"TA-taa-TA-Taa!"
A trumpet blared.
Its vibrations rippled through the air, all around the bustling city of Rome.
Rome—a sprawling metropolis of white marble temples, grand basilicas teeming with visitors, and winding streets—pulsed with so much life.
Music, dance, and acrobatic performances filled every corner, accompanied by the sweet scent of incense wafting from the processions led by priests honoring the god, Apollo.
Chariot races, athletic competitions and theatrical events drew the cheering crowds.
And at night, torches and lanterns cast a magical glow over the revelry.
Another trumpet blast pierced the air, momentarily halting the lively celebrations.
The people, busy commemorating the Ludi Palatini—a sacred festival held in honor of the gods and goddesses—paused and wondered why.
A low murmur spread through the colorful crowd.
Trumpets had already sounded once—on the event's first day, when the Emperor delivered his usual drowsy speech.
But why were they being used again, on the very last day of Ludi Palatini?
Another celebration?
What was the new occasion?
The masses exchanged curious glances.
Then some people came running from the Palatium.
"Hup hup… Go to the Palatium ground! They are announcing something important! Hurry now!"
They called out to the populace.
The message spread like wildfire.
Curiosity about the announcement got the better of them, so they went.
Once they all gathered at the Palatium premises, instead of the Emperor—or any high-ranking magistrate—a poorly dressed herald stood before them.
Unease spread—was this just another of the Emperor's whims again?
The herald stood tall, scanning the spectators.
He grunted once, seemingly pleased with the amount of people that joined them.
Once he was satisfied, in a very loud voice he said:
"Romans! Rejoice!"
But the onlookers remained silent.
They only glanced at each other.
"Ahem…" the herald cleared his throat.
Unbothered.
"We are celebrating the end of tyranny of the MAD EMPEROR!"
Everybody could have heard a pin drop as silence ensued.
The herald remained unfazed by the lack of response.
His gaze swept around the people in front of him, pausing on each face—making his point.
"As of right now…" he trailed dramatically.
Then he sighed, making the people anxious.
"The mad Emperor, Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus…"
Everyone held their breaths, a low buzzing of expectations arose.
"... has already died!"
A long pause.
Not even a whisper.
Then, from somewhere—one person cried out, then another.
And like a wave crashing over the Palatium ground, the entire crowd erupted into a loud roar of approval.
"Hurrraaaaahhh!!!!"
The people boomed, while the herald smiled as the shouting and stomping of the people slowly shook the Palatium walls.
The city rejoiced at the fall of its god.
**
The news of the Emperor's demise circulated rapidly—igniting a frenzy of jubilation and destruction.
The Ludi Palatini was fully forgotten.
Mobs of people who were just dancing to the music and enjoying the mood of the celebration hours before, now surged through the streets with fury.
They targeted the numerous statues and effigies of the fallen Emperor—the source of their newfound enjoyment.
In the Roman Forum—a central public space in the heart of Rome—a towering and perfect statue of the Emperor loomed.
A group of enraged citizens eyed it once, remembering how they poured all of their joy, sweat and tears while building it with hopeful hearts.
A few people even sniffled from the memory—before picking up the hammers and chisels.
They then attacked it without mercy.
The sound of cracking stones echoed through the Forum as the statue's limbs shattered.
In a matter of minutes, it got broken into pieces.
Then they stomped on it.
THUNK THUNK
Nearby, a bronze effigy of the Emperor stood atop a pedestal.
They lit a bonfire beneath it.
Flames engulfed the metal, melting its features into a twisted, grotesque appearance.
The people were pleased.
Their hearts felt light for the first time in years.
They danced around the fire.
Loud laughter mixed with weeping could be heard all around.
Throughout the city of Rome, similar scenes were happening.
Statues toppled.
Effigies smashed and burned.
Images of the tyrant Emperor defaced.
Madness spread.
A marble hand severed at the wrist, a marble head rolling—cracked against the paved stones as kids played and kicked it.
The once-revered symbols of the Emperor's power now lay crushed.
A brutal testament of the people's rejection of the Emperor's tyranny.
As night fell, Rome's streets were glowing with fires, illuminating the destruction.
The air resonated with the growing mania of the people and the clanging hammers, as the city purged itself of the mad Emperor's presence.
CLACK CLANK CLACK
The sound of creaking wood and scraping wheels blended in the atmosphere.
CLACK CLANK CLACK
An ox pulled a plaustrum slowly—a heavy wooden cart—it was making its way out of the city.
The tall driver, wearing a black cape with hood drawn to his head, halted the ox and gazed back at the riotous scene unfolding before him.
His face was illuminated by an orange glow from the fire.
It was Lepidus—his face showed disinterest at the ongoing commotion.
Not even a twitch.
Then his green eyes turned and dropped to the cart behind him.
There was a thick large cloth covered in a shape that unmistakably resembled a body under it—breathing slowly.
Quietly.
Hidden from the chaotic world.
The cloth covering the body shifted slightly.
As if the person beneath it was trying to seek a more comfortable position.
Lepidus' expression remained inscrutable.
But it was betrayed by a flicker of concern that passed by.
His gaze lingered on the subtle movement, making his face softened.
The burning city, the roaring crowd—a hellish scene—all faded into a distant hum for Lepidus.
His attention was solely on the mystery and secret it held.
Then he sighed, turning his head in front of him and giving a slight flick to the rein, making the ox move forward.
The sound of the creaking wood and the scraping wheels became the only sound he cared about.
He continued to drive, leaving the mayhem behind, hastening the plaustrum.
CLACK CLANK CLACK
**
INDEX:
Roman Forum or Forum—it was like a big plaza or an open public space.
**
FUNFACTS!
The tunnels under the Palatium were later called cryptoporticus. These secret passageways were used by the Imperial Family for private movement, dramatic entrances at public events, or to avoid assassins. Ironically, Emperor Caligula was assassinated in one of these passageways. Historical accounts indicate that Caligula was stabbed 30 times (ouch). And it was orchestrated by the senators and his guards. Following this, they announced his death to the masses and made that day a holiday. Another fact! Purple is the color symbol of the Imperial family. It was generally exclusive to them, although sometimes, they permitted it to their own Praetorian guards as a sign of their Imperial connection. So! If anyone other than the Imperial family had a fully dyed purple garment in that time, it only means, they were trusted—if one was a guard—or if they were an ordinary noble—then it means, they were close, very, very close to the Imperial family. That was why, the brave guard at the beginning of this chapter was very proud of his own tunicamilitaris—called it his most prized possession too. While his enemy—only has a narrow purple stripe. See the difference? Well.. maybe that was the reason they became an enemy. They were bitter. LMAO. And, another fun fact, the gladiator Colosseum in Rome was built around 70 to 82 AD. So, in Caligula's reign at this time (41 AD), the gladiator fights were held somewhere else, like in Circus Maximus, or any other public spaces.