The Civilization System: Save Rome

Chapter 11: The Ring

Marcus wanted to leave immediately.

Arthur wanted to ask questions.

This would have been difficult even if they spoke the same language. Since they did not, the argument became a mixture of gestures, frowns, and Marcus pointing at the ring as if that explained everything.

It did not explain everything.

It explained enough.

The ring had come from the attacker. Marcus had chased him through half the city, fought him at least once, and failed to bring him back. The bruise on his face suggested the man had not gone quietly.

Arthur pointed at the ring, then at the street.

Marcus nodded.

Then Arthur pointed at Marcus’s bruised face.

Marcus shrugged again.

Arthur was beginning to hate that shrug. It covered far too many details.

Lucius came out into the courtyard while they were still trying to communicate. The old physician looked at Marcus, then at the bruise, then at Arthur. His expression suggested that whatever foolishness they were planning, he wanted no part of it.

He said something sharp.

Marcus answered.

Lucius snorted.

Even without understanding the words, Arthur could tell the old man thought Marcus was an idiot.

That made Arthur like him more.

Before they left, Arthur glanced toward the room where Livia slept. She had survived the night, but Lucius had made it clear she was not waking properly yet. Her face remained pale. The sight bothered Arthur more than he expected.

He had known her for barely two days.

Still, she had risked herself by handing over the records. She had been attacked because of their investigation. Because of Gaius. Because of the body Arthur was wearing.

He did not like the thought.

Marcus touched his shoulder and pointed toward the street.

Time to go.

Arthur followed.

They moved through Rome under the late morning sun. After his walk earlier, Arthur found himself looking at the city differently. The fear had not vanished, but it no longer filled every corner of his mind. He noticed things now. The way wealth changed from one street to another. The way some roads were maintained better than others. The way people stepped aside for certain men without being told.

Power had a shape here.

You could see it if you paid attention.

Marcus led him away from Lucius’s neighborhood and toward a busier part of the city. The streets grew cleaner. The shops looked better maintained. People wore brighter clothes, finer sandals, more jewelry.

Arthur glanced down at his own tunic.

Gaius had not been poor, exactly.

But he had not belonged here.

That was worth remembering.

After nearly an hour, Marcus stopped in front of a workshop with a small painted sign hanging above the entrance. The image showed a ring and a set of tools.

Arthur looked at the sign, then at Marcus.

For once, the plan made perfect sense.

If the ring was official work, someone had made it. If someone had made it, someone might remember who ordered it.

Inside, the workshop smelled of metal, oil, and hot charcoal. A young apprentice looked up from a bench, saw Marcus, and immediately decided that his work required intense concentration.

An older craftsman emerged from the back.

He was thin, bald, and had the careful eyes of a man who noticed the value of everything within reach. Those eyes moved from Marcus to Arthur, then to the ring as soon as Marcus placed it on the counter.

The craftsman went still.

Not for long.

Half a second, maybe.

But Arthur saw it.

So did Marcus.

The old man spoke quickly and pushed the ring back.

Marcus did not take it.

The craftsman tried again, louder this time. His hands moved as he spoke, dismissive at first, then nervous. He wanted them gone.

Marcus leaned forward and said something quiet.

The craftsman stopped talking.

Arthur wished he understood the words. Judging by the craftsman’s face, they were effective.

A few coins appeared on the counter.

The craftsman’s eyes flicked toward them.

Then toward the door.

Then back to the ring.

He was scared.

That changed the room.

Arthur had seen hesitation before. People avoiding trouble. Clerks refusing to speak. Workers pretending not to remember. This was different. This man knew something, and knowing it frightened him.

Marcus waited.

The craftsman lasted almost a minute before breaking.

He picked up the ring and turned it over in his fingers. Then he pointed at the seal and spoke in a lower voice. Arthur caught a few words, but not enough. Office. Grain. Overseer. Maybe.

Marcus asked something.

The craftsman shook his head.

Marcus placed another coin on the counter.

The old man stared at it for a long moment.

Then he took it.

After that, the words came faster.

Arthur followed the rhythm if not the meaning. The craftsman had not made the ring for the attacker. That much became clear from his gestures. He had repaired it. Polished it. Maybe resized it. The ring itself belonged to someone else.

Someone with authority.

Someone connected to the grain offices.

Marcus’s expression grew darker.

Arthur felt the same cold weight settle in his stomach.

The grain records. The missing shipments. The warehouse meeting. Gaius’s death. Livia’s attack.

It was all tied together.

Not perfectly.

Not yet.

But enough.

The craftsman eventually took a scrap of wax and scratched something into it with a tool. A name, Arthur thought. Or a title. Maybe both. He handed it to Marcus with the expression of a man passing a snake.

Marcus read it.

For the first time since the chase, he looked genuinely worried.

Not angry.

Worried.

That was worse.

Arthur leaned closer, trying to read the scratched letters. The name was difficult, but one part stood out to him.

Aelius.

He knew enough Roman names to recognize that.

Marcus closed his hand around the wax before Arthur could study it further.

The craftsman said something final and pointed toward the door.

Get out.

Again, the message needed no translation.

They left.

Outside, the street seemed too bright after the dim workshop. Arthur waited until they had turned two corners before stopping.

He pointed at Marcus’s closed hand.

Marcus hesitated.

Then he opened it and showed the wax.

The name was there, roughly scratched but readable enough.

Aelius Varro.

Arthur looked at Marcus.

Then back at the name.

Varro.

That was Marcus’s name too.

For a moment, he wondered if he had misunderstood. Roman names were complicated. Families, branches, adopted lines, freedmen taking names from patrons. It did not necessarily mean what he thought it meant.

Marcus’s face said otherwise.

Arthur pointed at Marcus.

Then at the wax.

Marcus’s jaw tightened.

He shook his head, then held up one hand and made a small separating gesture.

Not close.

Not him.

But connected.

Somehow.

Arthur exhaled.

Of course.

Because apparently murder, stolen grain, and attempted assassination were not enough. Now Marcus might have some kind of connection to the name on the ring.

Marcus started walking again before Arthur could ask more.

This time, his pace was faster.

They returned to Lucius’s house by a longer route. Marcus kept checking behind them. Arthur did the same, though he had no idea what he was looking for. Every man in a cloak suddenly seemed suspicious. Unfortunately, Rome had a lot of men in cloaks.

By the time they reached the courtyard, Arthur was tired, hungry, and increasingly annoyed by the fact that ancient investigations had no convenient search function. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓

Lucius met them at the door.

He did not look happy.

That seemed to be his natural state.

He spoke to Marcus first, then pointed inside.

Arthur felt his stomach tighten.

Livia.

They entered the small room quietly.

She was awake.

Barely.

Her face was pale, and the bandage around her side looked too large for comfort. But her eyes were open, and when she saw Arthur, they narrowed with immediate suspicion.

Arthur felt oddly relieved.

If Livia could look annoyed, she was not dead.

Lucius said something and pushed him toward a stool near the wall. Apparently, visitors were allowed only if they stayed out of the way.

Marcus approached the bed and showed her the wax.

Livia read the name.

The change in her face was small.

But Arthur saw it.

Fear.

Not surprise.

Fear.

She knew the name.

Marcus spoke quietly.

Livia answered, her voice weak but sharp. She tried to sit up and immediately regretted it. Lucius barked at her. She ignored him for about two seconds, then gave up and leaned back.

Arthur almost smiled.

Almost.

Livia pointed at the wax, then at the bundle of records Arthur had hidden earlier. After that, she looked at him and said something slowly.

He caught one word.

Gaius.

Then another.

Wrong.

Arthur frowned.

Livia repeated herself, weaker this time, and pointed toward the records.

Marcus went still.

Arthur looked between them.

The room suddenly felt smaller.

Whatever Gaius had been investigating, Livia was saying they had misunderstood it.

Arthur picked up the bundle of tablets.

Livia watched him with tired, angry eyes.

Then she spoke one final sentence before Lucius forced her to stop.

Arthur understood only a few words.

But they were enough.

Not grain.

Men.

The silence that followed was heavy.

Arthur looked down at the records in his hands.

They had thought Gaius was investigating stolen shipments.

Maybe he had been.

But if Livia was right, the grain was only the cover.

Someone was moving people through the warehouse records.

And Gaius had noticed.