pairs of Praetorian Guard stood here and there, like living pieces of purple-armored furniture. It was a scene of of detatched beauty, both a part of and removed from the spectacle of Rome itself.

Inside the palace, the atrium was humming with life. Slaves moved to and fro, carrying wine, food, and means of merriment for Caesar Atellus and his entourage.

Caesar, in the meantime, busied himself with idle distractions.

"The Nubian would do well with oil on her buttocks, yes Corvus?"

Livius Corvus, Caesar's long-time friend, lounged alongside the Emperor, sipping wine as he eyed the dark-skinned woman's bare backside as she leaned against a marble column opposite them.

"Atellus, I am not sure it is quintessentially Greek, but alas we are not in Greece. It would do for a complimentary sheen."

Atellus shrugged casually, and tossed an olive against the woman's derrier.

"There is a vigorous bounce. Athletic, isn't she?"

Corvus snapped his fingers.

"Alas that is it. Sweat would suit her more than oil."

The Emperor stretched over a massive pillow, and tossed a rudius on the floor next to her.

"Go on, pick it up."

The Nubian bent down, lifting the dummy wooden sword in her hand as she continued to face away from Caesar.

"Where is that Gaulish trollop you favor, Corvus? I think this one would be her match."

Caesar snapped his finger at a nearby body slave, a bald Greek man who nodded in understanding. He padded away silently to fetch the blonde-haired plaything Caesar desired.

"Arua? Hardly. The Nubian is sleek and would be a terror in a footrace, but Gauls favor curves that would vex Venus's pride, and dispositions that would turn Mars hornier than a jackrabbit."

The Emperor laughed, tossing another olive.

"Your wager, then?"

Corvus smirked, taking another sip of wine.

"Five talents of gold on Arua that she will send your Nubian shrieking back to Egypt like a scalded dog."

Atellus threw a handful of olives at the Nubian, this time eliciting a giggle from the slave.

"Five talents? You would exploit me, flush in my good favor? Very well."

Atellus crossed his arms and looked to Corvus with a playful sparkle in his eye.

"And if my Nubian bests your Gaulish amazon? I shall have to think of equal riches to exact in payment."

Atellus refilled Corvus's drink, brushing a hand by his hair as he set the goblet down again. Corvus blushed.

[Marcus Marcius Philippus]

"The great advantage of Senatorial rank," mused Marcus Philippus, "Is that one need not stand among the mob to witness the great events of one's time." He turned to his companions, "Of course one must question the quality of the company offered as an alternative."

He was standing among a considerable part of the Senatorial Order on the steps of the temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus. Decked out in purple bordered togas, the uniformity of their garb stood in stark contrast to the multi-toned sea of people gathered below. Every colour that human artifice could contrive to extract from nature was to be found there and here stood the senators of Rome, a solid block of purple bordered white.