Chapter 11: The Un-Roman Sentence
Lucilla.
The name hung in the suffocating air of the tent, a poison far more potent than the one Perennis had served. Alex's mind, which had been operating with the cold precision of a machine, faltered. His sister. The historical accounts had painted her as ambitious and resentful, a key figure in the first assassination plot against Commodus. He had known, on an academic level, that she would be an enemy. But hearing it confirmed, hearing how she had described him—a simple-minded brute—from the lips of her co-conspirator, made it real. It was a betrayal that cut deeper than any blade.
He left Perennis sobbing on the dirt floor under the watchful, impassive eyes of the Dacian guards. He walked back to his own tent in a daze, the sounds of the camp muted, his thoughts a chaotic storm. He was no longer just fighting a faceless conspiracy. He was fighting his own family. The weight of his isolation, the sheer alienness of his situation, crashed down on him with renewed force.
He ducked inside his tent and went straight to the laptop, the glowing screen a familiar anchor in his turbulent reality. The battery icon was a stark reminder of his limitations: 21%. He had to make this next decision count. It would define his reign before it had even truly begun.
"Lyra," he said, his voice quiet, strained. "He confessed. It's a cabal in the Senate, with my sister at its heart. I have the traitor. Now... what are my options? What would a Roman emperor do?"
"The historical precedent is clear and unambiguous," Lyra's voice responded from the earbud, her tone as steady as a surgeon's hand. "Option A: Public Execution. You would have Perennis publicly tortured to extract the names of his subordinates here on the frontier. Following their confessions, you would execute them all in a brutal, public display—decapitation for the officers, crucifixion for any common soldiers involved. This is known as decimation, and it is the expected, traditional Roman response to treason in the ranks. It demonstrates strength, ruthlessness, and an unwillingness to tolerate dissent."
Alex flinched as if struck. The images her words conjured were horrific. Crucifixion. Torture. He thought of the men he had seen in the camp, men with families, men who had been lied to and manipulated by a charismatic leader. His 21st-century morality, his fundamental belief in due process and humane treatment, recoiled in absolute horror.
"No," he said, shaking his head fiercely. "Absolutely not. I can't... I won't do that. I'm not a butcher. That's the kind of thing the real Commodus would do. I can't become the monster I'm trying to replace."
"Your ethical framework is noted," Lyra said, a flicker of text on the screen indicating she was processing his rejection. "Option B, then: Imprisonment and Formal Trial. You could keep Perennis under guard, transport him back to Rome, and put him on trial before the Senate for treason. This aligns with your modern sensibilities regarding justice and the rule of law."
Alex felt a momentary sense of relief. A trial. That felt right. That felt civilized.