Dies Saturni, Sextus Decimus Mensis Maii, Anno Urbis Conditae MCCXXX
(Saturday, 16th Day of May, Year of the Founding of the City 1230)
The audience with Senator Cicero and his delegation had been, as Alexander anticipated, illuminating. It had laid bare not only the specific grievances and proposals of a vocal Senate faction but also the character of its leader. Cicero was an idealist on the surface, a skilled orator certainly, but one whose ideals conveniently aligned with the interests of his wealthy backers. Alexander had seen his type a thousand times in boardrooms and backroom deals: the eloquent frontman for a more pragmatic, self-serving agenda.
Two days had passed since that meeting, days Alexander had spent in further study and quiet contemplation, his physical strength now almost fully restored. He had walked the palace gardens extensively, no longer leaning on Elara, his mind sifting through the implications of Cicero's proposals and Livia's sharp, if biased, commentary. He'd had enough of shadows. It was time to face his Imperial Council. He had to size them up: what they could do, who they truly served, and what they really thought about Cicero's noise. More than that, they needed a jolt, to see their Emperor was off his sickbed and ready to take the reins of Rome.
He convened the meeting not in the grand council chamber, which felt too formal for his current purpose, but in the same Solarium where he had received Cicero. It was smaller, more intimate, allowing for closer observation. He sat again in the high-backed chair, Livia present at his side, a silent but potent observer. Theron was also there, at his small table, ready to document.
The key members of the Imperial Council were assembled. Fabius Scaurus, the Praefectus Annonae, looking perpetually burdened by the thought of Rome's granaries, and Valerius Capito, the sharp-eyed Quaestor Sacri Palatii, responsible for the Imperial finances, were already familiar faces.
Joining them today were two others. Servius Galba, the Magister Officiorum, was a man whose age was difficult to guess; he could have been anywhere between fifty and seventy. Thin, with a network of fine wrinkles around shrewd, watchful eyes, he was the master of the imperial bureaucracy, the keeper of its secrets and procedures. His demeanor was one of impeccable, almost invisible, efficiency. He had served three emperors, including Alexander's father.
The final, and perhaps most imposing, figure was Gaius Fulvius Paetus, the Praefectus Praetorio. In this era of Rome, the Praetorian Prefect was less a commander of a distinct guard unit and more the Emperor's chief military advisor and executive, responsible for army logistics, discipline, and often acting as a liaison with provincial generals. Paetus was built like a bull, his face a roadmap of old scars, his presence radiating a disciplined martial energy. His gaze was direct, assessing. Livia had described him as brutally competent but fiercely loyal to his father, Septimius.
Alexander began, his voice clear and devoid of any lingering weakness. "Gentlemen, thank you for attending. I trust you are all aware of my recent audience with Senator Gallus Cicero and his colleagues regarding their proposals for economic reform."
Nods around the room. News, Alexander knew, traveled fast in the palace.
"Senator Cicero presented his arguments with… considerable passion," Alexander continued, a slight, unreadable smile touching his lips. "He spoke of the unsustainable cost of the annona, inefficiencies in our tax system, and a general malaise affecting trade and agricultural output. Before I formulate any response, or indeed, before the Council deliberates on these matters further, I wish to hear your individual perspectives."
He looked first to Fabius Scaurus. "Cicero wants to slash the grain dole. If not that, Scaurus, how do we ease its cost without the city exploding?"
Scaurus took a slow breath, his eyes unwavering. "Your Majesty, the annona keeps this city from tearing itself apart. Quick changes there, careless changes… that's asking for pure chaos. We can, and do, look for better ways: tighter census rolls to stop fraud, watching distribution closely. Perhaps we could find other, cheaper grain sources, from some of the newer provinces even. But the people must be fed, and reliably."
"Alternative sources?" Alexander picked up on the phrase. "Are our current supplies from Aegyptus and Africa Secunda not secure or plentiful enough?"
"They are plentiful for now, Majesty," Scaurus said, "but any disruption – a bad harvest, pirates, trouble in those lands – and we are instantly vulnerable. More options would be wise."
Prudent, yes, but also complex and costly. Alexander nodded. "Capito, Cicero slammed our tax collectors and the rates we set for landowners and merchants. What's your take?"
Valerius Capito leaned in, his eyes sharp. "Majesty, Cicero isn't entirely wrong, though he overstates his case. The system of farming out taxes, old as it is, does let too much coin stick to the wrong fingers. We lose good revenue that way. But if we just cut tax rates like he wants, without a foolproof way to get what's owed directly into the treasury, we'll have a hole in our accounts we can't afford, not right now."
"And what of his claim that lower rates would stimulate commerce to such an extent that overall revenues would eventually rise?" Alexander pressed.
Capito permitted himself a thin smile. "A hopeful story, Majesty, usually told by those who'd gain most from the first cuts. If such a boom happens, it's rarely fast enough or big enough to fill the immediate gap. We might find ways to ease taxes on new businesses or newly settled lands, but a wide cut for everyone would be… unwise with our current commitments."
Alexander absorbed this. Capito was no fool. He understood the shell game Cicero was proposing. He then turned to Servius Galba, the Magister Officiorum. "Master Galba, your office deals with a vast network of officials. From where you sit, what are the true bottlenecks and nests of corruption that Cicero's ideas might touch, for better or worse?"
Galba's voice was like dry leaves rustling. "Your Majesty, Cicero's complaints about too many officials and sticky fingers are as old as Rome itself. There's truth to it; a government this big always breeds such problems. But his solutions… they don't grasp how things actually get done, or undone, in the real world. His 'work programs,' for example, would need a whole new army of administrators to manage them, likely creating fresh chances for the very thievery he wants to stop, unless run by saints. And saints are always in short supply."
A subtle, cutting assessment. Galba was clearly a cynic, but a knowledgeable one.
Finally, Alexander addressed Gaius Fulvius Paetus, the Praetorian Prefect. "Prefect Paetus, Senator Cicero often says a strong economy means a strong army. He believes his reforms will help the legions. What do our armies truly need that more money could fix? And do you see good or bad for the military in what the Senator proposed?"
Paetus, who had listened with the stillness of a predator, met Alexander's gaze directly. His voice was a low rumble. "Majesty, the legions always need more. Better steel, full pay on time, land for the veterans to keep them loyal. A full treasury means a sharp sword for Rome, no doubt. As for Cicero's ideas… if they empty the treasury, as Quaestor Capito fears, the legions get weaker, not stronger. And if the city starves because someone played games with the grain dole, I'll need soldiers here, not on the frontiers. That's how empires die." He spoke with blunt clarity. "Rome is its army. The army needs coin and food. Anything that risks those, risks us all."
Alexander let a moment of silence settle. So, Scaurus was all caution, obsessed with keeping the peace. Capito, the numbers man, saw only red ink and risk. Galba, the old fox of the bureaucracy, just poked holes in everyone's plans. And Paetus, the soldier, cared about one thing: his legions. Each man saw the Empire through the narrow lens of his own job. Useful, but limited.
"You've all given me much to think about," Alexander said at last. "Cicero's ideas clearly have holes, dangerous ones even. But he's not wrong about everything. The dole's cost, the messy taxes, the thieving hands… those problems are real. My father fought them, and now it's my turn."
He looked at each of them in turn. "I will not be rushed into hasty reforms, particularly those championed by factions with… particular interests. But neither will I allow these problems to fester. I will be tasking each of you, within your areas of expertise, to provide me with detailed reports and sober recommendations. Not broad theories, but actionable steps."
He addressed Scaurus: "Prefect, I want a full audit of the grain dole. Numbers of recipients, actual costs, verified sources of supply, and your most practical suggestions for reducing fraud and exploring those 'alternative sources' you mentioned, with cost-benefit analyses."
To Capito: "Quaestor, a thorough review of our current tax collection systems. Identify the primary points of revenue loss, profile the most egregious cases of corruption among tax farmers, and propose three distinct models for reforming collection – perhaps one involving more direct collection by salaried state officials, with projections for cost and potential revenue increase."
To Galba: "Master of Offices, an assessment of the administrative burden and potential for corruption in Cicero's proposed 'work programs.' Further, I want your office to begin a discreet review of key provincial administrations, identifying governors or officials who are either exceptionally effective or suspiciously wealthy."
And to Paetus: "Prefect, a current, unvarnished assessment of the legions' readiness on all frontiers, their most critical equipment and supply shortfalls, and the state of recruitment. Also, your thoughts on how any significant internal unrest in Rome, should it occur, would impact our border defenses."
He delivered these directives calmly, but with an unmistakable air of command. This was not the tentative boy-emperor. This was a ruler taking charge.
The council members listened, their expressions ranging from Scaurus's weary resignation to a new set of immense tasks, to Capito's keen interest, Galba's impassive neutrality, and Paetus's respectful nod.
"You will have these reports for me within one month," Alexander concluded. "We will then convene again to discuss them in detail. This Empire will be run efficiently, and its resources will be marshalled effectively. That is my intent."
He rose, signaling the end of the meeting. The council members rose with him, bowing. As they filed out, Livia gave him a long, appraising look, a new respect in her eyes.
Alexander felt a surge of the old Volkov energy. This was familiar territory: analyzing systems, identifying inefficiencies, demanding results, holding powerful men accountable. The scale was vastly different, the currency empires and armies instead of stocks and market share, but the principles of control and strategic management remained the same. He had listened to Cicero. Now, he was setting his own agenda, based on his own calculations. The ripples were becoming waves.