Thin strips of meat sizzled on iron. Tacturus took deep breaths of the sweet smoke. It was still early, the senators still locked in discussion. A pair of children, clad in dusty tunics, trotted up and tossed a few coins on his table. He speared a few slices of ham and sent them on their way.
The coins were denarii, minted by Senator Cato in honor of his ancestor, some Hellenic king. The metal was cheap, a leaded tin alloy. It weighed like silver but he’d seen enough of its like to know it would fetch him little in exchange. Still, coin was coin. Its clink sounded the same as any other as it dropped into the iron-banded chest beneath the counter.
A senator approached with a woman under each arm. He did not recognize the face, but the robes marked his status: bright as the sun with violet trim. The ladies wore simple, low-cut tunics that ended above the knees. Tacturus wondered how much of their jewelry he’d paid for. He wondered if the senator noticed the red stain on the cobbles as he stepped over it.
Tacturus bowed graciously as the senator disappeared into the throng of people quickly filling the forum. He took up the coins so carelessly dropped on his slab and tested their weight – heavy, leaded. Balanced. These had a wealthy patron’s minting. One side depicted Aeneas, the hero of old, the first king of that little city on a hill, Rome. On the other side was Gaius Julius Caesar.
Tacturus squinted. Was it truly? The stenciled lettering pronounced it: G. Caesar, Consul I.A. The meaning was clear: the general traipsing around Gaul would pronounce himself the proper heir to Aeneas’ throne.
An annoyed cough dragged him from his reverie. A line had formed, sweating senators and their sycophants in need of cured meat. Tacturus apologized and got to work.
When the midday rush was done, he retrieved that coin from his lockbox. Some senator or other was stood atop the Rostra, giving a rousing speech to the assembled masses. It was an aimless thing, with rhetorical cliches stolen from Cicero and a dozen other orators. The speaker was calling for an overhaul of the city’s waterworks, to better prepare for a siege.
The words rang heavy in his ears. The stain on the cobbles, now dulled to a coppery rust, glared in the sun. Tacturus wondered if it would ever wash away. He wondered when that Consul In Absentia would make a grab at Rome’s throne, and how much more blood would be spilled for the taking of it.
Then another coin clattered onto his table, and hot meat was exchanged for cold metal. Tacturus closed the lockbox and turned the key and the last thing he wondered before closing shop was how much more money he’d have to rake in to cover the month’s rent.
Corey Laisure 