The Senate chamber was packed, the air thick with tension and filled with murmurs. Lucius stood in the center, upright but visibly worn from his imprisonment. The senators, arranged in a semicircle, scrutinized him with cold, judgmental eyes. Across the room, Septimus wore a smug smile, convinced this trial would seal the fate of his rival once and for all.
Since Lucius' return to Rome, Septimus had always seen him as a potential threat to his political ambitions. Lucius' popularity within the Senate, his prestigious lineage—everything about him was an obstacle to Septimus' own desires for power. Septimus had lived the good life when Geta and Caracalla were in power, using their leniency to bypass the rules. Lucius, however, wanted to clean up the Senate and restore power to the people.
Opiter Publius, seated among the senators, cast anxious glances toward the entrance. He desperately hoped his daughter would not do the unthinkable.
The proceedings began, the accusations against Lucius were grave: treason, conspiracy against the Senate, and collusion with Rome's enemies. The evidence, though fabricated, appeared damning. Letters allegedly written by Lucius to rebellious generals were presented like sacred indictments.
After several hours where it seemed that Lucius' guilt had been thoroughly proven, it was finally time for his defense.
Lucius spoke with a steady voice, though there was an undeniable weariness in his eyes.
— "These accusations are built on lies and manipulation. Never have I betrayed Rome or conspired against the Senate. My loyalty lies with this city and the ideals it represents."
But his words fell into a heavy silence. Every glance, every whisper, seemed to weigh against him. Septimus' allies ensured that any testimony in Lucius' favor was swiftly discredited.
Just as condemnation seemed inevitable, a commotion arose at the chamber doors. They swung open abruptly, and Helena entered hastily, her hair disheveled from running and her face marked with exhaustion.
— "Wait!" she shouted, cutting off the senator poised to read the sentence.
All eyes turned to her, stunned by her interruption.
Opiter slowly rose, his face contorted with fear. Deep inside, he knew Helena could not be stopped. He wanted to shout for her to flee, to run far away, but their gazes met—his filled with terror, hers with determination and defiance.
Helena advanced, undeterred by the senators' indignant murmurs.
— "I demand the truth be heard. I have found witnesses who can prove the evidence against Lucius is falsified."
Septimus let out a derisive laugh.
— "Are we to believe the claims of a wayward young woman? The Senate does not operate on sentimental whims."
But Helena met his gaze with a fierce intensity that silenced his smile.
— "This is not whim, Septimus. This is justice."
At the magistrate's signal, two men in modest tunics were brought in. The first, a scribe named Marcellus, described how he had been coerced into drafting the false letters under orders from Faustus, who had been bribed by Septimus. Faustus had access to Lucius' estate, where he acquired documents bearing his handwriting and signature, which he then replicated.
The room fell silent as the second witness, Claudius, stepped forward. His entrance was nothing short of captivating. With his tall, broad-shouldered frame, he exuded a quiet confidence that commanded immediate attention. Every movement was deliberate, almost choreographed, as if he had mastered the art of presence itself. His eyes, sharp and calculating, swept the room before briefly landing on Helena. A slight, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. It was the look of a man who knew the power his words held—the power to shift the very foundation of Lucius' trial.
Claudius bowed slightly to the senators, his posture impeccably composed. He was the picture of respect and dignity, the epitome of a young man raised to be a paragon of Roman virtue. His gaze lingered just a moment longer on Helena, as if savoring her reaction, before he straightened, exuding a quiet, magnetic self-assurance.
As the room hung on his every move, Claudius felt the sting of the eyes that followed him—eyes that saw the perfection he projected, the charm that drew them in like moths to a flame. They believed in him, admired him, trusted him. But beneath that polished exterior, Claudius was keenly aware of the dangerous game he was playing.
— "My respects, senators. I am here to testify to an act of corruption that should outrage every man in this assembly."
Septimus, visibly uneasy, tried to intervene.
— "This man is nothing but an opportunist! His testimony cannot be trusted!"
But Claudius raised a hand to command silence, producing a sealed scroll.
— "This contains proof that Faustus received a significant sum from Septimus in exchange for these forged documents. The letters incriminating Lucius are fabrications, and this scroll includes records of the transactions. Faustus, burdened with gambling debts, sold out his friend to settle them. You all know Faustus' reputation and his well-documented vices."
A stunned silence filled the chamber. The senators murmured among themselves, the atmosphere shifting rapidly. Helena watched Claudius with gratitude; though they had not known each other long, he had proven himself a staunch defender of justice. Claudius gave her a discreet wink, savoring the chance to win her favor.
The magistrate examined the evidence and questioned Faustus, who, under pressure, confessed his guilt and directly implicated Septimus. He turned to Lucius, apologizing for his betrayal and explaining he had felt trapped.
The case against Lucius was in tatters. Yet the sentence was not as merciful as hoped.
The magistrate rose and declared:
— "Lucius, though the evidence against you has been refuted, the Senate deems your return to political life a potential source of discord. You are hereby sentenced to withdraw from all political activities, under penalty of execution if you violate this decree. No tolerance will be afforded; even the slightest assembly will result in your immediate execution without trial."
Lucius remained impassive, but Helena saw the pain flash in his eyes. Septimus, however, was immediately arrested.
As Lucius left the Senate, free but not fully liberated, he knew he could no longer save Rome or fulfill the dream his grandfather, Marcus Aurelius, had once held dear. Helena ran to him, tears streaming down her face.
— "You're free, I know you had bigger ambitions for Rome, but not all is lost. I'm sure one day that dream will come true."
He cupped her cheek, a faint smile on his lips.
— "I can't believe what you did. You took such a big risk for me. You could have been imprisoned. This isn't what I want for you, nor your father."
Helena's voice was resolute, though heavy with emotion.
— "If I had to do it again, I would. I couldn't let you go."
Lucius kissed her forehead softly, a gesture filled with tenderness, gratitude, and something deeper.
From the shadows of the columns, Claudius watched them, an enigmatic smile playing on his lips. He had always seen Helena as a stunning woman. She was renowned as the most beautiful woman in Rome, though suitors did not crowd her because of her intimidating independence.
To Claudius, Helena represented the perfect jewel to adorn his arm. He was determined to marry her. Once wed, he would know how to end her caprices and make her a submissive wife capable of bearing him fine children. Claudius' father was also in debt, and since Helena was an only child, her fortune was considerable. By marrying her, he would gain a noble and wealthy wife. Helping Helena would win him her favor, which he would use to his advantage. He suspected her heart already belonged to Lucius, but he was determined to make her his.