Dies Iovis, Undevicesimus Mensis Iunii, Anno Urbis Conditae MCCXXX
(Thursday, 18th of Day of June, Year of the Founding of the City 1230)
The month allotted to the Imperial Council had passed. It was a period Alexander had used to its fullest, immersing himself in the realities of his new world while quietly tightening his grip on the palace itself. The successful, silent purge of the smuggling ring had fortified his immediate security, and in Scaeva, he was beginning to see the outlines of a truly useful, loyal agent. Now, the time for quiet study and subtle observation was ending. The day of the reckoning had arrived.
The meeting was held in the Chamber of Helios, a formal council room one level below the private Imperial apartments. Sunlight streamed through high, arched windows, illuminating a large, circular table of polished dark wood. Alexander took his seat at its head, not in a towering throne, but in a chair identical to the others, yet set apart by the sheer force of his presence. He was no longer the pale invalid. He was dressed in a simple, deep purple tunic, his bearing erect, his expression calm and unreadable.
Livia settled into the chair at his right, her posture immaculate, a silent but potent symbol of the Imperial line. Scaeva found his place behind the Emperor's chair, placing his blank wax tablets on the small table with a soft, precise click. The four council members took their seats, their faces tight. Scaurus fidgeted with a scroll, while Paetus sat rigid as stone, his jaw set.
"Gentlemen," Alexander began, his voice cutting cleanly through the silence. "A month ago, I tasked you with providing clear, unvarnished assessments of the state of this Empire. The time for those reports has come. Prefect Scaurus, you will begin. The grain supply."
Fabius Scaurus, the elderly Praefectus Annonae, rose, his hands clutching a heavy scroll. "Your Majesty. My office has completed a full audit of the annona. The numbers are… sobering. The grain dole currently supports nearly one-third of the city's registered populace. The cost, as we discussed, is a primary drain on the state treasury." He went on to detail the extent of fraud they had uncovered – thousands of 'ghost' recipients on the rolls, collusion between certain distributors and dock officials to siphon off stock. He then outlined the vulnerabilities in relying so heavily on Aegyptus and Africa, and proposed several new potential grain sources from provinces in Hispania and Gaul, along with a detailed plan for a new census to purge the rolls.
Alexander listened without interruption, his gaze intense. When Scaurus finished, he gave a curt nod. "A clear, if troubling, report, Prefect. We will return to your proposals." He then turned his gaze upon Valerius Capito. "Quaestor. The state of our finances."
Capito, ever the pragmatist, did not mince words. "The state of the treasury is perilous, Your Majesty. Senator Cicero was not entirely wrong in his concern, merely in his self-serving solutions. Our expenditures, led by the military payroll and the annona, consistently outpace our revenues." He detailed the vast sums lost to inefficient tax farming, highlighting several syndicates that returned less than half of what they collected. He then presented his three models for reform: the first a minor adjustment of the current system, the second a more aggressive state oversight of the farmers, and the third, the most radical, a phased replacement of tax farmers with salaried, direct state collectors, the publicani. "The third option, Majesty," Capito concluded, "would be difficult and costly to implement initially, but promises the greatest long-term return and reduction in corruption."
Next came Servius Galba, the Magister Officiorum. His report on the provincial administrations was a dry, methodical masterpiece of bureaucratic indictment. He named three governors whose personal wealth had inexplicably tripled during their tenures, presenting evidence of their lavish estates and suspiciously profitable side dealings. He also detailed the administrative chaos that Cicero's "work programs" would likely cause, calling them a "recipe for graft on a scale that would make a tax farmer blush."
Finally, all eyes turned to Gaius Fulvius Paetus, the Praetorian Prefect. The old soldier rose, his scarred face grim. "Majesty, my report on the legions is not one I am proud to deliver. While the northern army under General Marcellus is well-equipped and its morale is high, the same cannot be said for others. The legions on the Persian frontier are using outdated equipment, their pay is three months in arrears, and recruitment of quality Roman citizens is at an all-time low, forcing us to rely too heavily on barbarian auxiliaries of questionable long-term loyalty." He outlined critical supply shortfalls and concluded, "Majesty, the army is a blade. Parts of it remain sharp, but there is rust, and the handle is cracking. Another major conflict on a second front, without significant new investment, would be catastrophic."
A heavy silence descended upon the chamber. The four reports painted a grim, unified picture: an empire struggling with fraud, corruption, financial strain, and military decay, all masked by the recent victories of a single, popular general.
Alexander let the silence hang for a long moment, allowing the full weight of their findings to settle upon them. Then he spoke, his voice quiet but carrying an authority that was absolute.
"Thank you, gentlemen," he said. "You have presented me not with flattering falsehoods, but with hard truths. That is the service I require." He looked at Scaurus. "Your proposal for a new census to purge the grain rolls is approved. Begin immediately. Master Galba will provide you with the necessary administrative support."
He turned to Galba. "Your report on provincial malfeasance was… noted. You will prepare a formal case against the governor of Lusitania, the most egregious offender. He will be recalled to Rome to face a public trial for corruption. Let the word go forth that the Emperor's tolerance for such thievery is at an end."
His gaze shifted to Capito. "Quaestor, your third model, the direct collection of taxes by state officials. It is the only real solution. We will begin a trial implementation in the province of Sicilia. It is close, manageable, and its current tax returns are notoriously poor. I expect a full plan for this trial on my desk within a fortnight. Use its potential success as a warning to the tax farming syndicates elsewhere."
Finally, he looked at Paetus. "Prefect, the state of the army is unacceptable. Quaestor Capito will find the funds to clear the arrears for the Persian legions immediately, even if it requires seizing the assets of our corrupt governor from Lusitania. You will oversee the transfer of surplus quality equipment from Marcellus's legions to the eastern front. And you will present me with a plan to reform legionary recruitment." He paused, his gaze sweeping across all four men. "I trust these directives are clear."
They stared at him, stunned into silence. He had not merely listened; he had absorbed, analyzed, and issued a series of sweeping, decisive commands on the spot, weaving their separate reports into a single, integrated strategy of reform and crackdown.
"There is one final matter," Alexander said, his voice becoming colder. "The Senate has been… agitated… by talk of a triumph for General Marcellus to honor his victories."
He let his eyes rest on Paetus. "Prefect, you have just told me our army is rusting, its men unpaid, its frontiers vulnerable. And Quaestor Capito has told me our treasury is perilous." He looked around the table. "Does this sound like an Empire that can afford the immense expense and distraction of a grand triumph at this moment? Does it sound like a prudent use of our resources?"
No one spoke. The answer was obvious.
"Therefore," Alexander stated, his voice leaving no room for argument, "I have made a decision. I will send a dispatch to General Marcellus myself. I will praise his victories in the highest terms. I will grant him a significant donative from my private purse to reward his men for their valor. However, I will inform him that the state, facing such dire financial and military realities as you have all so clearly outlined today, cannot sanction a formal triumph at this time. All our resources must be directed toward the strengthening of the entire army and the security of all our borders. His sacrifice in this matter, I will explain, is a testament to his loyalty and his understanding of the greater good."
He had done it. He had used their own data, their own dire warnings, as the unimpeachable justification for denying the triumph. He had turned it from a potential political insult into an act of shared fiscal responsibility. No senator, not even Cicero, could argue against it without appearing reckless and unpatriotic.
"This council is dismissed," Alexander said. "You have your orders. I expect swift and diligent execution."
The four most powerful men in Rome rose and bowed, their expressions a mixture of shock, awe, and a newfound, very real fear. They filed out of the chamber, leaving Alexander alone with Livia and Scaeva.
Livia looked at her son, her usual composure shaken. "Valerius," she breathed. "In one hour… you have taken the reins of this Empire more firmly than your father did in ten years."
"My father ruled his way, Mother," Alexander said, rising from his chair. "I will rule mine." He felt a surge of pure, unadulterated power. This was control. This was command. This was the thrill he had sought. The reports had been a reckoning for the council, but they had also been an ascension for him. The unseen hand was unseen no longer; it was now closing its fist around the throat of Rome, preparing to reshape it.