Ides of January 41AD
"Traitors! Die!" A praetorian guard shouted—an elite protector of the imperial family.
He wore a purple-dyed tunica militaris—a military tunic—reserved for a high-ranking praetorian officer, with a golden scorpion emblem adorning his shoulder sleeves. A horsehair-crested helmet rested on his head, covering his black hair.
CLANG CLANG
The guard's yell sounded raw and desperate, echoing through the secret tunnels beneath the palatium—the imperial palace—a stark contrast to the deathly silence that followed each clang of steel.
His gladius—a short sword—a glinting serpent in the torchlight, sliced through the air, the golden scorpion emblem—a brand of his loyalty—flashing defiantly.
A discarded wooden scabbard, a forgotten promise, lay on the damp, earthen floor, amid the bodies of his fallen brothers—the brutal aftermath of their journey to the Palatine Games at the Circus Maximus.
Two against seven. A hopeless dance of death. But only one of the two is fighting.
The other one on his side was occupied—guarding someone, unable to move.
Yet, the standing guard, his gladius firm in his grip, his eyes burning with desperate fury beneath his helmet, goaded his former brothers, his voice a rasping challenge.
CLANG CLANG
"Aaaaaaaahhhhhhgggg!" A cry—of neither victory nor pain, but of betrayal.
One of the traitors, wearing white tunica militaris with a narrow purple stripe now stained crimson from killing his sworn brothers earlier, cried and rammed his shield against the lone guard wielding a gladius.
It was an unnatural sight—praetorian guards, vowed to the same duty, turning on each other. Lower-ranked guards attacking a higher-ranked officer. Their senior.
Then, the traitor fell with a loud thud, his shield clattering on the stone with a clank, the sound swallowed by the tunnel's oppressive silence.
The metallic scent of blood, thick and cloying has becoming more prominent, it mingled with the musty, earthy stench of the tunnel.
"You'll pay for your treachery!" The helmeted guard's voice was a snarl, his eyes, glinting with cold resolve through the helmet's slit.
'What led you astray?' He wondered, each parry a silent question.
He expertly countered every sword that swung his way. He knew exactly how his enemies moved, familiar with them from being on the same team for so long.
Steel clashed, the tunnel amplifying the brutal sounds of metal against metal. Screams tore through the air, followed by the dull thuds of a body hitting the floor.
Three more enemy fell, their dying cries echoing in the confined space.
"We're not the traitors here, YOU ARE!" A sneering counter, a venomous whisper of another traitor in the close, suffocating air.
CLANG CLASH THUD
The final clash, a brutal, desperate exchange with a sense of urgency, ended with both the defending guard and his attacker falling, their bodies a tangled mess of steel and blood.
A sharp pain burst through the higher ranked praetorian guard's back, the one brandishing his gladius with a horsehair crested helmet—another traitor had struck him from behind, ending his life instantly.
Four remained. Two on each side, Three guards and one, with a figure of unearthly beauty, stood amidst the carnage.
His crimson robe was now a tattered testament from the betrayal earlier. His stumbling feet were clad in elegant leather sandals, polished to a warm sheen.
The golden diadem, its emeralds and rubies flashing in the dim torchlight, sat askew on his golden hair. Once a symbol of his imperial power.
His blue eyes, usually distant and imperious, now blazed with a raw, animalistic fury.
The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and decay. Even the sweet myrrh he once favored had turned rancid in the stench of death.
It is now suffocating him.
SPLOTCH SQUELCHED
SWISH SWISH
He stumbled backward, the rough stone biting into his leather sandals, the blood a sticky, repulsive warmth.
"Haaaaah haaaah ugggggghh!" Suddenly, the remaining guard, whom the stumbling man thought was his remaining protector, grabbed him roughly and tied him up with a rope, confusing him.
He shook uncontrollably, unable to control his body.
The elite guards, sworn to protect him, had now tied their emperor up!
Blood oozed from the slashes in his expensive robes, inflicted by the traitorous blade that had cut deep into his flesh.
'How dare they do this to their God!' The beautiful man seethed. Still delusional.
'This is blasphemy!' He wanted to scream, but he bit back the words, refusing to give his enemies the satisfaction.
SWISH SPLAT
A guard forced him to his knees, the cold, sticky wet stone scraping against his skin. Sending a jolt of pain through his body.
'The humiliation!' His anger was a burning coal in his chest.
The torch's dim light struggled to penetrate the tunnel's gloom, but the glint of steel was unmistakable as more and more figures emerged from the shadows.
Blood squelched under their feet as they move towards the emperor.
He thrashed, his bonds biting into his skin. He looked around for someone or anything to untie him. But all he can see are his fallen guards.
'Useless! And the others are traitors!' He looked up and stared at the blurry faces of the other three backstabbing guards standing beside him. Holding him in place.
"Struggling is of no use..." The head of his guards spoke, his voice flat and emotionless, breaking the choking silence.
"Untie me this instant! Obey me!" The emperor's command, usually so potent, was now devoid of strength.
"Why would I?" The guard's eyes were empty, devoid of fear or respect.
"I AM YOUR EMPEROR!" His bound hands clenched into trembling fists, nails digging into his palms.
"Down here, you are nothing..." A distant dozen footsteps, and a thunderous cheer, echoed through the tunnel.
"Listen to the people above.. they are celebrating your downfall.." The guard taunted him, enjoying his despair.
"I WILL KILL YOU! I WILL KILL YOU!!!" The emperor screamed and raged some more. His nerves showing in his temple. But unable to do anything.
SPLASH SPLASH SWOOSH
"This is for your madness!" The first blade plunged into his side. A man wearing a toga, a senator, broke the emperor's bellow.
"Aaaaggggggghhhhh!" A searing pain that made him scream, shot through the emperor's whole being, as if a hot iron had been thrust into his flesh.
It's a bit different from the cut wounds that he received earlier when the traitors attacked first.
"You forced our children to prostitute themselves in the palace!" Another blade, this time in his stomach. It's a noble, from the gentes family that he did not recognized.
Blood bubbled from his lips.
BLEGH BLEGH
"You slaughtered our families, you demon!" A dagger in his shoulder. This time, it was a man he knew so well, one of his advisors.
The litany of accusations continued, each blade a testament to his cruelty.
Then the final blow, from the head of his guards, was a whisper...
"This one is for my wife." Then he shoved the emperor down the ground.
SPLAT
'Ugggghhhh.'
"The tyrant bleeds like any other man.." Someone commented, followed by a snicker.
SQUELCHED SQUELCHED
He tried to crawl, the sticky blood a macabre trail, but a sandal-clad foot stopped him.
The emperor weakly craned his neck, looking up, trying to make out the face of the owner of the feet.
Blood blurred his vision, but through the haze, he saw them—piercing green eyes, filled with something unreadable. Recognition struck him like lightning.
It was Lepidus.
'You!'
Darkness.
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TA-ta-TA-Taaa!
A trumpet blared loudly, its vibrations resonating through the air.
The city of Rome, a sprawling metropolis of marble temples, grand basilicas, and winding streets, pulsed with life.
Music, dance, and acrobatic performances filled the air, accompanied by the sweet scent of incense wafting from processions led by priests honoring Apollo.
Chariot races, athletic competitions, and theatrical events drew cheering crowds, while at night, torches and lanterns cast a magical glow over the revelry.
Another trumpet blast pierced the air, momentarily halting the lively celebrations..
The people, busy celebrating the Ludi Palatini—ancient Roman festival games held in honor for the gods or goddesses—stopped and wondered why. A low murmur spread through the crowd.
Trumpets had already sounded once, on the first day of celebrations, following the emperor's speech.
But why were they being used again, on the last day of Ludi Palatini? Another celebration? What was the occasion? The people exchanged curious glances, wondering.
Then people came running from the palatium, "Hup hup.... Go to the palatium! They are announcing something! Hurry!". They called out to the masses.
The message spread like wildfire.
Curious about the announcement, the people decided to go.
Once they gathered at the palatium ground, instead of the emperor or a high-ranking magistrate, a herald stood before them.
Unrest spread among the people, afraid it was one of the emperor's whims again.
When the large crowd had gathered, the herald stood straight and, in a loud voice, said:
"We are celebrating the end of the tyranny of the MAD EMPEROR!"
You could have heard a pin drop as silence ensued. The herald looked around at the faces of the people.
"As of right now, the mad emperor Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus has already died."
A long pause, then one person broke into cheers, and like a wave, the entire crowd erupted in cheers.
"Hurrrrahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!" The crowd boomed.
What joyful news!
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The news of the emperor's death circulated rapidly, igniting a frenzy of jubilation and destruction, forgetting about the festivities.
Mobs of people who were just enjoying the music and the mood of the celebration earlier, surged through the streets, targeting the numerous statues and effigies of the fallen emperor.
In the Roman forum—a central public space in the heart of Rome—a massive marble statue of the emperor stood tall, until a group of enraged citizens, armed with hammers and chisels, attacked it.
The sound of cracking stones echoed through the forum as the statue's arms shattered, its face splintered.
THUNK THUNK
Nearby, a bronze effigy of him stood atop a pedestal. A bonfire was lit beneath it, and the flames engulfed the metal, melting its features into a twisted, grotesque appearance.
Throughout the city, similar scenes are happening. Statues were toppled, effigies smashed, and images of the emperor defaced.
The once-revered symbols of his power now lay broken, a proof of the people's rejection of his tyranny.
As night fell, Rome's streets were glowing with fires, illuminating the destruction. The air resonated with cheers, shouts, and the clanging of hammers, as the city purged itself of the emperor's presence.
CLACK CLANK CLACK
The sound of creaking wood and scraping wheels mingled in the air.
CLACK CLANK CLACK
An ox pulling a plaustrum, a wooden cart used for transportation, is making its way out of the city. The driver, wearing a black cape with hood drawn to his head, halted the ox and gazed back at the riotous scene unfolding behind him.
His face is illuminated by an orange glow coming from the fire that is lit.
It was Lepidus—his face disinterested in the ongoing commotion.
Then his eyes dropped down to the plaustrum.
There is a thick large cloth covered in a shape that unmistakably resembles a body, breathing slowly and quietly under it, hidden from the world.
The cloth covering the body, shifted slightly, as if the person beneath it was trying to get more comfortable.
Lepidus's expression remained inscrutable, a flicker of concern betrayed his eyes.
His gaze now fixed on the subtle movement of the cloth.
The burning city, the roaring crowds, the destruction—all of it faded into a distant hum.
His attention was solely on the plaustrum, on the secret it held.
He gave a slight flick of the reigns, and the ox moved forward.
The sound of the creaking wood and scraping wheels, became the only sound that he cared about.
He continued driving the plaustrum, leaving the burning city behind, a little bit more quickly now.
CLACK CLANK CLACK
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INDEX:
Palatine Games- a public event that include games and theatrical performances
Circus Maximus- primarily known for chariot races, but it was also used for other public spectacles
gentes- noble family
forum- public space
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FUN FACT!
The tunnels under the palatium were called cryptoporticus. These secret passageways were used by the Imperial Family for private movement, dramatic entrances at public events, or to avoid assassins, ironically, Caligula was assassinated in one of these passageways. Historical accounts indicate, that Caligula was stabbed 30 times. And it was orchestrated by the senators and his guards. Following this, they announced his death to the masses and made that day a holiday.
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Those who read before, can you tell me if it got improved from before? Yay or nay? Thanks.
