Chapter 84: Too Late for Regret

May 15, 221 AD, Rome, Italia.

Hundreds of miles south of the chimneys of Gaul, the city of Rome basked in the heat of the Mediterranean sun.

Deep within the walls of a villa on the Palatine Hill, the realities of the empire were divorced from the slaughter occurring on the frontiers.

Here, power was measured in bloodlines, Senate rumors, and the accumulation of wealth.

Reclining on a chaise lounge was Flavia. She was a woman of beauty, possessing the grace that took centuries of patrician breeding to perfect.

Years ago, before the Cassius family had been stripped of their titles and exiled to the valleys, Flavia had been betrothed to a man named Lucius.

When the Senate had cast Lucius out, Flavia had not shed a tear.

She had severed the betrothal, viewing him as a failure, and had aligned herself with a wealthier faction in the capital.

It was a decision she was beginning to regret...

While Lucius Cassius was dragging the western provinces into an industrial age, Flavia was sitting in her cage, staring at a piece of smuggled parchment.

It was an intelligence dispatch sent by a network of Senate spies operating in the ports of Massilia.

To the untrained eye, the parchment was nothing more than a shipping manifest detailing the export of wine and iron ingots.

But Flavia had an eidetic memory for Greek mathematics. She held a hairpin over the parchment, picking out every seventh letter of the manifest’s list.

As she transcribed the hidden characters onto a wax tablet resting in her lap, the message began to materialize.

*VALERIA GRATUS HELD BY FORGE MASTER. ALLIANCE IMMINENT.*

Flavia’s stylus snapped in her hand.

She stared at the wax, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and jealousy. She was aware of the Forge Master’s marital status. The Senate knew that Lucius had taken a Gothic barbarian named Isolda as his bride.

Flavia had spent months comforting her ego by dismissing the union as a political maneuver.

In Flavia’s mind, a savage draped in animal furs could never rival a Roman patrician.

But Valeria Gratus was a different battlefield...

Valeria was the crown jewel of the Mediterranean. She was educated, wealthy, and possessed a bloodline that commanded the respect of the southern naval fleet.

If Lucius took the Governor’s daughter as a second wife, or even a political concubine, it would bridge the gap between his rebellion and Roman authority.

Flavia threw the stylus across the room, where it shattered against a column.

"Lucius, you arrogant bastard," Flavia hissed to the empty room, her chest heaving as she gripped the edges of the lounge.

She began gnawing on her lower lip.

If Lucius secured the Mediterranean fleets through Valeria, his power would eclipse the Emperor’s.

And Flavia, who had thrown away her chance to be the queen of that empire, would be reduced to nothing more than a footnote.

As Flavia began calculating the logistics of traveling north to intercept this disaster, a knock echoed against her chamber doors.

Before she could grant permission, the doors swung open. Stepping into the room was her brother, Marcus.

A year ago, Marcus had been a Senator. Today, he looked like a man who had been dragged behind a chariot. His toga was rumpled, his eyes were bloodshot, and he carried the odor of cheap wine and panic.

Marcus had made a financial gamble... He had bankrolled the deployment of the Seventh Legion, throwing a fortune in silver at Tribune Quintus to march north and crush the Gallic rebellion.

When Lucius Cassius had annihilated the legion with explosive clay, Marcus’s standing in Rome had evaporated.

He was drowning in debt, and his rivals were circling like vultures.

Since the massacre in the valleys, Marcus had taken to wandering the villa like a ghost, occasionally groveling at Flavia’s feet to leverage her connections.

Flavia let out a sigh, dropping the tablet face-down onto the floor to hide the message.

"Must you always enter my chambers looking as though you just lost a war, Marcus?" Flavia drawled. "I am in the middle of correspondence."

Marcus ignored the insult.

He forced a smile, shuffling closer to the chaise lounge.

"Flavia, my sister," Marcus began. "You look pale. Is the summer heat troubling you? Or has some news arrived from the provinces?"

Flavia narrowed her eyes.

She knew Marcus was oblivious to the scope of the intelligence network, but she needed to vent her frustrations, and her brother was the only target in the room.

"I have received word from the coast," Flavia said, crossing her arms. "The Senate’s assumption that Governor Gratus’s daughter drowned at sea is false. Valeria is residing in Civitas Aurelia. She is in the hands of the Forge Master."

Marcus blinked, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second before he let out a laugh of disbelief.

"Valeria Gratus? In the north?" Marcus scoffed, waving a hand as he paced across the floor. "Flavia, your spies have been drinking seawater. It is impossible. Governor Gratus has the southern ports locked down tighter than the imperial treasury. A sheltered girl could not navigate a smuggler’s route into a warzone without a cohort of Praetorians noticing!"

"Lucius Cassius built a machine that slaughters ten thousand legionaries in an afternoon," Flavia countered. "Do you believe a naval blockade is going to stop him from acquiring whatever he desires?"

Marcus stopped pacing. The mention of Lucius’s supremacy caused a twitch in his jaw.

He rubbed his face.

"It makes no sense," Marcus argued, leaning against a pillar. "Even if she made it to Gaul, why would Lucius want her? He is married to that Gothic witch. The Senate reports say his wife coordinates the assassinations of anyone who steps out of line. The Goth would slit Valeria’s throat the moment she walked into the praetorium."

"Valeria provides him with a diplomatic shield against the southern fleets. If he marries her, he annexes the Mediterranean without firing an explosive. And I refuse to sit in Rome and watch that man hand a crown to a girl whose greatest accomplishment is reading Greek poetry!" Flavia snapped.

Marcus stared at his sister, a gleam igniting in his eyes.

He didn’t care about Valeria Gratus. But Flavia’s obsession with the Forge Master had given him an idea.

Marcus rushed forward, dropping to one knee beside the chaise lounge.

"Flavia, listen to me," Marcus pleaded, clasping his hands together. "If Lucius is consolidating his power... if he is positioning himself to rival the Emperor... you have to write to him."

Flavia stared at her brother as if he had suggested she drink poison. "Excuse me?"

"You were betrothed to him!" Marcus urged, his voice cracking. "He loved you, Flavia! Before the exile, he did everything for you. Write a letter. Remind him of your history. Tell him you want to reopen negotiations. But more importantly..."

Marcus swallowed hard.

"...ask him to release the captive centurions from the Seventh Legion. If Lucius sends those officers back to Rome as a gesture of goodwill toward you, the Emperor will forgive my debts. My standing in the Senate will be restored! You can manipulate him, Flavia! I know you can!"

Flavia looked down at her brother. For a moment, she didn’t say a word.

She studied the sweat beading on his forehead, the tremor in his hands, and the lack of dignity he displayed.

A wave of disgust washed over her.

Flavia stood up, smoothing the front of her gown. She looked down at Marcus with a stare.

"Get out of my sight, Marcus," she whispered.

Marcus blinked, his smile faltering. "Flavia, please, you don’t understand the pressure—"

"I understand that you are a failure," Flavia interrupted. "I am not going to humiliate myself by begging a warlord for the scraps of your ruined legion. Now get out of my chambers before I have the Praetorians drag you out by your hair."

Marcus’s face flushed red. He scrambled to his feet, shooting her a look of resentment, and stormed out of the room, slamming the doors behind him.

Alone once more, Flavia exhaled a breath.

She walked over to the stylus on the floor, picking up the pieces.

Marcus was an idiot, but his rambling had crystallized her resolve.

A letter would be ignored. A spy would be executed by his Gothic wife.

If Flavia wanted to reclaim the power she had thrown away, she was going to have to travel north and step into the fire herself.