One night, many years ago, before the revenge campaign in Germania…
Piso was drinking by himself.
He rambled and cursed—upset about something Germanicus had said—though he couldn't even recall the exact words now, only the sting they left behind.
But they had.
Suddenly—
His fist slammed down on the table with a KABLAM!—like wood being pounded—the smooth surface almost splintered with a loud crack.
He was seething.
WHAM WHAM!
"Iuppiter te perdat, Germanicus!" he hissed, a sickening grinding of his teeth accompanied the curse.
KRIK KRAK!
He sat alone in his tablinum—surrounded by scrolls, tablets, abacus, inks and reed pens.
His face was flushed, jaw tight as stone, veins about to pop out of his temples.
Had anyone seen him right there and then, they would have thought he was about to burst and die.
"Perdo!"
KABLAM!
WHAM WHAM!
He unleashed another volley of his pent-up fury.
"Huff… huff…" he breathed hard, but it wasn't enough.
He was about to reach for his wine when he stilled—something caught his eye.
There was a map on the table, rolled open.
He stood up instinctively, about to tidy it, grumbling, when his knee struck the table's leg—his silver cup tipped over.
"Vae! The precious parchment!"
Wine splashed everywhere, staining the papyrus crimson.
He cursed again, snatching up the cup, ready to hurl it across the room when… he noticed something.
It was an accident, really… or perhaps a divine providence?
'No… it was by fate's design.'
He was sure of it now…
The gods had given him a chance to finally break free from Germanicus' shackling family shadow.
There was one spot on the map, perfectly dry.
Untouched.
Piso stared at it, sobering instantly.
His eyes widened as he realized what he was looking at.
He scrambled to his feet, already rifling through the scattered scrolls—he had to know more, he had to confirm it!
Cursing at the mess, he began to talk to himself…
"I think I even heard about it before…"
Silk Road.
Then, a eureka—
"The damned Silk Road!"
An important trade route connecting East Asia and the Mediterranean region, a major channel for exchanging goods between East and West.
"Gold, spices, riches, and silk!"
Treasures!
It would flow like a river in Rome!
The prospect of wealth and power, without the burden of ruling Rome's vast and unruly territory like the Eastern Provinces, was intoxicating.
Sweeter than a passum.
He trembled with excitement at his discovery.
It would make him equal in standing to Germanicus—if not greater!
And the Silk Road belonged to…
"Syria…" he murmured.
A smaller scope.
A manageable domain.
And most importantly—
"Control of the lucrative trading route…" he whispered softly, eyes slowly growing large.
It was a prize worth claiming.
His mind began spinning, already plotting.
He planned to forcibly take it from the man who didn't deserve it, who didn't see its full potential!
"Who's the governor there…" he mumbled.
A governor in Syria was more than just a bureaucrat.
His eyes glinted.
"I would be the gatekeeper of riches!" Piso exclaimed, already imagining himself as its ruler—sitting atop a pile of gold.
Silk Road, Syria… the link between East and West…
"And I would be the one who would bend the empire's vast trade route at will!" he giggled.
A new fire had been kindled, and it was sweeter—
"Oh, so much sweeter than any wine…"
A triumphal smile played on his lips.
TSSSS!
The flame of the lucerna started to breathe its last, grounding him.
Flickering.
Fading.
But he let it be, too consumed with his own thoughts to care.
"I'm the master of my own destiny," he said to no one, puffing his chest out.
"I'll wield my power with precision and reap the rewards of the Silk Road's treasures!"
'I have all the right!'
Piso had fought for Syria tooth and nail, using and stepping on anyone who blocked his way.
And in the end, it became his, even though Germanicus objected and criticized him yet again for taking it before departing for Germania.
His pride took another hit, making him finally lash out.
He openly showed animosity and bared his teeth towards his greatest enemy.
'He already had everything handed to him on a golden platter from birth!'
"Syria is mine," he gritted his teeth.
That was the day Piso learned to talk back.
"And it was so liberating!"
From then on until Germanicus died, Piso would always give snide remarks here and there.
And Germanicus?
He would always counter smartly, making Piso lose face in the end.
Yes, it still hurt his pride, but it only served as a spark to the grudge that had festered deep within his bones.
'Well,' he paused, a thoughtful look on his face as he silently contemplated.
"Maybe deep inside he saw right through me?" he murmured.
"That's why he was like that… only to me…"
Maybe to Germanicus, Piso's unconscious hunger for power had been too obvious.
And he saw Piso's future of growing influence in Syria as a threat to Rome's stability—and perhaps more personally… to his legacy.
'So… were you a clairvoyant who didn't foresee his own death?'
But who was laughing now?
"Pft—!" his shoulders shook with laughter.
'Well, maybe he was right about that…' he breathed, controlling his emotions.
'I won't let him sit on the throne if I can help it,' he sneered, his face twisting.
"Yes…"
His heart started to throb, finally waking him from a long dream of the past.
"Ah… the throne…"
And to own it, that seat of power—for Piso's own future to be secured—Germanicus' path must be obstructed.
He believed that Germanicus didn't fit on the throne, but he did—Emperor Piso did—it was his rightful place!
The fruit of all his labor!
His eyes gleamed with greed.
"Well… he was too soft… too honest… but he was dead now… pft—!"
Germanicus never knew how to play the game—the way it was meant to be played.
'That blasted man was living under the rock of his own righteousness and the empire's so-called ideals to ever see the bigger picture!'
"If you are the Emperor, then you are the most powerful, the richest!"
And, perhaps, that was the moment—when Piso finally realized the depth of his ambition.
It was no longer just about proving himself worthy to Rome!
To Germanicus!
"What a fool he was," he mused bitterly.
'How unsophisticated.'
"Watch me from the Elysium seizing Rome!"
'Unbefitting of his birthright.'
A small smile peeked at his lips.
**