Pax Aeterna
Matthew Ryan Fischer
Smeared,
the message read “Pax Aeterna, 2999 auc.”
“What
do you think?”
“I
think someone plans on having a celebration.”
“You
don’t worry something bigger than that?”
“No.
Graffiti doesn’t scare me.”
“Novo
Roma scares me.”
“The
dream of an eternal empire? Every few years it’s the same thing, people
dreaming of some past that never happened. The empire that was and always will
be. They get riled up, wear costumes, hold marches, but it always ends the
same. With alcohol and other bacchanalian delights.”
“Unless
the knives come out.”
“Unless,
unless, unless. You’re too worried all the time. Let the people have their fun.
We were both young once.”
“I
haven’t forgotten. I just think we worry about different things.”
“Well,
maybe, but that doesn’t mean you’re right.”
Doesn’t
mean I’m wrong, Vince almost said, but knew it would just prolong the argument
of opinions. Novo Roma had dreams of destiny, and that destiny included
reestablishing an empire through blood if necessary. The graffiti didn’t worry
him, just that it was appearing more and more often. Pax Romana had been the
rage a few short years ago, but that didn’t seem very menacing. This was
something more than expansion. This was how men talked when they felt divine
inspiration, when they felt they were owed something, deserved it and more. Always
more. If there were no line, no boundaries, then they would take. And enough
was never enough.
“I
think we need to add more men to the watch…”
“You
can do that. I plan on having a bottle in my hand.”
You
fool, Vince wanted to scream. Marc was the sort of man who would follow. He
didn’t care who was in charge. Rules and laws were just things people wrote
down and said, but they didn’t matter. They weren’t holy or even necessary.
Marc always thought he knew what was right. If one consul or another said
something similar or close enough, then Marc was content. Force and violence
were just things that had to happen sometimes. Death was inevitable. As long as
he was allowed to keep clinging to what was his and fight anyone that dared
look at him wrong, he was a happy man. A simple but happy man. Vince hated his
simplicity, but was envious sometimes. Not right now though. Right now he was
afraid.
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