The Theatre of Pompey stood as the very heart of Roman political power, a monumental structure of stone and legacy where the will of the Republic was shaped and, at times, broken. Within it lay the Great Senatorial Hall—an immense amphitheater of tiered marble seats and towering columns—where the most consequential debates, judgments, and decisions of Rome were conducted beneath vaulted ceilings heavy with history.
On this day, not a single seat lay empty.
Every bench, every tier, every elevated platform was occupied by senators of influence and ambition, their white togas edged with purple marking rank and authority. The hall felt heavier than usual, thick with anticipation and restrained unease, as though the walls themselves sensed the gravity of what was about to unfold.
Once, this chamber had been dominated by men loyal to Julius Caesar—his allies, his supporters, his beneficiaries. But today was different.
Today, every man present had been carefully selected.
