Rhetoric as Combat

or, The Second Move of the Civil War

Cicero Denounces Catiline by Cesare Maccari

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The First Move | The Civil War Index | The Third Move

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Livicus ascended the steps to the Diet flanked by his twelve lictors. He pressed two fingers to each step and then kissed them to remind himself he was entering a place observed by the gods. A show for everyone else, he caught eyes with Valerius Lanatus a few steps ahead of him. The man’s eyes were red and fierce, his lips stretched white beneath a rugged beard. Does news of Maedicius’s death spread so quickly? Livicus thought. He had not received a pigeon from Bael as instructed. The plebeian had claimed not to know his letters. Livicus kissed his fore and middle finger and pressed them to the next stone step, his gold signet ring glimmering in the morning sun.

‘Friends! Friends!’ Aurus Regillensis motioned for his fellow Senators of the Diet to sit. ‘No doubt you received the same pigeon scroll as I but our Consul is not here and the session cannot begin.’

Aurus’s voice carried out of the building, its content causing Livicus’s mouth to curl upwards. He reached the top step and sighed with delight. The Diet, a tall building of concrete bricks rather less grand than might be expected, gleamed in the morning sun. The bronze doors stood open, their green patina catching the risen sun. Six lictors entered ahead of Livicus, six behind him, their fasces held in one hand and resting on their shoulders. Livicus held a fistful of his purple trimmed toga in his right hand as he passed by the bronze doors while his lictors parted and arrayed themselves on either side of the archway into the Diet proper. He strode on, chin high, and stepped inside the Diet chamber. ‘Thank you, Aurus. I can always trust you to maintain proper decorum.’ His sandals clipped against the mosaic floor, three-hundred pairs of eyes followed him. Some glowering, many impassive, a rare few giddy. Odd, he reached the centre of the room and turned to stand beside his curule chair.

‘Well?’ Valerius barked, his bushy eyebrows furrowed so deep they merged. He rubbed his iron ring with his thumb.

A slave boy, panting, ran through the bronze doors of the Diet only to be caught in the hands of one of Livicus’s lictors. ‘No you don’t.’ The lictor held him off the floor with one hand.

‘This is for the dominus,’ the boy held up a pigeon scroll.

Livicus frowned and marched back out between the benches. Aurus tutted and shook his head. He snatched the scroll from the boy, ‘Out!’ He yelled as he snapped the wax seal with his thumb. First came dread, short lived and easily snuffed. Next came anger and finally rage as he read the name of the sender. “Maedicius”. That useless plebeian… wait no, he caught his rage and channeled it. A smile split his lips as he re-entered the Diet. ‘Friends, our Emperor is in open revolt against this assembly and all others of Elysia.’

‘Nonsense,’ Valerius snapped. ‘You,’ he pointed and snarled. ‘You, attempted to have our Emperor assassinated while on campaign! Are you leading a revolt? Attempting to take the throne?’ Spittle flew from his lips.

Livicus turned on his heel, ‘Need I remind you, Valerius, that Maedicius holds imperium against the ultimatum made by this assembly. It is he that is in revolt and an Ultimate Consultation of the Imperial Diet can be enforced by any means necessary. You voted on that advice and you are bound by its outcome!’

‘Assassination is beyond the remit of this Diet!’ Valerius riposted.

‘What part of ‘any means’ do you fail to understand? The Emperor is not a god! He is a citizen of Elysia like any other and is bound by the laws of our assemblies and by the advice of this chamber. I am Consul and it is my duty to defend Elysia and her traditions. The Emperor oversteps the bounds of his office,’ Livicus punched the arm of his curule chair again and again, his gold ring tapping with each word.

Aurus raised his hand to Valerius opposite him. The rowdy man sat, reddened with fury. Aurus rose and held up his arms, with his fingers pointed up to the ceiling, so that his words, he claimed, could honour the gods. ‘Is it not for the legate in command to decide when and if a campaign should end? Are they not, by virtue of experience and location, more knowledgable of warfare and the correct tactics than we here in Elysia? Emperor Maedicius is almost a thousand miles away. The pigeons we received are unlikely the pigeons he sent, in fact they are probably the third that carried the missives. Our Consul speaks of ultimatums but ignores the risk imparted. We should strike the Ultimate Consultation from the record and advise the Emperor and other legates in the field to conclude their campaigns and bring the legions home.’ Aurus lowered his arms, signalling he was done, and sat, rigidly upright. The senators nearest, led by Publius, patted him on the back and mumbled their support.

‘And make a mockery of our advice for ever more!’ Livicus began, pacing from one side of his low dais to the other. He longed to not have to see those three hundred pairs of eyes bore into him day after day from on high. Much better if it were he high up looking down. ‘Our Ultimatum has been sent and answered. There is nothing more to it.’

‘So now what?’ Valerius spat, arms folded and legs out straight with his feet pushing into the back of Herio seated on the bench one rung below.

‘Maedicius commands a legion. I command two as Consul. This Diet commands a further six. Many legates in the field are loyal to this Diet,’ Livicus said.

‘Civil War?’ Valerius remarked.

‘It will never come to that. Maedicius will see he is heavily outnumbered and surrender his imperium,’ Herio said. He twisted out of reach of Valerius’s feet.

‘Then we find a new Emperor? He has no sons, meaning we would have to elect someone. Who is that going to be? You, Herio?’ Valerius sniggered as Herio made to speak. ‘Don’t make me laugh. You couldn’t lead yourself out of this building if it weren’t for Livicus guiding you.’

A cacophony of laughter filled the Diet.

‘Now, now. Let us not forget decorum,’ Livicus smiled over to Aurus. ‘We don’t necessarily have to remove Maedicius from office. We can advise the assemblies to pass laws that restricts the power of Emperorship in order to avoid this… dilemma in the future.’

Aurus rose to his feet with an expression of consternation, his hands aimed up to the gods, ‘I fear you are planning too many moves ahead, Consul Livicus. I can name at least four legates loyal to the Emperor, a few more who owe their position to him, and not to mention the popular support of the plebeians and equites who have benefitted from the riches taken from our enemies. What loyalty do we command? That of the Blue team in the Hippodrome?’ Chuckles rippled down the benches. He thumbed his own iron ring.

Livicus pinched his lip, ‘Aurus, you do us a disservice. We command the loyalty of the majority of the governors, each with his legion, alongside ten legates not on campaign. That means rested men and full compliments of cavalry. Herio is right, Maedicius will surrender as soon as he hears the numbers arranged against him.’

‘I fear you do not know Maedicius,’ Aurus said. He sat, heavy, with his head in his hands.

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The First Move | The Civil War Index | The Third Move

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