Ita Semper Tyrannus
Res Publica Romanum
Rome - August 9, 2021
Forum Romanum
10:30 AM
Roman days of summer were a mild affair with its location along the Ceresian Straits, often called the Straits of Acrium. The shining city itself was an affair shorter than most modern cities, though it was fully modern. Skyscrapers were few, Romans simply found them ugly, there was no overt religious reason like with the Imperials to the north. Marble was the chosen building material, though you could tell the different districts by the material used, the poorer regions, the plebeian quarter for example, was dominated by brick faced structures built by strong opus caementicium. The dominating Forum Romanum consumed the center of the city's higher class districts, spreading out and consuming the valley between the Mons Palatinus and Collis Capitōlīnus, it buzzed with the throngs of life of a Roman day as men and women went across it in all directions. Along each side were the various buildings of the Roman government, culminating to the oldest, the first, the only legitimate, statehouse in the world. Curia Iuliua. The Roman Senate's meeting place, within which the most, the only, important men in the world decided on issues that would dominate the lives of those who were both Romans, and the barbaroum beyond the borders. As with most politicians, the men within spent their days arguing, debating, re-arguing, re-debating, countermanding and, denouncing one another endlessly as they worked towards a solution for the myriad of problems faced by the Roman Republic.
Today was a good day to be Roman, many agreed. The Republic was at its strongest since the Imperium under Trajan, the old enemy was now an ally, a client really, and the borders had been redrawn to sufficiently please everyone. The barbaroum Birkanii had been defeated in the East and all was well in the world again. prosperity was being restored to Roman allies and Roman arms had not felt such a conflict since the days of old. It was indeed, a good day.
With exception given to the day of Marius Rufus as he meandered through the streets of Rome, late for an appointment as a representative to his magister. Marius was well dressed, a crisp and modern suit covered his narrow shoulders and his narrow, hawkish face was accented by a pair of functioning eye-glasses, he wore more traditional leather sandals, with socks, on his feet and carried a briefcase containing important paperwork. This was the paradox that not many understood, as Marius was not a man, not as you or I would consider one a man, though he was anatomically human, he was not considered a person. Marius, you see, was a slave. Purchased and owned by his magister like a farmer in Bereia would buy a cow, or a citizen in California would buy a dog. He was well treated, in the same capacity those creatures were. He was well clothed, because for him to walk around naked would be an insult to his magister, proclaiming that the man was too poor to afford clothing for him, he was well fed, because his magister understood that a slave too weak from malnutrition could not work, and he slept in a comfortable bed, because his magister knew that to have him out under the stars would both cripple him from exposure, and again show him as a poor man. None of these things were for Marius, none of them were for his benefit. He was an ornament, a dog is not an unfair comparison to his station in life, the lowliest of plebeians were higher than Marius was, even covered in filth, and living in poverty, they were greater than him because at least they were Citizens, they were considered while the lowest, still men, while Marius was at best, a dog, at worst, an object of some usefulness.
The man who owned Marius was named Brutus Vitus and he was a relatively important man from the central Italian Plains, the 'heartland' of the Republic, possessing of wealth and influence in the Senate, having once been a Senator himself no less than four times, Brutus was a very influential man still, and he trusted Marius implicitly with tasks that no Bereian or British slaver in the 19th century would have even thought of trusting his slaves with. Such as this task the slave was on now, negotiating a multi-million Aureus trade deal with a corporation based out of the Kingdom of Atlaea. This was what Marius had been trained for, taught in, for his entire forty year life so far, to manage his magister's vast economic empire, and everyone agreed sadly, Marius was very good at his duties, because if he wasn't... Though Brutus Vitus was considered to very much be an ideal magister, even freeing his slaves regularly, that did not however, change the fact that they were property, a dog, and what happens to a disobedient dog?
Res Publica Romanum
Rome - August 9, 2021
Plebeian Quarter
10:30 AM
Across the city of Rome, the most glorious of all cities in the world, there was at the same time Marius Rufus was late for his meeting, Octavian Aurelius who was at that precise moment of time covered in flour from the palms of his hands to his elbows, with a few traces elsewhere that his apron didn't catch or that had resulted from his wiping his brow or other such motions as he worked in a single story building constructed of Roman bricks that smelled of flour, breads, pastries and other baked goods, was obviously a baker, and by the line that led out of his building and down the street that included both his fellow Plebs as well as Equites and Patricians, a good damn one. Seven brick and earthenware ovens roared with heat from the coal fires beneath them situated along the far wall of the establishment, away from a low rising counter where the people did their business in the buying of his goods offered. The sales were handled directly by himself occasionally, but mostly it was left to his daughter, Julia, who stood behind a cash register accepting orders, packaging what was finished and so on, and incrementally, the line got smaller, thank God, the man thought. His labor was one of decency that saw his family fed and 'well off' for plebs, but it was tasking, even in the modern age with many machines and shortcuts like premade dough he had a hard time simply due to the simple fact of supply versus demand. Sometimes he almost cursed how good he was at baking, almost, it did keep him fed, after all.
There was a television behind the counter, raised up to give people something to do while they waited, he looked up occasionally to see that it was a football game at the Flavian Amphitheater, which foreigners called the Colosseum. Yesterday there had been a series of gladiatorial matches which he had pissed away a few coins betting on his favorite, a spry gladiator named Maximus for the win, he hadn't, though it wasn't a death match so he had a few hopes of regaining his money in due time. His gambling, light and never a problem for his fiances, came from his time in the Legion, he'd serve in the War in Azhadstan and more often times than not, the century ended up just sitting around shooting dice, playing cards and generally doing a lot of things that people didn't associate with the prim, proper and overzealously disciplined Roman Legion. It helped of course that usually, he was good at gambling.
"Order up!" He said as he heaved a freshly baked loaf of bread out of one of the ovens, sliding it into a paper box and planting it on the counter top, before resuming the motions when the television changed rather suddenly with a report of breaking news, more than a few people gasped, he turned around and saw the letters emblazoned across the bottom of the screen in a rolling log. "Caesar Romulus shot, assilant still on the loose." With a promise of more information as it became available. Octavian was left numbed for several minutes, as were his customers, and most Romans who'd heard the news, which was neigh immediately with the digitization of communications over the previous decades. It was on social media within five minutes, perhaps less. Nothing traveled faster than light, with the possibility of bad news, which obeyed its own special laws.