I Rule Rome with a God-Tier AI-Chapter 163: The Serpent’s Den

Antioch was a city of silks and spices, of whispered rumors in shaded courtyards and fortunes made on the turn of a single caravan. It was the capital of the Roman East, a world of decadent luxury and ancient, subtle politics, a universe away from the grim, muddy reality of the Danubian frontier. It was here, in this serpent's den, that General Gaius Maximus arrived to play a game for which he had no natural talent.

He entered the city not with the grand procession befitting a Magister Militum, the supreme Master of Soldiers, but with only a small, hardened escort of his own Praetorians. His armor was the same scarred and travel-stained leather he wore on campaign, not the polished, gilded steel of a courtier. His demeanor was grim, his face a mask of resolute purpose. The contrast with the opulent city was a deliberate, calculated statement: he was a soldier, not a diplomat, and his business was not one of pleasure.

He found Publius Helvius Pertinax in the sprawling gardens of the governor's palace. The old general was the very picture of a contented, retired statesman, dressed in a fine linen toga, carefully tending to a bed of rare, damask roses. The illusion was perfect—a man at peace with his honorable exile, finding solace in simple, gentlemanly pursuits. Maximus knew it was a lie. He was looking at a lion pretending to be a lamb.

Pertinax looked up as Maximus approached, his face breaking into a warm, welcoming smile that did not quite reach his cold, calculating eyes.

"Gaius, my old friend!" Pertinax exclaimed, his voice a smooth, cultured baritone. He set down his small gardening trowel. "What an unexpected and profound pleasure. To what do I owe this honor? Surely the Emperor has not sent his greatest general all this way simply to admire my roses."

"He has sent me to convey his deepest gratitude for your loyal service here in the east, Pertinax," Maximus replied, his own voice a low, flat rumble that offered no purchase for pleasantries. "And to deliver his orders."

He produced the sealed imperial decree from a leather satchel at his side. It was a simple, public document. Maximus watched as Pertinax broke the seal and read, his expression remaining perfectly, unnervingly neutral. The order was a masterpiece of political maneuvering, a blade wrapped in silk. It commended Pertinax for his excellent governorship, tasked him with the high honor of maintaining the peace with Parthia through his renowned diplomatic skill, and, almost as an afterthought, recalled the three legions under his command for urgent duty on the Danube. It stripped him of his army while praising him for his wisdom, leaving him no legitimate grounds for protest.

Pertinax rolled the scroll back up, his movements slow and deliberate. He did not refuse the order. He was far too clever for that. He played a more subtle, dangerous game.

"An honor, of course," he said, his smile unwavering. "The Emperor's wisdom is, as always, beyond question. My only concern is for the men themselves. They are... attached to this land. To their commander." He sighed, a theatrical gesture of fatherly concern. "They may see this sudden recall as a sign of disrespect. They may feel the east is being abandoned. I fear their morale, their fighting spirit, may suffer. Perhaps it would be better if I addressed them myself, before their departure? To smooth the transition, to assure them of the honor of their new duty. I could speak to them as their old general, one last time."

Maximus saw the trap instantly. Pertinax was trying to insert himself back into the chain of command, to get one last chance to stand before his legions, to sow the seeds of dissent with his famous oratory, to perhaps turn their departure into a mutiny.

Maximus shut him down with the cold, unimpeachable weight of his own authority. "Your concern for the men's morale is noted, and it does you credit, Pertinax," he said, his voice as hard as iron. "Which is precisely why the Emperor has sent me. They will not hear of their new duty from the man they are leaving behind. They will hear of it from the man who will be leading them into the greatest battle of our generation. They will hear of the triple wages and the land grants that await them. They will hear of the glory to be won. Your presence, I fear, would only confuse them, a voice from the quiet past when the Empire calls them to a glorious, and very loud, future."

He was using his own fame and Alex's promises as a shield and a sword, making it brutally clear that he, not Pertinax, now represented the destiny of these legions. Pertinax's smile finally faltered, just for a second, a flicker of cold fury in his eyes before it was replaced again by his mask of pleasantry. He had been blocked. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

While this courteous, deadly duel of words took place in the governor's garden, Perennis's agents were at work in the smoky taverns and bustling marketplaces of the legionary camps outside the city. They were not cloaked assassins, but masters of the whisper, of the well-placed, casual question. Disguised as off-duty soldiers from other units, as merchants selling wine, as gossiping locals, they moved through the crowds, planting the seeds of doubt.

"Strange times," one agent, dressed as a grain merchant, would say to a group of centurions drinking at a bar. "Did you hear the Governor met with the Parthian envoy again last night? So late, too. Strange, with the peace being so stable..."

"I heard the Parthians offered him a great deal of gold," another agent, posing as a moneylender, would mention to a junior tribune. "A king's ransom. I wonder what for? A man like Pertinax must have very powerful friends."

The questions were never direct accusations. They were insidious, designed to fester in the minds of proud, professional soldiers. Why does our old commander sup with our ancient enemies? Why would he want us to stay here, when our brothers are preparing to fight for the very survival of Rome? The rumors began to circulate, a subtle poison tainting the legacy of Pertinax's command.

The next day, Maximus stood on the steps of the great Forum of Antioch to address the officers of the three legions. The legates, the tribunes, the senior centurions—all were assembled. He delivered the speech Alex had outlined for him, his powerful voice echoing off the ancient stone. He spoke of the great horde, of the threat to their families and their homeland. He spoke of the Emperor's faith in them, the veterans of the east. He spoke of the rich rewards, the pure silver coins that would fill their purses, the fertile lands that would be their homes after the great victory. And he concluded by making his personal vow.

"I give you my word, as a soldier," he thundered, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "I will be with you. I will share your march, I will share your watch, and I will share your charge. We will face this storm together, and we will break it upon the shield wall of the Roman legions!"

The speech was met with a roar of thunderous applause. The officers, their hearts stirred by patriotism and their minds dazzled by the promise of wealth, were won over. Just then, one of Pertinax's most loyal legates, a man named Cassian, stepped forward, attempting to play the same delaying game his master had. "A stirring speech, General Maximus! But we must voice a concern for the security of the eastern frontier..."

Before he could continue, a young, ambitious centurion from the back ranks, a man whose brother had been one of Perennis's agents' drinking companions the night before, shouted out. "Are we to listen to the caution of men who sup with Parthians while Rome burns? The great Maximus calls us to war! To glory! I say we march!"

A chorus of assent rose from the other centurions. "We march! We march for Rome! For Maximus!" The legate, Cassian, stood shocked and humiliated, shouted down by his own men. The seed of doubt, so carefully planted, had sprouted and choked out the old loyalty. The allegiance of the legions had been officially and irrevocably transferred.

From the high window of his palace garden, Pertinax watched it all. He watched as the standards of his legions were lowered in salute to another man. He watched as the men he had commanded for years cheered for a new leader. And later that day, he watched as the endless columns of his former army marched out of Antioch, their faces turned west, their songs echoing through the hills. They were marching to the Danube, to fight for Rome, under the command of Gaius Maximus.

He had been utterly and completely outmaneuvered, his army surgically removed from his grasp without a single sword being drawn. He was left alone in his opulent garden, a lion without teeth or claws, surrounded by the scent of roses and the poisonous, lingering whispers of treason.