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Streets of Athens
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Horatio had passed word quietly of the two men that had accompanied him on the journey from Rome. It had been quite humorous to watch their reactions on the boat. They were definitely amateurs and shied away from any contact, many times choosing to walk the other direction when Horatio approached. But here in Athens the game of cat and mouse would change.

The Greek walked into a textile shop on a nondescript street of Athens and disappeared into the storehouse to the rear. He heard the men being greeted by the man at the front counter and also heard their inquiry as to his location. He smiled to himself as he left the back of the building. His tails would not follow him any further and would be detained until he would return with word from his master.

**Later that evening**
Apollo’s horses had taken the sun past the Western horizon. Horatio had spent the afternoon in conference with his master. The news that had been contained in the boxes from Rome had been intriguing to say the least. The Greek servant had found the strategy superfluous and his master had simply laughed.

Horatio entered the apartment building adjacent to the textile shop he had skirted through earlier. He went to the top floor and noticed the guard stationed at the door to the corner apartment. He simply nodded to the man and entered the room.

Inside the apartment the two Romans stood immediately upon the Greek’s entrance to the room. “What is the meaning of this? Our master will hear of your deceit!” The Roman’s face turned red as he shouted at the Greek.

“Were you treated poorly?” Horatio glanced at the table; the lavish meal that had been laid out had been untouched. No doubt the Romans feared poisoning.

The Roman did not know how to respond to the question. It was true that he and his comrade had not been harmed, but they had been kept from completing their mission. “There were explicit instructions for the delivery of the message.”

“And they were followed to the letter.” Horatio tossed the box, now empty, across the room toward the Roman that had remained silent. He had been caught off guard and barely kept the box from dropping to the floor. “Tell your master that the wheels have been placed in motion and we await his promised support.” Horatio knocked on the door and the guard entered and placed a small chest on the floor before retreating from the room. “My master has no need for your master’s money. You may take it back with you when you sail for Ravenna in the morning.” The Greek shoved the chest toward the middle of the room with his foot and turned to leave. As he opened the door he said, “Tell your master that if he wishes to engage in such dealings he would be better served to hire trained men.” He did not wait to hear the response.

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Proconsular Palace
Athens, Achea
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Gallus Maximinus rubbed his temples. The chanting could be heard on the streets outside the palace. It had continued for many days and was verging on weeks. The chants were the same, “Citizenship for the faithful: Thracia, Macedonia, Rome!” There had been approximately two hundred protestors at his gates each day, nothing more than a nuisance, though he would not tolerate it much longer. He had spoken to the crowd on the first day, and they had seemed quieted by his promise to petition Rome on behalf of their brethren. The next day, though, they returned and resumed their protests. He had decided against speaking to the mob once more, if they could even be called that. The guards at the palace were on high alert, though it was clear that the crowd was not malicious.

Reports from Thracia and Macedonia were not as positive. In Byzantium, stones were being hurled in vain over the walls of the old Varro palace. Maurus Leonis, the newly appointed procurator of Thracia had sent reports to Athens of the unrest. Estimates put the numbers of participants at a much higher number. Likewise in Thessilonika Caius Hadrianus had reported similar unrest. Not more than a year into his post and Greco-Macedonia was slipping from Maximinus’s control. He had sent dispatches to the Proconsular commanders to dispatch cohorts to the provincial capitals in order to permanently disperse the mobs.

Maximinus paced the floor, it was time for action. These protests could not continue and he could not allow things to get more out of hand. There was a strong knock at his office door and he beckoned the visitor to enter. “Sir,” the words came from one of his senior aides, “the mob on the street is much larger today. The guards at the front gate report at least one thousand protestors.”

It was news that Maximinus did not want to hear. “Tell the guards to reinforce the gates, front and back. No one is allowed entrance to the compound. If anyone gets to the palace proper, the men have orders to arrest anyone they can, kill those they cannot detain.” Maximinus may not have a firm grasp on matters of provincial governance, but he was no fool. He would not allow his life to be taken over such a trivial matter as Roman citizenship. He had promised the crowds that he would petition Rome, though he knew that he never would. It seemed as though the mob were now calling his bluff.

It was late in the morning when things started to go awry. A stone launched from somewhere in the middle of the crowd crashed off of the head of one of the guards standing at the gate tower. As if shocked by the event the crowd paused ever so slightly their chanting before renewing their pleas with fervor. It seemed as though the act of violence spurred them on.

Inside the compound more guards were rushing to reinforce the main gate of the palace. As they rushed forward a cart appeared at the service entrance to the compound. Four men awaited entrance to complete their delivery of food to the kitchen. The guards held them up and sent word to the house staff.

The chief servant was surprised at the delivery though he didn’t reveal much information to the guards. He had placed the order with one of the merchants yesterday for a few goods, but hadn’t anticipated such a quick turn around. He told the guards to let them in, though remained on a heightened sense of alert.

The men deposited their delivery in the storehouse where they were directed and with all of the commotion at the front gate, the guards were distracted enough not to realize that another man had sneaked into the compound. As the four deliverymen finished, they boarded their cart. A small smirk came to the corner of the mouth of one of them.

The centurion standing at the gate at the time, thought the reaction peculiar, but did not respond to the man’s tick. Instead he waited until they had left sight. “Something is not right here. Flavius, take a group of men and search the delivery and the storeroom. I do not care about the goods they delivered, something is not right.” The man was a veteran of the civil war that had pitted Rome against Vibius the Snake. His senses were acute and his hunches nearly always right. “Daratius!” he shouted. Soon the young soldier appeared. “Take your group and detain that cart. Do not let them get away. If they resist, remember your training.” The young man saluted and ran off to his men and the gate at the other side of the compound.

**Three days later**
Maximinus pored over the report in his hand. He knew he had enemies, but had never anticipated an assassination attempt while in Greece. Someone from Rome had long arms. The events of the previous days replayed in his head.

The search of the storeroom had produced an interesting situation. When the guards had arrived at the storehouse they had interrupted the assassin preparing to launch his mission. He had spun around when the guards had entered, a vial in his left hand. When Flavius shouted for him to halt, the assassin raised the vial to his lips, taking whatever secrets he held with him into the afterlife.

In the next days the entire kitchen staff had been vetted, some replaced. Interrogation of the deliverymen revealed nothing. They had been hired by the assassin to deliver a cart of goods. Local authorities were aware of a situation at the Proconsular Palace, but were not aware that the men had been detained. In fact Maximinus had made sure to send news that the men were not involved and had been released. In all reality they had been locked into some cells in the basement of one of the buildings inside the compound.

Maximinus threw his report aside. As disturbing as the ordeal had been for him, news from Macedonia troubled him much more. Caius Hadrianus was not able to thwart a similar assassination attempt in Thessilonika. By the report findings issued by the Proconsular cohort now on site, the modus operandi of the attack on Hadrianus was much different than the attack on him had been. The conclusion led Maximinus to believe the two to be unrelated, but he could not be sure. The sheer timing of the events troubled him.

In Athens and Thessilonika the mob had been dispersed immediately at learning of the assassination attempts. In a peculiarity, not one soul appeared the next day to resume the protests. In Byzantium, Leonis had barricaded himself inside the thick walls of the Varro Palace fearing for the same fate as his comrade in Macedonia, though he had no way of knowing of Hadrianus’s death. Disturbingly, the day following the assassination in Macedonia and the attempt on the Propraetor’s life, the mob in Thracia dispersed. When the Proconsular Cohorts had arrived in the provincial capitals there were no mobs to deal with, business had returned to normal. Maximinus had the eerie feeling that the protests had been staged solely for diversion.

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Written by: UNKNOWN and Voces Mercurii

96 AD