Chapter 75: The Emperor’s Speech
The news fell upon Rome like a thunderclap on a clear day. It arrived in the form of a single, dust-caked rider, his horse lathered to a foam, who galloped through the Forum screaming of a massacre on the frontier. He was, by design, a perfect instrument of Perennis's art—a man whose genuine terror was real, even if the context he understood was a carefully constructed lie. Within hours, the story was on every tongue, a firestorm of rage and grief sweeping through the city.
Fort Zeugma, a forgotten outpost on the far edge of the civilized world, had become a household name. A full cohort of Roman soldiers, sons of Rome, had been slaughtered. A treacherous Parthian commander, in an act of unparalleled barbarism, had launched a cowardly, unprovoked attack on a peaceful garrison. The details, embellished by Perennis's agents seeded throughout the city, were gruesome and inflammatory: the fort's commander crucified, the Roman standard desecrated and dragged through the dirt. The honor of Rome had not just been insulted; it had been spat upon. The city was in an uproar, a collective roar for vengeance.
Alex convened an emergency session of the Senate. The Curia was packed, its usual air of drowsy debate replaced by a volatile, electric fury. Senators who weeks ago were plotting against him were now clamoring for blood, their faces flushed with patriotic rage. Pertinax was there, standing tall and grim, the dutiful servant of the city, his face a mask of solemn duty. He knew, better than anyone, that this was a turning point. He could feel the reins of the city's mood being snatched from his hands.
When Alex entered, a hush fell over the assembly. He ascended the rostrum, and the man they saw was not the cold, calculating politician of recent memory. He was transformed. His face was pale, his eyes burned with a cold fire, and he wore the simple, unadorned toga of a grieving citizen. He was the personification of Rome's righteous anger.
"Fathers of the Senate," he began, his voice low, trembling with a controlled rage that was more powerful than any shout. "I come before you today with a heart heavy with sorrow, and a spirit hot with outrage."
He recounted the story of the "unprovoked, barbaric" attack on Fort Zeugma. He painted a vivid picture of brave Roman soldiers, keeping the peace on a quiet frontier, ambushed in the dead of night by a savage horde. His words were simple, brutal, and effective. He did not need to lie about the details of the massacre; Perennis's trap had ensured they were all too real.
"They have murdered our sons! They have defiled our Eagle! They have scorned the very name of Rome!" he thundered, his voice finally rising to a crescendo of fury that was met with an answering roar of approval from the senators. "I ask you now, what shall be our response? Do we send a diplomat with a strongly worded protest? Do we demand an apology and a bag of Parthian gold? Or do we answer this atrocity in the only language these Eastern despots understand? The language of Roman steel!"
The Senate erupted. Cries of "War! War! Vengeance!" echoed off the marble walls. Alex let their fury build, standing silent at the rostrum, the eye of the storm. He had them. War was now inevitable, a foregone conclusion.
But then, just as the calls for war reached their peak, he held up a hand for silence. The chamber, slowly, reluctantly, quieted. He was not finished. He was about to pivot, to use the immense political capital he had just generated to launch not just a war, but a new age.