Chapter 64: Civitas Aurelia

December 25, 220 AD, Civitas Aurelia & Gallia.

Governor Marcellus stood on the balcony of the praetorium, clutching a goblet of watered wine so tightly his knuckles were white.

Civitas Aurelia was screaming.

The capital was not under siege from a foreign army, nor were legions battering down its gates. The city was tearing itself apart from the inside. From his vantage point, Marcellus could see columns of smoke rising from the warehouse district, the glow of the inferno reflecting off the clouds. The Guild’s grain silos had been reduced to craters in a matter of hours.

Down in the streets of the *vicus*, the sounds of a civil war echoed up to the Governor’s ears. It was the noise of thousands of starving plebeians, runaway slaves, and laborers clashing with the remnants of the city watch.

Tthe blades Lucius had smuggled into the city were doing what they were designed to do...

They were cheap weapons, useless in an open-field formation, but in the confines of an urban alleyway, they could bypass a watchman’s shield and hook behind the neck with efficiency.

Marcellus took a sip of his wine. He had sent Praefectus Claudius and four cohorts east to scavenge Fundus Ferratus, leaving Centurion Balo to maintain order.

Now, Balo was dead, assassinated in an alley, and the plebeians had realized the garrison was empty.

A silence hung over the remaining magistrates huddled behind Marcellus in the praetorium. Magistrate Drusus, his toga stained with sweat, stepped forward.

"Governor," Drusus stammered, his voice trembling. "The mob has breached the southern forum. They are dragging Guild merchants from their manors. We must recall Praefectus Claudius."

"Recall him?" Marcellus snapped, spinning around, his eyes bloodshot. "He is days away! By the time a rider reaches him, this city will be ash! The Forge Master orchestrated this. He burned our grain to drive the plebeians mad, and he armed them while we were looking north!"

Before Drusus could respond, the doors of the balcony were thrown open.

A bloodied captain of the city watch staggered into the room.

"The inner barricades are failing, Governor!" the captain gasped, collapsing to one knee. "The rioters have numbers we cannot hold back. They are using the *falxes* to rip our shield walls apart in the alleys. They are demanding the heads of the Guild Masters!"

Marcellus stared down at the bleeding captain, a realization sinking in.

He was the highest authority in Gaul, the representative of the Roman Emperor, and he was powerless in his own city...

"Pull the remaining watchmen back to the praetorium," Marcellus ordered. "Barricade the doors. We hold this building until Claudius returns."

The captain looked up, disbelief written across his face. "Governor, if we abandon the streets, the rioters will slaughter the patrician families in their homes!"

"I do not care about the patricians!" Marcellus roared.

He hurled his goblet against the wall, the wine spraying like blood. "I care about holding the seat of power! If the praetorium falls, the province falls! Pull the men back now!"

The captain hesitated for a fraction of a second before he nodded, pushing himself up from the floor. He rushed back out of the room to execute the Governor’s retreat.

As the defense of the city evaporated, the horrors of the uprising took hold.

In the merchant quarter, Guild Master Spurius found himself trapped. The rioters had blockaded the street outside his manor with overturned carts and burning debris. Spurius stood in his atrium, gripping a gladius with trembling hands, while his bodyguards tried to brace the doors against the mob outside.

"Hold them! I will pay you each a hundred denarii if the doors hold!" Spurius shrieked, his face pale.

But the mob did not intend to break the doors down... From the shadows of the rooftops, a dozen of Isolda’s Ghost operatives appeared.

Moving with the precision of trained saboteurs, they hurled clay pots onto the roof of Spurius’s manor.

The compounds detonated. The explosions blew holes through the tiles, sending a rain of fire, clay, and iron shrapnel down into the atrium.

Spurius screamed as a piece of slag tore through his shoulder. His bodyguards, terrified by the explosive sorcery, abandoned the doors and fled toward the rear exits.

The doors burst open, and the starving plebeians poured into the manor. They carried the *falxes*, and they showed no mercy to the man who had hoarded their grain while they starved.

Spurius was dragged from his own home, kicking and screaming for the protection of the magistrates. But the magistrates were locked inside the praetorium, praying to the gods while the city burned around them.

High above the chaos, Isolda’s captain, Silas, stood on the roof of a basilica overlooking the forum. He watched the flames spreading through the patrician estates, a smile touching his lips. The rage of the underclass was a weapon more devastating than any siege engine.

A Ghost operative scrambled up the stonework, dropping into a crouch beside Silas.

"Captain," the operative reported. "The city watch has abandoned the outer perimeter. They are pulling back to barricade the Governor inside his palace. The southern gates are undefended."

Silas nodded.

Silas turned away from the inferno. "Send word down the tunnels to the Domina," Silas ordered. "Tell her the gates are open. We are ready for the Forge Master to arrive."

...

Miles away, on the Aurelian Way, Lucius Cassius was not hurrying.

The army of Fundus Ferratus marched at a steady pace. Lucius did not force-march his men; he wanted them rested, hydrated, and operating at peak when they entered the city. He rode his warhorse at the head of the column.

As they crested the final ridge overlooking the valley of Civitas Aurelia, Valerius pulled his horse to a halt, his jaw dropping in shock.

The commander had been preparing himself for a siege against a fortified wall. Instead, he saw a city engulfed in pillars of smoke.

He could hear the roar of the riots carrying on the wind. The southern gates, which were designed to withstand a bombardment, were standing open, unguarded.

Valerius turned to look at Lucius.

"By the gods, Dominus," Valerius breathed. "You broke his city..."

Lucius was calm. He spurred his horse forward.