Chapter 200: The Honest Spy
The Emperor’s private chambers were a world away from the roaring defiance of the front line. Here, the only sounds were the crackle of a brazier and the soft rustle of parchment. The air was heavy with the weight of secrets. General Gaius Maximus stood before the Emperor, his posture as straight and unyielding as a temple column. He had been summoned from the East, where he had successfully pacified and secured the loyalty of Pertinax’s old legions, a task he had performed with his characteristic, unwavering honor. He had expected to be commended. He had not expected this.
On the table between them lay two scrolls, a stark diptych of truth and treason. One was Lucilla’s official dispatch, its elegant script boasting of a glorious victory. The other was the decoded, desperate message from Senator Rufus, its words detailing a story of ambition so profound it had curdled into betrayal.
Alex looked older. The last vestiges of the 21st-century project manager’s relative softness had been burned away, leaving behind the hard, unyielding lines of a wartime Emperor. The easy confidence he had once projected was gone, replaced by a cold, weary gravity.
"She did this, Gaius," Alex said, his voice flat, devoid of the fury that Maximus felt building in his own chest. He tapped a finger on Rufus’s scroll. "For a line in a history book. For the cheers of a provincial city. She deliberately withheld intelligence that could have saved my men. She knowingly triggered an event of unknown power in the middle of my most critical operation. Forty-three legionaries are dead or missing because of her. The Conductor, who we were seconds away from eliminating, is now alive, aware, and adapting. All because my sister wanted a triumph."
Maximus listened, his jaw tightening, his great fists clenching at his sides. He was a simple man in many ways. He understood loyalty to Rome and the Emperor. He understood courage in the face of the enemy. He understood the sanctity of an oath. The calculated, self-serving treachery of Lucilla was a concept so alien to his nature that it filled him with a pure, uncomplicated disgust.
"She is a traitor," Maximus stated, the words like stones. "Give the order, Caesar. I will take the Tenth Legion, march north, and bring her back to Rome in chains. The men will follow me. Her ’private army’ of barbarians will break before a true legion."
Alex looked up from the scrolls, and Maximus was taken aback by the profound weariness in his young Emperor’s eyes. "And how would that look to the world, Gaius? The Emperor, fresh from a ’defeat’ on the frontier, immediately turns his legions on his own sister, the celebrated ’Hero of the North’? Her allies in the Senate, and she has many, would scream ’tyranny.’ They would paint me as a paranoid despot, jealous of her success, striking down a popular rival. I would be forced to reveal the truth of our enemy—the aliens, the Resonators—to justify my actions, a truth the Senate is not ready to hear. It would tear the Empire apart from within. No. I cannot move against her directly. I cannot afford a civil war when the real enemy is at the gates."
The strategic reality settled on Maximus, chilling his hot anger. The Emperor was right. Lucilla had wrapped herself in the flag of victory so tightly that to attack her would be to attack the very idea of Roman success. She was untouchable by conventional means.
"Then what is to be done?" Maximus asked, his voice low. "We cannot allow this treason to stand."
"No," Alex agreed, his eyes hardening. "We will not. Which is why I am giving you a new command." He paused, letting the weight of his next words settle in the quiet room. "I am ’promoting’ you. Effective immediately, you are relieved of your command in the East. I am sending you, my most celebrated and loyal general, north to ’assist’ the Proconsul of Noricum. Publicly, you are a symbol of imperial unity, a hero sent to reinforce another hero. You will learn from her ’successful’ new tactics. You will be her second-in-command."
Maximus stared, his mind struggling to process the order. It was nonsensical. "Caesar, you want me to serve... under her? The traitor?" The thought of taking orders from that woman, of saluting her, of pretending to honor her victory, was physically repulsive to him.