Dies Saturni, Tricensimus Mensis Maii, Anno Urbis Conditae MCCXXX
(Saturday, 30th Day of May, Year of the Founding of the City 1230)
The last days of May were warm, the sun beating down on the sprawling city of Rome, but within the cool, stone walls of the Imperial palace, Alexander felt a different kind of heat: the pressure of his own relentless agenda. His physical recovery was complete; he moved with the easy grace of Valerius's youth, augmented by the disciplined exercise he now undertook daily. His mind, however, was far from at ease, constantly sifting through reports, planning, and anticipating the subtle shifts in the currents of power around him.
Theron had provided a wealth of information on General Gnaeus Marcellus – official commendations lauding his bravery, logistical records detailing the surprisingly efficient supply of his northern legions (a mark of a capable commander, Alexander conceded), and a rather dry but telling account of triumphs granted in centuries past. The precedent for non-Imperial triumphs was indeed thin, mostly confined to eras of acknowledged Imperial weakness or for generals who were close family, effectively extensions of the Emperor himself. Marcellus fit neither category.
Alexander was in his private study, a map of the northern provinces unrolled before him, when Scaeva was announced. The young scribe had rapidly become an indispensable part of his routine, a conduit for information and a discreet executor of his less public wishes.
"Your Majesty," Scaeva said, bowing. He looked tired, but his eyes were bright with a focused intensity that Alexander was beginning to appreciate. "I have the first report from the men watching Piso and Crixus."
"Speak," Alexander commanded, leaning back in his chair, his gaze fixed on Scaeva.
"Piso, the cellarer, maintains his usual duties, though he is reportedly more nervous than usual, often looking over his shoulder," Scaeva began. "He continues to have brief, almost furtive, contact with the night watchman Crixus. Two nights ago, as Gaia observed previously, Crixus again left his post at the western gate before his shift ended. My operative followed him."
Alexander's attention sharpened. "And?"
"Crixus proceeded directly to a small, nondescript tavern in the Transtiberim district, a place called 'The Broken Oar.' He met there with two men. My operative described them as rough-looking, likely ex-soldiers or dockworkers, not palace types. They spoke in low voices for some time. Crixus was seen passing them a small, heavy sack, the contents of which could not be discerned. He received a smaller pouch in return, presumably coin. He then returned to the vicinity of the palace, but did not re-enter, instead loitering in the shadows until his shift would have officially ended."
"A tavern in the Transtiberim," Alexander mused. "The Broken Oar. And a heavy sack exchanged for coin." This was more than just a headache tonic. It was clearly a clandestine transaction. But of what? Stolen palace goods? Or something more sinister being smuggled in via the wine deliveries and then passed out through Crixus? The amphora Gaia had seen Piso pass to Crixus might have been a sample or a first delivery.
"Did your operative get a closer look at these two men Crixus met? Any distinguishing features? Did they seem to be expecting him?" Alexander pressed.
"One was described as having a jagged scar across his left cheek, the other missing two fingers on his right hand," Scaeva reported. "They appeared to be waiting for Crixus; he joined them at a pre-occupied table. My operative believes they are likely part of a known gang operating the river docks, specializing in… unregulated commerce." A polite term for smuggling, Alexander knew.
"Unregulated commerce," Alexander repeated, a cold glint in his eyes. "So, our palace watchman is dealing with city gangs, using palace resources or access." This was an infection that needed to be cauterized before it spread. "What of Piso? Has he received any further unusual deliveries or made any other suspicious contacts?"
"Not that has been observed directly, Majesty. His nervousness seems to be his most notable trait at present. Perhaps he senses something is amiss."
Alexander considered. Piso was the inside man, likely weak and easily intimidated. Crixus was the courier, the connection to the outside. The two men at The Broken Oar were the next link in the chain. "Scaeva," he said, "this operative who followed Crixus. Is he reliable? Can he be trusted for a more… active assignment?"
Scaeva met his gaze. "He is a veteran of my father's old legion, Majesty. A man named Titus Pullo. He is… pragmatic. Loyal to coin, certainly, but also possesses a grudging respect for authority if it is firm and clear. He is not a man to ask too many questions if the task is straightforward and the pay is good."
Titus Pullo. A common legionary name. "I want this Crixus taken," Alexander said, his voice dropping to a low, decisive tone. "Quietly. Away from the palace, when he next meets these contacts or attempts to leave his post with goods. I want him brought to a secure, discreet location. You will arrange this. Pullo and his associate, if he has one, can handle the… acquisition. You will then conduct the interrogation yourself, Scaeva."
Scaeva's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. This was a significant escalation from mere observation. Interrogation. "Majesty… I have no experience in such…"
"You have a keen mind, Scaeva, and you understand what I need to know," Alexander cut him off, his voice like chilled steel. "Who are these men? What is being smuggled? Who else in the palace is involved? Is this merely theft, or something that threatens the security of this household, or my person? I expect you to find answers. You will have two of my most trusted household guards, men who answer only to me and who will not speak, present for… security… during your conversation with Crixus. They will not participate unless you require physical persuasion, which I trust your intellect will render unnecessary. Do you understand the task?"
Scaeva swallowed, but his gaze firmed. The initial shock was replaced by a grim understanding. This was the true meaning of serving the Emperor directly. "I… I understand, Your Majesty. I will not fail you."
"See that you do not," Alexander said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "Report to me as soon as you have anything of substance." He was testing Scaeva's mettle, his ruthlessness. Some men broke under such pressure. Others were forged. Alexander needed to know what kind of man Scaeva would become.
Later, Livia found him in the garden. She had news of her own. "Senator Cicero's faction is growing bolder, Valerius," she said, her brow furrowed. "They are attempting to attach riders to unrelated Senate bills, clauses that would subtly increase Senatorial oversight on provincial appointments and treasury disbursements. They couch it in the language of 'accountability' and 'preventing corruption,' but their aim is clear: to chip away at Imperial prerogative while you are still perceived as… finding your footing."
"Their impatience is noted, Mother," Alexander replied, calmly pruning a stray rose stem with a small knife he'd taken to carrying. "Let them overplay their hand. The reports from the Council are due in less than two weeks. Once I have a clear picture of the Empire's true state, I will address the Senate's… suggestions… with the full weight of informed authority."
"And Marcellus?" Livia pressed. "The talk of his triumph continues. Some are even suggesting he be recalled to Rome to 'advise' you on military matters, given his recent successes."
"Recalled to advise me?" Alexander's smile was thin and cold. "How thoughtful of them. Perhaps, once the Council reports are in, I will indeed consider summoning the good general. It would be… beneficial… for us to become better acquainted." He was already formulating a plan for Marcellus, a way to bring the general into his orbit, but on his own terms, in his own time. The summons would come, but it would be an Imperial command, not a Senatorial suggestion.
His mind was a whirl of calculations. The cellarer and the watchman were a minor infection, but one that needed swift, quiet excision to prevent its spread and to understand its source. Cicero and his senatorial allies were a more public, political challenge, requiring a different kind of strategy – one of using their own rules and procedures against them, armed with superior information. And Marcellus, the popular general, was a potential wildfire on the horizon, needing careful containment and eventual control.
Each day brought new information, new threats to dissect, new openings to exploit. Alexander felt that familiar surge, the sharp focus he'd always had when a high-stakes negotiation was in play or a rival company was ripe for a takeover. He was past merely reacting to events. Now, he was the one initiating, making his moves, deciding who was useful, who was a liability, and who needed to be brought firmly under his control. He could see some figures already shifting in response to his subtle pressures; the others would learn soon enough that the game had a new master.