The terror wasn't that Lucilla knew he was a fraud. It was that she was hunting the source code of his soul.
Marcus stood in the Imperial Archives, the familiar scent of old papyrus now smelling like a trap. The laptop, hidden behind a stack of scrolls, felt like a ticking bomb. He looked at Marcia, whose face was still pale from her encounter with his sister.
"She knows," he said, his voice a low, rough whisper. "She doesn't know what it is, but she knows it's here. In the archives. Her 'tool' with a mind of its own."
The sanctuary had become a cage.
He knelt and carefully retrieved the laptop, its smooth, carbon-fiber surface a stark contrast to the crumbling scrolls around it. He opened it, and the screen glowed to life.
"JARVIS," he commanded. "Run a threat analysis on Lucilla discovering your physical location."
The AI's synthetic voice responded, its calmness an insult to the panic clawing at his throat. PROBABILITY OF DISCOVERY WITHIN THE NEXT 48 HOURS IS 37%, ASSUMING SHE EMPLOYS STANDARD SEARCH PROTOCOLS, SUCH AS A MILITARY RAID.
"She's not standard!" Marcus snapped, slamming his fist on his thigh. "She's smarter than that! She won't send guards crashing through the door. She'll be surgical. Precise."
He was arguing with a machine about the cunning of his own sister. He realized with a sickening lurch that the AI, for all its processing power, had a massive blind spot. It couldn't compute the brilliant, obsessive mind of one woman bent on uncovering his secret. JARVIS was a tool, and Lucilla was looking for the toolbox.
As if summoned by his thoughts, the heavy doors to the archives creaked open. A Praetorian Centurion, his armor polished to a mirror shine, strode in and bowed stiffly.
"Caesar," the Centurion announced, his voice devoid of emotion. "A gift from your sister, the Lady Lucilla."
Marcus felt the blood drain from his face. He quickly slid the laptop behind his back. "A gift?"
"The Lady Lucilla, concerned that the Imperial Archives have fallen into disarray under the previous steward, has appointed a new Chief Archivist to assist you," the Centurion continued, a faint, knowing smirk on his lips. "A man of impeccable reputation. The scholar Cassius Varro."
It was a checkmate. A brilliant, elegant, inescapable move.
He couldn't refuse the "gift" without looking paranoid and ungrateful, confirming that he had something to hide in the very place she suspected. She had just placed her own spy in charge of his sanctuary.
A small, thin man with ink-stained fingers and a hunched posture shuffled in behind the Centurion. He had watery grey eyes that seemed to miss nothing, darting around the room, cataloging every shadow, every stack of scrolls. This was Cassius Varro.
The scholar fell to his knees, his forehead nearly touching the dusty floor. "It is an honor to preserve the history of Rome under your wise guidance, Caesar. I live only to serve."
The words were honeyed, but his eyes were scalpels.
Marcus forced a tight, regal smile. "Welcome, Varro. You will find our records... extensive."
He dismissed them both. As the new archivist walked away, Marcus saw the man subtly run a thin finger along a stone ledge, his gaze sweeping over the exact spot where the laptop had been hidden just moments before. He was already searching.
Marcus fled to his chambers, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. He shoved the laptop into an empty wine crate, a temporary, desperate measure, and kicked it under his bed.
He summoned the only two people he could trust. Marcia arrived first, her eyes wide with alarm. Crixus followed moments later, his massive presence filling the room.
"The archives are lost," Marcus said without preamble, pacing the length of the room. "Lucilla has put a spy at my door. The laptop is compromised."
"Where is it now?" Marcia asked, her voice low.
"In a crate under my bed," he admitted. "It won't be safe there for long. Varro will find a reason to search these chambers within a day."
He stopped pacing and slammed his hands on a large wooden table bearing a map of Rome. "I have to move it. Somewhere no one would ever think to look. Somewhere secure. Somewhere... forgotten."
Crixus stepped forward. "The Praetorian vault, beneath the barracks. It is the most secure place in the city."
"And the most watched," Marcus countered immediately. "Too many guards, too many eyes. Every man who enters and leaves is noted in a ledger. It's a fortress, but it's not a secret."
"There is a hidden room behind the kitchens," Marcia offered. "Where the old linens are stored. No one has gone in there for years."
"Too much traffic," Marcus said, shaking his head. "Servants, cooks, slaves. Too easy for someone to stumble upon it by accident."
He needed the perfect hiding place. A location so obvious it was invisible, or so sacred it was untouchable. His eyes scanned the detailed map of the city. He saw the Colosseum, the Senate House, the temples of the Forum. All too public.
His finger traced the edge of the city, along the river, to the wide-open space of the Campus Martius. It stopped on a massive, circular structure.
He tapped the parchment. "Here."
Crixus leaned over the table, squinting at the Latin script. His brow furrowed in disbelief. "Caesar... that is the Mausoleum of Augustus. It's a tomb."
"Exactly," Marcus said, a wild, desperate light in his eyes. He felt a surge of adrenaline, the thrill of a plan so insane it just might work. "It's the heart of the old dynasty. A sacred place of the dead. It's sealed. Guarded out of respect, but rarely, if ever, entered. It's the last place in the world anyone would look for a tool that predicts the future."
He looked up at them, his gaze intense. "We'll hide my future in a tomb of the past."
He let the silence hang in the air, letting them absorb the sheer madness of his proposal. This was more than a risk. It was sacrilege.
He looked from the gladiator to the freedwoman, the two pillars of his impossible new life. "This is not a request. If we are caught, we will all be executed. The charge will be desecrating a sacred tomb. Treason. There will be no trial."
Crixus didn't hesitate. He drew his gladius halfway from its sheath, the scrape of steel loud in the silent room. He then slammed it back home and rested the heavy pommel against his heart. "You gave me a life beyond the arena, Caesar. My life is yours."
Marcus then looked at Marcia. Her face was pale, but her eyes held a fierce, unwavering fire. She simply met his gaze and gave a firm nod. "You showed me respect when the world showed me none. My loyalty is yours."
The trust in the room was a tangible thing, a shield against the vipers of the palace. They were no longer just a ruler and his allies. They were a conspiracy. A triumvirate of outsiders fighting for survival.
Marcus took a deep breath, the plan solidifying in his mind. "Crixus, you will create a diversion on the other side of the Palatine Hill. Something loud. Something that will draw the patrols east. Marcia, you will guide me through the palace grounds. You know the hidden paths better than any guard."
He looked at the wine crate under his bed. "And I will carry the god myself."
He met their eyes one last time, sealing their pact. "We move tonight."
They had one night to move a god. If they failed, they wouldn't just be starting a civil war. They'd be handing the enemy its ultimate weapon.