Chapter 140: The Political Vultures
The air in the Curia Hostilia, the ancient heart of the Roman Senate, was a thick, cloying mixture of fear and opportunity. The news from the north had been carefully managed by the palace, but rumor, that most potent of Roman currencies, had filled in the blanks with blood and fire. The official gazette spoke of a victory, but the senators, men who had spent their lives navigating the treacherous currents of power, could smell chaos. They could smell weakness. And where there was weakness, there were vultures waiting to descend.
Lucilla, sister of the Emperor, stood before them, a master of the moment. She was a vision of somber strength, her dark purple stola marking her as a woman in mourning for the fallen state of the Republic. Her face was a mask of grave concern, but her eyes held a sharp, predatory glint. She held a copy of the official report from the palace, the one Alex had been forced to release—a vague, sanitized announcement of a "successful action against hostile barbarian raiders" in Noricum.
She used it not as a shield for her brother, but as a weapon against him.
"Fathers of the Senate," she began, her voice resonating with a perfect pitch of sorrow and strength. "We must all praise the valor of the brave soldiers of the Devota. In the face of a savage enemy, they stood firm. They fought. And they were victorious!"
She paused, allowing a murmur of patriotic agreement to swell and then recede.
"But," she continued, the single word cutting through the self-congratulatory mood, "we must also ask the hard questions. We must ask why. Why was such a small force, a single cohort on a supposed peacekeeping mission, forced to engage in such a desperate, pitched battle deep in hostile territory? It speaks to a flawed strategy, Fathers! A failure of intelligence that put our brave men in unnecessary peril!"
She was a masterful politician. She praised the soldiers while damning the commander. She celebrated the tactical victory while exposing the strategic blunder. She didn't have to invent a conspiracy; she simply pointed out the inconsistencies in Alex's own narrative, letting the senators' inherent suspicion do the rest.
As if on cue, an allied senator, the elderly but respected Lucius Piso, a man whose family's crippling debts Lucilla had quietly erased, rose to his feet. He leaned heavily on a carved ivory cane, his expression one of profound civic worry.
"The words of the noble Lucilla ring with truth!" he declared, his voice quavering with practiced outrage. "The situation in the north is clearly more volatile, more dangerous, than the Emperor, in his distant palace, has been led to believe! The provincial militias are slaughtered, the Emperor's own commission is now engaged in brutal warfare... this is not stability! This is chaos!"
He pointed a trembling finger towards the high, vaulted ceiling. "We cannot govern a crisis of this magnitude through couriers and decrees! We cannot command a war from a study! We need a strong, on-site authority to stabilize the entire region before this fire spreads to Pannonia and beyond!"
He then invoked a name, a power so ancient and revered it sent a hush through the chamber. "In times of great peril, when the very health of the Republic is at stake, our ancestors gave us a tool. A final resort. I move that we pass a Senatus Consultum Ultimum—a Final Decree of the Senate—charging a trusted, capable individual with the full authority of this body to see that the Republic comes to no harm!"