The morning sun seeped into the council chamber, its golden light casting long shadows on the worn marble floor. Romulus Augustus, clad in a modest tunic and the imperial purple mantle, sat at the head of the council table. Though barely eleven, his calm gaze betrayed a mind weighed down by matters far beyond his years. The council chamber was sparse yet imposing, a relic of an empire struggling to maintain its dignity amid decline.
One by one, the emperor’s advisors entered. Bishop Felix was first, his long robes swaying as he crossed the room. He inclined his head respectfully toward Romulus before taking his seat. Marcellus Claudius, the infrastructure advisor, followed with a bundle of parchments tucked under one arm. His heavy steps echoed with the burden of overseeing the empire's crumbling roads and walls. Marcus Verus entered soon after, a tablet of agricultural figures in hand, his ruddy complexion betraying the long hours spent amid struggling farms.
Caius, the workshop overseer and industrial adviser, arrived with an air of urgency, his hands smudged with soot, a testament to his tireless work on military and agricultural equipment. He nodded quickly to Romulus before unrolling reports onto the table. Senator Quintus Marcellus entered with his usual deliberate stride, his toga draped impeccably.
The room hummed with quiet discussion as the seats filled. Finally, the door opened to admit Crassus, the diplomatic advisor, and Comes Lucius Varius, the acting military commander in Ravenna. The two men walked in together, their heads bowed in deep conversation. Their voices were low but intense, cutting off abruptly as they reached the table.
Romulus’s sharp eyes caught the subtle exchange of glances between Crassus and the Comes.
As the room settled, Romulus swept his gaze across the assembled advisors. “Let us proceed,” he said, his voice calm but authoritative. “Crassus, you requested to address the council first?”
Crassus rose smoothly, his expression theatrical. He clasped his hands behind his back and let his gaze linger on the assembled advisors before speaking. “Caesar, esteemed members of this council,” he began, his voice rich and commanding, “I bring news that should ease many troubled minds in this chamber.”
The room grew quiet as Crassus continued, his words slow and deliberate. “After months of thorough investigation, I can now confirm that the attempt on Caesar’s life was the work of a lone actor—a desperate, misguided man who sought to alter his fortunes through chaos.”
Crassus paused, his dark eyes scanning the room for effect. “This man, acting alone, hired a small band of mercenaries to stage the ambush. When his hired help failed to achieve his ends, he grew desperate, culminating in his direct actions against Caesar.”
He gestured subtly toward Romulus, his tone softening. “But let me assure you, Caesar, and all present, that this was an isolated event. The perpetrator as you know has already been dealt with by a loyal son of Rome, and I am confident there will be no further attempts of this nature.”
Crassus straightened, his voice rising. “The investigation has left no stone unturned, no thread unexamined. We have ensured that all traces of this plot are extinguished. Our young emperor can rest assured that his safety is no longer in jeopardy.”
A murmur of relief swept the room, though some glanced at one another with skepticism. Crassus, held up a hand for silence. “I know there are those who may still harbor doubts, but let me assure you—this matter has been put to rest.”
Romulus regarded Crassus with a level gaze. “You are certain?” he asked, his voice measured. “There is no chance of further threats?”
Crassus inclined his head with a reassuring smile. “Caesar, I stake my honor on it. The guilty man was driven by desperation, not by a larger conspiracy. We have taken every precaution to ensure your continued safety.”
Romulus considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Very well. Your efforts are appreciated, Crassus.”
The diplomatic advisor and Orestes confidant bowed deeply. “It is my duty to serve, Caesar.”
With the matter concluded, Romulus turned his attention to the next topic. “Bishop Felix, the Church’s report?”
Felix inclined his head. “Caesar, the Church remains steadfast in its efforts to mediate between local elite and the veterans. However, tensions persist in Campania, where disputes over land allocations threaten to escalate into violence. I suggest dispatching mediators to address these grievances before they worsen.”
Romulus nodded thoughtfully. “We will revisit this after the council. Marcellus Claudius, the state of our infrastructure?”
Marcellus spread his parchments across the table, his face etched with worry. “Caesar, the situation remains dire. The treasury has only scraps left for infrastructure, so we are forced to focus solely on essential repairs. The roads near Ravenna are barely passable, and while we’ve managed to stabilize a few critical sections, the northern routes remain a challenge.”
He hesitated, glancing at Romulus. “The progress on Ravenna’s walls continues steadily, though slowly. The second phase of reinforcement is nearly complete. The watchtowers are in place, and the ditches around the city are being deepened. Still, we lack funds for additional laborers, which is delaying completion.”
Romulus tapped his fingers lightly on the table. “Continue prioritizing the walls. Ravenna must be defensible. Marcus Verus, agriculture?”
The advisor shifted in his seat, clearing his throat. “The adoption of the three-field system around Ravenna is showing promise, Caesar, but drought conditions in Latium threaten to undercut this year’s harvest. Grain reserves are low, and without imports, we may face shortages by winter. Additionally, the distribution of iron plows is slower than expected. Many farmers are reluctant to abandon traditional methods.”
Romulus frowned but motioned for Marcus to continue. The discussion moved briefly to the workshops, where Caius outlined the production of crossbows and iron plows. While his enthusiasm was evident, the limitations of resources and labor loomed large in his report.
Finally, Romulus turned to Senator Quintus Marcellus. “Quintus, how fares the treasury?”
Quintus leaned back slightly, his tone calm but deliberate. “Caesar, the revised tariffs have begun to show results. Trade revenue has increased modestly, enough to keep the treasury afloat for now. The new tax collectors, however, have proven the more significant achievement. They have already recovered nearly 35,000 solidi, with more expected in the coming months.”
He paused, his expression tightening. “That said, their work is not without challenges. Reports have surfaced of ambushes targeting their convoys in the countryside, though, thankfully, no one has been harmed yet. It’s clear that certain individuals see these efforts as a threat to their interests.”
Quintus’s gaze flicked meaningfully to Romulus. “It may be prudent to focus stricter audits on specific senators who have... resisted contributing their fair share.”
The discussion turned briefly to Andronikos, who provided an update on the ongoing recruitment of scholars for the yet-to-be-built academy.
As the reports concluded, Crassus and Comes Lucius Varius exchanged a glance. After a subtle nod from Crassus, the Comes cleared his throat.
“Caesar,” he began, his voice steady but grave, “if I may, there is a matter of concern that requires immediate attention.”
Comes Lucius Varius straightened in his seat, his gaze sweeping the room before settling on Romulus. “I have concluded my observations regarding the stirrup,” he began, his tone measured but firm. “While I acknowledge the innovation it represents, I cannot support its further implementation into the Palatini forces.”
A murmur rippled through the room. Varius raised a hand to preempt any interruptions. “The current four-horned saddle, as you are aware, provides excellent stability for mounted combat. Its design allows the rider to anchor their thighs against the front horns during a charge and stabilize their seat with the rear horns. This system, proven and reliable, enables our cavalry to deliver their devastating charges effectively.”
He leaned forward slightly, his voice sharpening. “The stirrup, by contrast, encourages reliance on the foot for stability rather than the body’s natural grip on the saddle. While this might benefit less-trained riders, it adds unnecessary complexity to our current cavalry practices. Worse, in the event of a fall, the risk of entrapment is considerable—a danger we cannot afford in the heat of battle.”
Romulus tilted his head, his youthful face impassive. “And yet, reports from the test detachments suggest it has improved their performance.”
Varius allowed a faint smile. “Indeed, Caesar, but consider this: the Palatini are shock cavalry, not skirmishers. Adjusting their training to include the stirrup would dilute their effectiveness. Let the auxiliaries and foederati experiment with such novelties; the Palatini must remain unyielding in their discipline and purpose.”
The room fell silent as Varius shifted to his next point. “Another concern, Caesar, is the recent promotion of Flavianus to Dux. While I respect his service, there are practical issues that must be addressed.”
His voice dropped slightly, his tone conspiratorial yet forceful. “Flavianus is a commoner. His elevation sends a dangerous precedent to the legions—one that undermines the traditional hierarchy. The soldiers, while loyal, need clear lines of authority rooted in Rome’s traditions. A leader who has risen from their ranks risks being seen as too familiar, too vulnerable to favoritism. I did not voice these concerns regarding Gaius, because I actually trust his abilities as he proved it before. He has earned my respect.”
Romulus raised an eyebrow, his fingers steepling as he considered the argument. “Your concerns are noted, Comes. I assume you have a solution in mind?”
“I do, Caesar,” Varius replied smoothly. “As acting military commander in Ravenna, I am uniquely positioned to oversee the recruitment and integration of new forces. If we are to expand the army as you proposed last council it must be done with care. Recruits must be trained to respect their superiors and uphold Rome’s legacy. There is no need for drastic reorganization like establishing new legions with merging already existing ones or for handing command to those without patrician blood.”
His gaze swept the table, landing momentarily on Crassus before returning to Romulus. “I humbly request overall command of the comitatenses. This will ensure unity and discipline while preserving the dignity of Rome’s military tradition.”
Romulus remained silent for a long moment, his gaze sweeping across the room as the weight of the discussion settled over the council chamber. All eyes turned toward him, waiting. His young face betrayed no immediate emotion.
Finally, he spoke, his voice steady but resolute. “Comes Varius, I thank you for your candid observations and for offering your service. Your concerns are duly noted, and your dedication to preserving Rome’s traditions is clear.” He paused, his gaze locking on the Comes. “However, I must address the matter of recruitment that you yourself mentioned.”
The boy emperor leaned forward slightly, his fingers steepled. “It is my intention to provide 30,000 solidi to strengthen the comitatenses. With this, I aim to increase their numbers from the current 1,200 to a fully organized legion of 3,500 troops. These funds will go toward recruitment, training, and provisioning.”
Varius straightened in his seat, his excitement palpable. Romulus continued, his tone measured. “I agree with your point that such efforts must be handled with care. However, I must emphasize that this recruitment will not involve conscription. Only willing men will be recruited, and we will prioritize those who understand and accept the discipline required of a Roman soldier.”
The young emperor’s gaze softened slightly. “Comes Varius, I believe your expertise can play a critical role in this effort. If you can prove yourself by managing this recruitment and bringing these troops into the fold effectively, we can revisit the matter of overall command of the comitatenses.”
A murmur rippled through the room, but Romulus raised a hand, silencing it. “I expect progress reports at regular intervals. This is a test of not only your capabilities but of your understanding of the needs of Rome.”
Varius inclined his head, though his jaw tightened slightly. “Caesar, your proposal is generous, but I must caution against overly optimistic expectations. Recruiting 2,300 additional troops from willing volunteers, without conscription, will present significant challenges.”
He gestured to the map on the table. “First, the pool of willing men is limited. Many of the able-bodied have been claimed by labor in the fields, the workshops, or by the foederati. To draw them into the legions, we will need to offer compelling incentives—land grants, steady pay, or promises of citizenship to the foederati recruits.”
Varius’s voice grew more pragmatic. “Second, the timeline must be realistic. Even with sufficient funds, training new recruits to meet the standards of the comitatenses will take months. Recruiting the necessary numbers could take at least six to eight months, depending on the success of our outreach efforts in Ravenna and its surrounding regions.”
He leaned back slightly, his gaze steady. “With diligent work and appropriate incentives, we might begin to see the ranks swell by late autumn. However, achieving full strength and integrating these men into a cohesive force will likely take until the spring of next year.”
Romulus nodded thoughtfully, acknowledging the validity of the Comes’s arguments. “Then it is settled. You will oversee the recruitment effort, and I trust you will ensure its success. The timeline you propose is reasonable, but we must strive to reach our goal without unnecessary delays. Ensure that the process is fair and transparent—this army must be one of discipline and unity, not discontent.”
Comes Varius inclined his head once more, his lips pressed into a thin line. “As you command, Caesar,” he said with measured calm. Though his words were deferential, his dissatisfaction was evident in the tightness of his jaw and the deliberate restraint in his tone. It was clear he was displeased with the delay in granting him overall command, but he let the matter rest—for now.
Romulus’s sharp eyes lingered on Varius for a moment longer before he straightened in his seat. “Thank you, Comes. This council is concluded. We shall reconvene in a week to review progress on all fronts.”
As the chamber emptied except the guards, Romulus remained seated. Bishop Felix lingered briefly, offering a deferential nod as he departed, his robes swishing softly. “Your Grace,” Romulus called after him, “let us address our matters tomorrow instead.”
Felix turned with a gracious smile. “As you wish, Caesar. May your day be blessed.” He exited, his gait steady, leaving the room quiet save for the faint echo of footsteps fading down the corridor.
As the heavy doors closed behind the last of the advisors, Caius and Marcellus Claudius did not move to follow. Instead, they exchanged a glance before stepping closer to the emperor. Romulus’s sharp eyes fixed on them, sensing their hesitation.
“Caius, Marcellus,” he said quietly, his voice firm but curious, “you have something to discuss?”
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Caius and Marcellus Claudius exchanged another glance, their hesitation palpable as they stepped closer to the emperor. Caius, who apart from being the industrial advisor he oversaw the state owned workshops as well, spoke first, his voice low.
“Caesar,” he began, carefully choosing his words, “We are your faithful advisors but Marcellus and I represent not just our respective workshops but many craftsmen and guilds across Ravenna and beyond. We have discussed the challenges your administration faces—insufficient workforce, dwindling raw resources—and we believe we can help alleviate these burdens.”
Marcellus Claudius nodded, his hand resting on a rolled parchment as if to steady himself. “Indeed, Caesar. We have thought long and hard about how our skills, our workshops, and those we represent might serve the empire. But, as with all such things, there is a need for mutual understanding... and compromise.”
Romulus’s expression darkened ever so slightly, but he remained silent, his sharp gaze fixed on the two men.
Caius took the cue to continue. “I am well aware of your plans to establish a measurement and precision tool workshop, Caesar. It is an admirable and ambitious undertaking, one that could transform the efficiency of state workshops and military production alike. However, such a venture requires a steady supply of materials and finely crafted tools to meet its needs.”
He hesitated briefly before pressing on. “I propose that my smithy—along with allied blacksmiths—be granted the exclusive right to supply these tools and raw materials to your workshops. In exchange, we will prioritize the needs of the empire, ensuring a steady flow of supplies at a fair cost.”
Romulus’s gaze remained unyielding, his mood visibly darkening as Caius continued.
Marcellus cleared his throat, stepping in. “And as for my own field, Caesar, my masonry workshop is among the largest and most skilled in Ravenna. We, too, are ready to lend our expertise to the empire. My craftsmen can expedite the completion of critical infrastructure projects—your walls, aqueducts, and fortifications.”
He leaned forward slightly, his tone growing firmer. “But such efforts require stability and assurance. To this end, I propose that my workshop, along with those I represent, be granted exclusive rights to major construction projects across Italy. With this monopoly, we can standardize and accelerate the rebuilding of Rome’s infrastructure, ensuring efficiency and quality.”
The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of their offers hanging in the air. Both men watched Romulus closely, their expressions a mix of hope and unease.
Caius added quickly, as though sensing the emperor’s growing displeasure, “These are not demands, Caesar, but proposals. We only seek to formalize what is already evident—our workshops and craftsmen are indispensable to the restoration of Rome’s greatness.”
Marcellus nodded in agreement, his tone almost pleading. “Consider it, Caesar. This partnership would strengthen the empire while giving us the stability we need to meet your demands.”
Romulus remained silent, his expression dark and inscrutable. His fingers tapped lightly on the marble table, the only sound in the chamber. The two craftsmen shifted uneasily under his gaze, their confidence wavering as they awaited his response.
Romulus stood slowly, the rustle of his mantle the only sound in the chamber. He turned and walked toward the tall window, his hands clasped behind his back. The sunlight bathed his young face in gold, but the shadow his presence cast seemed to darken the room. For a moment, he said nothing, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, calm, and laced with an edge of steel.
“Tell me,” he began, without turning back to face them, “are you the ones responsible for these shortages?”
Caius and Marcellus froze, exchanging nervous glances. Marcellus was the first to answer, his tone measured but laced with unease. “Caesar, we have no part in creating these shortages. The challenges you face are vast, and our workshops are but small pieces in a much larger puzzle.”
Romulus raised a hand, silencing him. He turned slowly, his sharp eyes piercing the two men. “I did not ask for excuses. It is evident, even if you did not orchestrate this personally, that you and others like you have had a hand in it. Your influence, your greed—these things compound Rome’s burdens.”
Caius, emboldened by Marcellus’s words, stepped forward slightly, though his hands trembled at his sides. “Caesar, we have only sought to serve the empire. If there are grievances against us, we would address them directly. But to suggest we’ve acted against Rome’s interests... we would never dream of such treachery.”
Romulus’s gaze locked onto Caius, his voice cutting through the chamber. “Your intentions?” he said coldly. “Your intentions are clear. You come here, claiming to offer aid, but in truth, you seek to blackmail me. You dangle your supposed solutions in front of me, expecting me to compromise Rome’s authority, to cede my own power, all for your personal gain.”
Marcellus’s face paled, but he raised a hand in a placating gesture. “Caesar, I beg you to reconsider our motives. The empire is fragile, yes, but collaboration, not confrontation, is the path forward. Our workshops are ready to stand alongside your efforts. What we propose is partnership, not coercion.”
Romulus’s voice rose sharply, ignoring the plea. “Do you think me blind? Deaf? That I do not hear the whispers of my advisors, of men like you? I have tolerated your machinations because, until now, they did not threaten Rome. But this—” he gestured sharply toward them, his tone rising further—“this is an insult not just to me, but to the empire itself!”
Caius’s confidence faltered, his voice breaking slightly. “We never intended—Caesar, please understand—”
Romulus took a step toward them, his voice reaching a crescendo. “You think you can dictate terms to me? That I will bend to your threats? No. I have a counteroffer.”
He turned his gaze to Caius, his eyes narrowing. “I will build state-owned workshops for everything in Ravenna. They will produce better tools, better equipment, and for less. Your smithy will become obsolete, Caius. And when that happens, I will raise your taxes. In a year, you will be driven out of business.”
Caius’s mouth opened, but he found no response. He looked to Marcellus, who hesitated before stepping forward, his voice trembling but defiant. “Caesar, we are loyal citizens of Rome. If these are your intentions, we beg you to reconsider. Our workshops employ hundreds—families who depend on us. What will become of them?”
Romulus shifted his gaze to Marcellus, his tone colder now. “And as for you—I will establish state-employed brigades. They will specialize in repairing and constructing roads, aqueducts, and fortifications. They will do it better, faster, and without the need for your monopolies. Your workshop, Marcellus, will be irrelevant within two years.”
Marcellus faltered, grasping the edge of the table as he stumbled back a step. “Caesar, please, this is not what we intended. We sought only to assist—”
“You only sought to exploit Rome’s need,” Romulus interrupted, his voice deadly quiet now. “You are not my partners. You are parasites.”
He turned to the guards, his voice ringing with authority. “Escort them out.”
The guards moved immediately, each taking a step toward Caius and Marcellus, who both looked as though the floor had fallen out beneath them. Caius, in a last act of defiance, turned to Romulus. “You misunderstand us, Caesar.”
Romulus’s sharp eyes did not waver. “When you have something genuine to offer—something that serves Rome’s interests and not just your own—you may reach out to me.”
The heavy doors closed behind the two shaken men, their footsteps echoing down the corridor. For a moment, the chamber was silent once more. Romulus turned back toward the window, exhaling slowly as his anger receded.
The faint sound of murmurs beyond the doors broke the silence. Romulus’s sharp ears caught snippets of the conversation.
“He’s just turned eleven...” one voice muttered, disbelief evident. “Can you imagine when he will turn twelve?”
The young emperor’s lips twitched into a faint smile. He turned toward the window, the absurdity of their words not lost on him.
In the days following their dismissal, Caius and Marcellus were consumed by anger. The humiliation they had endured at the hands of the boy-emperor lingered like a bitter taste, a sharp reminder of their diminished status. They paced their workshops, muttering to themselves, their indignation spilling over into curt orders and terse exchanges with their foremen. The workers noticed their moods but said nothing, fearing the backlash of speaking out.
At first, their anger was focused entirely on Romulus. How dare he, barely eleven years old, lecture them as if they were common criminals? They had come to him with solutions, with proposals to save Rome, only to be cast aside and threatened with ruin. Marcellus clenched his fists as he thought back to the emperor’s cold gaze, while Caius fumed, his words spilling out in bursts of frustration. “A child,” Caius spat one evening to Marcellus, “a child who thinks he can dictate the future of men who have built this city with their own hands.”
“We must remind him,” Marcellus replied. “He is only a boy playing at being Caesar. Rome will not follow a child forever.”
Desperation began to creep into their conversations. They had hundreds of workers depending on them—families who would starve if the emperor’s plans rendered their workshops obsolete. They could not simply wait for their ruin to arrive. They needed to act, to secure allies who could challenge the emperor’s authority and protect their interests.
They decided to approach Crassus. The diplomatic advisor and Orestes close aide was known for his connections in the Senate and his influence among the elite. Surely, they reasoned, Crassus would see the emperor’s overreach as an opportunity to build his own power. With his help, they could present a united front against Romulus and his ambitious reforms.
Securing a meeting with Crassus proved more difficult than expected. Days passed with curt refusals from intermediaries, but they finally managed to gain an audience. They entered his estate with a mix of hope and determination, certain they could convince him to align with their cause.
Crassus greeted them with a thin, dismissive smile. Reclining in a cushioned chair, he watched them approach with an air of disinterest. The opulence of the room stood in stark contrast to the soot-stained hands and worn garments of the men before him.
“You have five minutes,” Crassus said, his tone flat and bored. “Make them count.”
Marcellus stepped forward, his voice firm but tinged with urgency. “Dominus Crassus, we come to you as loyal servants of Rome. The emperor’s—”
Crassus raised a hand, cutting him off mid-sentence. “You come to me as desperate men. Let us not waste time pretending otherwise.”
Caius bristled but held his tongue. Marcellus pressed on, though his confidence wavered. “The emperor’s plans will destroy us. He does not understand the realities of industry, of labor—”
Crassus leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “The emperor understands power, which is more than I can say for you. A lesson you should have learned before coming here.”
Marcellus tried to recover, his voice growing more measured. “Dominus, we can help you. With your influence, combined with our capabilities—”
Crassus interrupted again, his voice colder now. “You? Help me? You are craftsmen, not senators, not men of rank or lineage. Filth, as far as my peers are concerned. Your place is at the forge, not in matters of state.”
The insult hung heavy in the air. Caius’s fists clenched at his sides, but he forced himself to speak, his voice tight. “If we work together, we could—”
Crassus waved him off with a sneer. “You could do nothing. You are worms groveling in the dirt. Be thankful the emperor tolerates you at all. Now leave my sight before you embarrass yourselves further.”
They left in silence, their humiliation complete. Outside, the streets of Ravenna seemed colder, the stares of passersby sharper. They were no longer the respected craftsmen who had once held contracts with Rome. Without the emperor’s favor, they were reduced to nothing. Crassus’s words had stripped away the last of their illusions.
As they walked through the narrow streets, past the bustling markets and grand homes of the elite, the weight of their position began to sink in. Crassus’s disdain was not unique; it reflected the opinion of nearly every patrician in the empire. Without the emperor’s protection, they were invisible. The workers they employed, the tools they crafted, the homes they built—it all amounted to nothing in the eyes of men like Crassus.
“We are worms to them,” Marcellus muttered bitterly. “No better than the iron we forge or the stones we cut.”
The next morning, Caius and Marcellus convened a meeting in a dimly lit warehouse on the outskirts of Ravenna. The attendees were fellow craftsmen and workshop owners—men who had stood with them in alliances of mutual interest and survival. The room was filled with the murmur of uneasy voices as the gathered artisans debated their futures. The tension was palpable, the air thick with the desperation of men facing an uncertain fate.
Caius stood first, his soot-streaked hands gripping the edge of a makeshift podium. His voice carried over the murmurs. “Brothers, you know why we are here. The emperor’s wrath has not just fallen on Marcellus and me; it hangs over all of us like a storm. The contracts we once held, the influence we once wielded—they are slipping away. Without his support, we are nothing to the elites of this city.”
A ripple of discontent moved through the room. One man, older and grizzled, raised his voice. “So, what do you propose, Caius? That we crawl back to the boy-emperor on our knees? He humiliated you once already. What makes you think he won’t do it again?”
Marcellus stepped forward, his voice firm but edged with resignation. “Because we have no other choice. We reached out to Crassus. He would not even listen to us. To him, and to the rest of the Senate and Elites, we are worms. Commoners who should stay in the dirt where we belong.”
Another voice rose, younger and angrier. “And so what? We’ve survived without their approval before. We can find ways to manipulate the market again. Raise the price of iron and labor. Force them to see our value.”
Caius shook his head, his frustration evident. “No, we cannot. The emperor has already seen through us. He knows we’ve used our influence to control resources, and he will not allow it. If we push too hard, he will destroy us. His state-owned workshops and road brigades will crush our businesses within a year. And sadly I believe he will.”
Marcellus gestured for silence, his voice lowering but cutting through the room. “We underestimated him once. We thought he was just a boy, easy to manipulate. But he is sharper than any of us gave him credit for. If we fight him now, we will lose everything.”
A younger craftsman, skeptical but thoughtful, asked, “And what would you suggest? That we just surrender?”
Caius’s voice cracked slightly, betraying his desperation. “We don’t surrender. We offer him what he wants—more than he expects. We make ourselves indispensable to him again, not as manipulators, but as partners.”
The room fell silent as the gathered men exchanged uneasy glances. Marcellus continued. “We make him an offer he cannot refuse. We pledge to stop manipulating the labor market and the raw resource trade. No more price fixing, no more withholding materials to drive up costs. We let the emperor’s workshops and brigades have what they need at fair rates, without interference.”
Another craftsman muttered, “That sounds like surrender to me.”
Caius added, his voice quieter now, “We will offer to act as supervisors for his state-run projects. Our experience can ensure efficiency and quality, and it will keep us in the game. If we can show him we are valuable, he might let us remain.”
The room remained tense, but a few nods of reluctant agreement began to spread. One of the older craftsmen, a man who had built aqueducts for decades, spoke. “And if he turns on us anyway? If he takes our offer and casts us aside?”
Marcellus sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Then we have done everything we can. But the alternative is ruin now, not later.”
The debate continued for hours, voices rising and falling as the craftsmen weighed their options. In the end, desperation carried the day. By the time the meeting ended, a collective decision had been made. They would draft a formal proposal to the emperor, pledging their support for his reforms and offering their expertise to aid his state-run initiatives. They would promise to cease all manipulation of resources and labor and to prioritize Rome’s interests over their own.
It was a humiliating concession, but as the craftsmen dispersed into the streets of Ravenna, they knew it was their only chance to survive in a world that no longer respected them.
Two weeks passed before Caius and Marcellus received word that they would be granted an audience with the emperor. The wait was a sharp reminder of how far they had fallen. Once, they would have gained entry to the imperial presence within hours. Now, they were made to wait until all other matters were addressed. Their summons came at the weekly council meeting.
The two men stood outside the grand chamber as the heavy doors opened. The air inside was stifling, the authority of the gathered advisors palpable. The council was already seated, with Romulus Augustus at the head of the table, his youthful face composed and inscrutable. The guards motioned for Caius and Marcellus to enter, their footsteps echoing as they crossed the marble floor. The oppressive silence pressed down on them, a stark contrast to the bustling streets outside.
Romulus did not acknowledge them immediately, allowing the tension to mount. His advisors, from Crassus to Comes Varius, regarded them with varying degrees of disinterest and disdain. When the emperor finally spoke, his voice was calm but carried a weight far beyond his years.
“You may speak.”
Marcellus stepped forward first, bowing deeply. “Caesar, we come before you humbled and with a renewed understanding of our responsibilities to Rome. We have drafted a proposal, one that we hope will align with your vision for the empire.”
Caius joined him, his voice steadier than his heart. “We pledge to cease all manipulation of the labor and resource markets. No more price fixing, no more artificial shortages. We will supply your state projects with materials at fair and consistent rates. Additionally, we offer our expertise to supervise these projects, ensuring they meet the highest standards.”
Romulus listened without interruption. When they finished, he leaned forward slightly, his sharp gaze fixed on them.
He said, his tone measured. “I have a better proposition.”
Caius and Marcellus exchanged uneasy glances as the emperor continued.
“I will proceed with my plans to establish a measurement and precision tools workshop. However, the blacksmiths of Ravenna will be given a new role. You will produce farm equipment, standardized and inspected for quality. The state will purchase these tools in bulk, providing you with steady work while ensuring the needs of our farmers are met.”
Caius’s breath hitched at the unexpected concession, but he said nothing, waiting for the emperor to continue.
“As for infrastructure,” Romulus turned his attention to Marcellus, “you will organize specialized brigades for road repair and construction. These teams will not be ad hoc laborers but dedicated groups trained to maintain the highest standards. This will not only ensure quality but also create lasting stability for Rome’s infrastructure.”
Marcellus nodded slowly, absorbing the enormity of the task.
Romulus’s voice grew firmer. “Starting next year, the empire will implement a new policy. We will only purchase goods and services from those who hold certified documentation of their profession. The schools and academies we are establishing will provide these certifications. Anyone who wishes to sell to the state must complete the required courses and prove their competence and their understanding of the standards that Rome’s require.”
A murmur rippled through the council, but Romulus silenced it with a raised hand. His gaze bore into Caius and Marcellus. “This ensures that Rome’s future is built on skill and merit, not manipulation and mediocrity.”
The two craftsmen bowed deeply, their faces pale but determined. Caius spoke first. “Caesar … we accept your terms and will do our utmost to fulfill our roles.”
Marcellus added, his voice subdued, “We thank you for granting us this opportunity to serve Rome.”
Romulus leaned back in his chair with fire in his eyes. “See to it that you do. You can rejoin this council from next week onward but betray my trust again and you will be destroyed.”
