Etna Volcano (1)
The seven hills forming the heart of the capital had long been monopolized by the empire's noble families. Yet over centuries, the occupants had changed hands—not without exception.
A prime example was Senator Constantinus, dubbed the flower of the knightly class.
Constantinus owned a mansion on one of those hills, Thakia.
Though smaller than the estates of other senators on Thakia, possessing a home there alone spoke volumes of his stature.
I rode in a litter straight to Thakia Hill to meet him.
Awaiting me on the ascent was the equestrian statue of Emperor Tabus, the soldier-emperor.
As my litter passed, I glanced at the statue.
You ascended the throne in the name of the empire. But your reign set a precedent for ambitious soldiers: that might alone could make one emperor. I won't follow your path. Even if I'm cursed for it, I won't lord over them.
Leaving Tabus's statue behind, I arrived at the mansion.
The steward greeted me at the gate.
"The master is by the pond."
"Understood. Lead the way."
I followed the steward to the pond. The empire's elite adorned their estates with fountains and pools, drawing from the abundant city water supply.
Pure extravagance and vanity. But failing to keep up marked one as low-class, so none abstained.
This held true even for the knightly class with their legion experience.
No—especially them, as knights compelled to flaunt greater luxury.
By the pond, I spotted a middle-aged man tossing rice grains to the koi.
Senator Constantinus himself. Recognizing him was no challenge.
Bald as an eagle on his crown, he bore the undignified moniker "Bald Eagle" in the Senate.
Offensive, of course. Yet his knightly origins left him vulnerable to such public jabs from fellow senators.
I made my presence known, and he paused feeding the fish.
"What brings the Praetorian Prefect here?"
"I have private matters to discuss with you, Senator."
I spoke in clipped, businesslike tones.
"Speak, then."
He dusted his hands and approached. I stood with arms folded behind my back, eyeing him.
"You've heard grain prices spiked during the war?"
"Who in the capital hasn't? The outrage was widespread. But why ask me?"
I gestured, and a Praetorian handed over the ledger. Constantinus took it, his hand trembling briefly.
"Curiously, merchants linked to you acted oddly in grain trades. See the purchase dates?"
The senator said nothing.
"Sellers turned buyers instead. Speculation makes sense in peacetime, but wartime? They'd draw the government's ire. Unless some greater gain offset it—like waived customs duties."
He denied it vehemently.
"Slander!"
"Then why contact those merchants?"
"That's—"
"Praetorian!"
My raised voice made him stammer, then yield.
"I'll talk."
Constantinus raised the white flag.
I signaled; the guard withdrew.
"Speak."
"Fine. Truth is, at the imperial secretary's request, I arranged grain purchases. The palace planned to inflate prices artificially, then release bread post-war to bolster His Majesty's popularity. I cooperated."
I scowled at his words.
"You think that's sane during war?"
"I knew it was problematic. But..."
"My rising fame burdens the palace, so they needed to prop up His Majesty?"
He nodded.
"Precisely."
It clicked then.
No traitor would burden an army at war without reason. The grain ploy served the throne.
But.
"Your scheme nearly cost us victory at war's end. Thousands of soldiers' blood and sweat—squandered. Can we dismiss that for 'His Majesty's image'?"
"No."
He bit his lip.
"I'll send Rikius later to hold you accountable. Meanwhile, who was the secretary?"
"Arius."
I tilted my head at the name.
Arius was a ceremonial secretary, barely a presence in court politics.
Kindly put, the palace's eyes and ears; harshly, a mere valet. Him involved?
My face hardened.
Perhaps Euresia's dangerous prank?
Timing fit: around my rejection of her proposal and consolidating power here.
Descending Thakia, a beacon flared in the distance.
A beacon now? What's happened?
I halted the litter.
"Bring my horse."
Something ominous brewed.
Racing to the palace on the beacon's news, an unthinkable catastrophe awaited. The messenger's report left me stunned.
"The mountain exploded?"
"Yes, Excellency. Etna has erupted; nearby lands are ash fields."
"My God."
I couldn't even swallow.
Etna's slopes were famed for fertile soil and mild clime—prime farmland since antiquity.
Supplying thirty percent of the empire's grain.
No more.
Snapping to, I summoned Riktus. No time for imperial briefings or approval.
"You called?"
"Convene the Senate immediately. Gather the senators."
"But session's over; few are in the capital."
Right.
The Senate worked half the month—fifteen days—then fled to villas outside for leisure.
True to the elite view: a life without pleasure was death.
Thus, few remained: the poor without estates or those palace-tied.
They'd do—for now.
"Whoever's here. Summon them all."
"Yes, sir."
Riktus saluted and withdrew.
A volcano now, of all times.
Even I despaired: had the gods abandoned the empire?
Could one man reverse its fall, no matter his struggles?
Yet despair wouldn't serve.
If I faltered, the frontier troops trusting me would bleed in vain.
As the legions endured harsh todays for tomorrows, so must I.
For dead comrades and border guards alike.
I closed my eyes, steeling myself.
An hour later, the scattered senators rushed to the Senate hall.
"What demands this summons?"
"General, you may not know custom: no calls post-session."
I let them vent, then spoke.
"Etna Volcano has erupted. That's why."
"Etna? Erupted?"
"A volcano?"
Confusion rippled.
"Yes. Fresh report."
"How—"
"We need measures now."
"Understood. What must we do?"
Gratefully, they complied.
The haughty ones were villa-bound; none to object.
"Contribute relief funds."
"Relief funds?"
Sour faces, but no refusal.
They knew stinginess now would mark them for me.
"Yes."
Firmly.
"H-how much?"
"Up to your generosity. I'll urge His Majesty to donate privately too. And lead by example myself."
"Hmm."
"As we can afford."
No specifics, but they'd pay more than token grain sacks.
I dismissed them and returned home. Having demanded their purses, mine must open too.
I asked Erenia to list donatable items; she offered her jewels and gowns.
I frowned.
"No need for yours."
"Nonsense. If you donate privately, I must show example too. Can't be dead weight as the barbarian wife—must help now."
"Still—"
I hesitated at her offerings.
Truth was, I'd given her little.
Her jewels? Solely the emperor's triumph gift. Her wardrobe and maids? Austere for a Prefect's wife.
"It's fine. I want your popularity more than jewels or clothes."
I nodded reluctantly.
Monetary value aside, word of the Prefect's wife stripping her finery would pressure senators harder.
Thus, more aid for victims.
I pulled Erenia into my arms.
She nestled silently, head on my chest. Her hair smelled divine.
"But I won't become emperor."
"I know. I've accepted that. You're not the type."
"Then why crave my popularity?"
"The people's love shields you."
I chuckled.
"Legions respect me sans citizen love."
"True. But as they age and discharge, will that respect endure?"
"No. And if I'm still in power then, even less."
She lifted her face, gemstone eyes locking mine.
"That's why you need the masses. Protection post-throne. They cower now before your might—but when it wanes, fangs emerge. I won't watch you fall then."
I met her gaze, then kissed her.
"Won't happen. I'm the empire's shield—no horde of tens of thousands felled me. No worries."
Her arms encircled my neck.
I breathed deeply into her lips, arms wrapping her slender waist.
Today, she seemed utterly lovable. I scooped her up, heading to bed.
(To be continued next time)