Chapter 46: The Proscription List

The morning after the riot dawned on a city that was bruised, sullen, and quiet. The bloody suppression in the palace courtyard had broken the fever of the mob, replacing their righteous anger with a simmering, fearful resentment. Alex had won the physical battle for his palace, but as he looked out from his window at the silent, watchful city, he knew he was on the verge of losing the larger war for its soul. The famine was the disease, but the whispers of the senators were the poison that directed the patient's rage. He could not cure Rome while its own leaders were actively working to kill it. His experience with the mob had hardened him, crystallizing a cold, hard truth in his mind: to save the empire, he first had to break its fever. He had to cut the cancer out with a hot knife. He convened his council in his study. The atmosphere was grim, the elation from their victory over the coup replaced by the grim reality of the city's desperation. Maximus stood like a stone sentinel, his face set in hard lines of martial resolve. Rufus looked weary, the weight of the city's suffering etched on his aged face. Perennis was a coiled spring of nervous energy, his eyes darting, sensing a shift in the political winds. And Sabina watched Alex with a sharp, analytical curiosity, trying to gauge the mind of the man who had just ordered Roman soldiers to charge Roman citizens. Alex didn't waste time with pleasantries. He unrolled a large map of Italy on his desk, its surface showing the network of roads leading from Rome into the countryside of Latium and Campania. "Senator Metellus and his allies have fled the city," Alex began, his voice devoid of emotion. He tapped the map. "They have retreated to their country estates, to wait out the storm, to continue their plotting from the comfort of their marble villas while Rome starves." "Then we will have them watched," Rufus said immediately. "We will have the Speculatores monitor their correspondence." Alex shook his head. "Watching is no longer sufficient. They have abandoned their posts in a time of supreme crisis. They have abandoned the Senate and the people of Rome. By law and tradition, this is an act of treason." His gaze swept across the faces of his council. "We will not hunt them like assassins in the night. We will not stoop to their level of back-alley plotting. We will act as the state, with the full force and authority of the state. We will declare them outlaws." He let the words settle. "I am issuing proscription lists." A stunned silence fell over the room. The term was ancient, terrifying, and loaded with the bloody history of the Republic's violent death throes. Proscriptions. It was the tool of the dictator Sulla, of Marius, of the Second Triumvirate. It was a legal mechanism to declare a man an enemy of the state, instantly stripping him of his property, his citizenship, and his right to life. It was a license to kill, a bounty placed on a man's head, sanctioned by the highest authority. Senator Rufus was the first to find his voice, and it was filled with horror. "Caesar, no!" he gasped, his face ashen. "You cannot be serious. Proscriptions? That is the tool of butchers and tyrants! It is a vile practice that led to bloody purges that stained our city for generations! It is an instrument of chaos and terror, not of law! This... this will stain your legacy forever. It is a step from which there is no return." Maximus, however, looked on with grim approval. "A tyrant's tool is only tyrannical in a tyrant's hand, Senator," the general growled, his gaze fixed on Alex. "In the Emperor's hand, it is a tool of order. These men are traitors. They conspired to murder their Caesar and starve his people. The law should reflect that reality. My men are ready to enact the state's justice." Perennis, ever the pragmatist, saw only the opportunity. A proscription list was the ultimate tool for political restructuring. It would not only eliminate his old rivals but would also see their vast fortunes and estates forfeited to the state—a state which he, through his proximity to the emperor, could help administer. It was a bloody but efficient solution. He nodded his silent, fervent support. All eyes then turned to Sabina. She had been silent throughout the exchange, her face an unreadable mask, her green eyes fixed on Alex. "And what do you say, Domina?" Alex asked, his voice quiet. "I say that the rioters yesterday called you 'Commodus the Starver,'" she replied, her voice soft but cutting. "If you do this, the senators will call you 'Commodus the Butcher.' I ask you, Caesar, is this truly justice? Or is it merely revenge, conveniently dressed in the robes of state security?" Her question hung in the air, a direct challenge to his motives, to the very core of his new, hard persona. Alex met her gaze. "Yesterday, I hesitated," he said, his voice low and intense. "I hesitated to use force against my own people, because my heart told me it was wrong. And in that hesitation, the gates were breached, and my guards were nearly overwhelmed. My ideals almost got us all killed." He looked from face to face. "I will not make that mistake again. This is not revenge. Revenge is a passion. This is a calculated, necessary, and unpleasant act of political surgery. I am removing a tumor before it kills the patient." He would not be swayed. The man who had agonized over the life of a single slave boy had been replaced by an emperor who now saw the cold, hard calculus of power. To save millions, a few dozen, or even a few hundred, might have to be sacrificed. It was a terrible, Roman equation. "I am not Sulla," he said, directly addressing Rufus's fear. "I will not purge hundreds or settle old scores. The list will be short. Precise. It will contain only the names of the key conspirators who have fled the city and abandoned their duties. We are not starting a civil war, Senator. We are ending one before it can truly begin." He turned to a trembling scribe who had been waiting in the corner of the room. "Take this down," he commanded. He dictated the edict, his voice clear and cold. It named the proscribed individuals, declared them enemies of the state (hostes), detailed the forfeiture of their properties to the imperial treasury, and offered a substantial reward for their capture, dead or alive. He dictated the list of names. It was, as he had promised, brutally short. "First, the Consul, Quintus Sertorius Metellus." "Second, the landowner, Gaius Asinius Flavius." "Third, the senator, Decimus Junius Pollio." "Fourth, the magistrate, Lucius Villius Tappulus." Four names. The ringleader and his three chief lieutenants. The men who had met with Lucilla in secret, who had funded the assassins, who had fled the city. When he was finished, the scribe, his hand shaking, presented the papyrus scroll to him. Alex took the stylus, dipped it in the ink, and signed his name at the bottom with a bold, steady hand. The deed was done. The Rubicon had been crossed. He rolled the scroll and sealed it with his imperial signet ring. He then turned and held it out to General Maximus. "General," he said, his voice now devoid of all debate, carrying only the weight of absolute command. "Your orders are clear. Take your fifty Speculatores. They are not just soldiers on this mission; they are agents of imperial justice, acting with the full authority of the state. Go to Campania. Find these four men." He pressed the sealed death warrant into the general's hand. "And bring me their heads."