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“By Juno, what have they done?” he said as his men fanned out.

“Possibly started a civil war,” his optio, a former legionary named Gratus, grumbled. “Some may think they’ve restored the republic, yet you know as well as I that there are those amongst the senate, as well as legion commanders, who think they should be Caesar. And meanwhile, with no emperor, what’s to become of us?”

“Sir,” one of the men said, holding up a silver pitcher, “it’d be a shame to let those damned Germans or other looters get their hands on these. Mind if we help ourselves?”

“Normally I would have you flogged for making such an insolent suggestion,” the centurion stated coldly. He said no more about the matter and, with a subtle nod from Gratus, the men simply shrugged and started to grab anything of value they could readily carry back to their camp. As they did so, Gratus noticed something unusual behind one of the curtains that his men were tearing down in order to use as makeshift sacks.

“Hey, Cornelius,” he said, drawing his gladius. He quickly pulled the curtain aside, revealing the terrified Claudius, who shrank away from the heavily armed praetorian. “Well, what have we here? You think it’s one of the assassins?”

“P…please don’t hurt me!” Claudius pleaded as the optio brandished his weapon menacingly. “I j…just want to find my family and leave!”

“Hold fast!” Cornelius snapped. “He’s not a conspirator; it’s the emperor’s uncle, Claudius. He’s Germanicus Caesar’s brother. Put your weapon away, Gratus.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt him,” the optio replied, his face breaking into a broad grin. “I’m going to salute him.”

“What are you on about?” the centurion asked, puzzled.

“Think about it,” Gratus replied. “He’s the only surviving member of the Julio-Claudian line who could have a legitimate claim to the imperial throne.”

Cornelius’ eyes brightened, and Claudius’ grew wide in startled realization as to what the praetorian optio was suggesting.

“N…no!” he protested, his head twitching violently. “W…what you propose is madness! J…just let me g…go find my wife!”

“Are you insane?” Gratus retorted. “Your nephew’s German guards are on the rampage, and the conspirators are still loose. We don’t know who all of them are, and unfortunately for you, they’re mostly dressed like us.”

“If either of them finds you, you’re a dead man,” Cornelius added. He then addressed his optio. “Get him out of here, Gratus. Take some men and see to it he’s delivered safely to the Castra Praetoria. I’ll use the remainder of our force to find his family.”

“Understood,” Gratus replied. He then bowed to Claudius with his gladius extended in salute. “This way, Caesar.”

The halls of the palace were mostly deserted as the praetorians led the muddled Claudius along the corridors. Two of the men practically carried him, as his limp made their pace unnervingly slow. As they approached the main entrance, a troupe of German guards came bursting from one of the side passages.

“Shit,” Gratus uttered through clenched teeth.

As the Germans approached them with shields and spears ready to strike, the two squads of praetorians formed a protective wall in front of Claudius.

Gladius…draw! Protect the emperor!”

“Halten!” the lead German said to his men, holding his spear to the side to stop their advance. He had heard Gratus’ order, and speaking passable Latin, he understood what had been said. He cocked his head to one side, giving the group of praetorians, who stood battle ready with their weapons drawn, a perplexed gaze. He then addressed Gratus in heavily accented Latin. “This…emperor?”

“That’s right,” the optio replied. He hoped to bluff his way past the Germans and avoid a bloody fight. He stepped in front of the large man, who stood at least a half-head taller than him, and met his hard stare. “This is your new emperor, now show him some respect!”

Whatever Gratus’ racial prejudices towards what he considered ‘barbarian’ peoples; this German was clearly a thinker. He, too, understood that with Caligula dead, the only way to quickly restore order and give them the best chance of bringing the assassins to justice was to install a new emperor as soon as possible. He gave the optio a nod of understanding before turning to address his men.

“Hagel den Kaiser!” he shouted, holding his spear high.

His men appeared at first baffled by this assertion from their commander, yet none of them so much as uttered a word in protest. He then turned and bowed deeply to Claudius, who was still in a state of disbelief and simply stood with his head twitching slightly.

“Call off the rest of your men,” Gratus ordered the German as the praetorians sheathed their weapons and started to lead Claudius away once more. “Let them know that Tiberius Claudius Nero Germanicus is their new emperor, and they will swear fealty to him!”

The German nodded in understanding before shouting subsequent orders to his men who formed up into two lines, weapons held in salute as Gratus and his men led Claudius between them.

“I don’t know about you, sir,” Gratus said quietly to Claudius, “but I think I may need to change my loincloth after that!”

As Marcus and Regulus fled from the imperial palace, they were stopped by Aulus Nautius Cursor, Tribune of the Plebs. With him was a man the two senators recognized as Titus Artorius Justus, a centurion who had led the First Italic Cohort in Judea and now served as police commissioner for the nearby port of Ostia. He had arrived to make his weekly reports to the magistracy when he and Cursor had heard rumor of the emperor’s assassination.

“Hold, senators!” the tribune said abruptly. “It appears to be chaos both within the palace and at the circus. Tell me what’s happened.”

“The emperor is slain,” Regulus said plainly.

The tribune then noted the blood on the hands of both men, as well as the splatters on their togas. He understood.

“Please know that we only slew Caligula,” Marcus added quickly. “Unfortunately, Cassius has taken things further. He’s gone mad and started killing anyone associated with the imperial family.”

“Let us pass,” Regulus urged. “We must convene the senate at once!”

“Well, fancy that,” Artorius said as they watched the two men walk quickly down the street. “They commit murder, of the emperor no less, and they fret about needing to convene the senate.”

“And neither of us made an attempt to stop them,” Cursor replied coarsely. “I doubt any of their peers will shed a tear over Caligula. However, if Cassius has lost his mind and gone on the rampage, he could tear apart the very fabric of the empire.”

“I seem to remember a crisis you went through about ten years ago, dealing with another maddened praetorian; though it pains me to make the comparison, for I’ve always held Cassius Chaerea in the highest esteem.”

“As have I,” the tribune concurred. “And it is an unfair comparison, at least when looking at their motives. Sejanus sought to usurp Tiberius for his own selfish gains. Cassius believes he is actually serving Rome by slaying the entire imperial family. Yet it will create nothing but chaos if he succeeds. The senate will squabble amongst themselves as to whether one of them should become Caesar or if they should try and restore that antiquity known as the republic.”

“None of them were even born the last time the senate ruled Rome,” Artorius added. He shook his head. “And what of the legions? With no imperial heir, who’s to say they won’t try and appoint one of their own?”

“Exactly,” Cursor emphasized. “The last thing we need is several thousand of your comrades bearing down on the city. That is, at least, where Cassius’ actions parallel those of Sejanus. In both cases they risk destabilizing the entire empire and turning our own legions on us.”