Mediterranean Hegemon of Ancient Greece Chapter 927: The Fall of Rome

"Can my father and the others really be... cured?" Stolo asked, his face lined with worry. His tone held a trace of doubt, but mostly hope.

Asistes continued to console him. "Since you have studied Greek culture and knowledge from a young age, you might know of Hippocrates, the most famous physician in all of Greece for treating the plague. He is currently in Thurii. Though his advanced age kept him from marching to Latium with the army this time, many of our military physicians are his students. They will do everything in their power to treat your father and the other Roman soldiers afflicted by the plague. Furthermore, you Romans often say the plague is a seed sown by the God of Death. But Daionia's patron deity, Hades, is the Lord of the Underworld, and King Davos is his descendant. Now that the Roman army has surrendered to us, His Majesty will ensure they receive Hades's blessing!"

Stolo's mind settled slightly. Suddenly recalling something else, he asked, "My lord, my wife's mother and sister are still being held captive. May I ask... what will happen to them?"

Asistes thought for a moment before replying, "Since Servius has surrendered, his wife will follow him to settle elsewhere in the kingdom—provided Servius survives the plague first. As for your wife's mother, if Ambustus also surrenders and comes down the mountain, the two of them will be resettled in another region together. However, if your father-in-law refuses to surrender, the kingdom's newly issued decree classifies your mother-in-law as a kingdom slave. But since she has two Daionian Citizen sons-in-law in you and Servius, it will depend on... whether she wishes to live with your family or Servius's family in the future."

"I will go up the mountain tomorrow to persuade my father-in-law," Stolo said decisively.

...

The next day, as Ambustus watched Stolo's staggering figure make its way down the mountain, hot tears rolled down his aged cheeks.

A hand rested on his shoulder. "What, do you regret it?"

Ambustus wiped his tears, turned to look at Potitus, and shook his head. "I don't regret it, but I find it hard to accept..."

"Lord Potitus, it seems you find it hard to accept as well!" Ambustus sighed. He turned to gaze at the solemn Temple of Jupiter, a layer of confusion clouding his face. "I just never expected... that the final, crushing blow would be dealt not by the Theonians, but by the plague! It took our dictator's life and extinguished the soldiers' will to fight. Could this be Jupiter's punishment upon Rome?!"

"Which is exactly why this temple no longer has any reason to exist. It was Jupiter who abandoned Rome!" Maluginensis walked over, his face filled with indignation. He reminded them, "You two, everything is ready. It's time... for us to enter the temple."

Potitus and Ambustus exchanged a glance, a resolute look in both their eyes. "Since it is ready, let us go in."

"My lords," the older Scipio, who had followed Maluginensis, spoke up. "Some of the soldiers under my command do not want to go quietly like this. They would rather fight their way down the mountain and die on the spears of the enemy."

Potitus knitted his heavily wrinkled brow. "Has this not been discussed already? Since we have already failed, let us not pointlessly provoke the Theonians, lest they vent their fury upon our families."

"Lord Scipio, the soldiers under your command are still young. If any of them are willing to surrender, you might as well let them go down the mountain," Ambustus suggested.

The older Scipio's expression turned stern. "They are true Roman warriors. Not a single one of them will choose to surrender!"

Half an hour later, the Roman Senators gathered in the main hall of the Temple of Jupiter, while several hundred Roman soldiers either waited in the rear hall or sat in the courtyard.

Potitus looked around at the more than one hundred Roman Senators crowding the great hall. Trapped on the mountain for months, their food had run out and their water was nearly gone. Consequently, they were not only emaciated and covered in dust, but their robes were torn and ragged. They possessed none of the commanding presence they once held when directing the state in the Senate. Yet at this moment, they sat upright and dignified, their expressions solemn, adding a touch of tragic heroism to the already majestic Temple of Jupiter. The only exception was Apuleius, who had just been released from the rear hall; he groveled on the floor, his back hunched, his lips parting and closing incessantly.

Finally, Potitus looked at Maluginensis beside him and said in a deep voice, "You should be the one to deliver the final words."

Maluginensis gave a free and easy smile. "I've fought with you for decades, and this is the first time you've ever yielded to me. Forget it, I'm already used to it. You do it. However, once we go to that other place... I won't yield to you anymore."

Potitus nodded silently, then looked to the crowd. With a solemn expression, he said, "My lords, twenty years ago, when the Celts breached the City of Rome, Senate forebears like Blerius, Vibius, Gidus, and Aemilius blocked the main road into the city, heroically sacrificing their lives! Today, Rome has fallen once again. We must not tarnish the prestige of the Roman Senators and the Roman Aristocracy. In defense of this city-state that our ancestors built through countless hardships, we shall lay down our lives. Even if Rome ceases to exist, our heroic deeds will surely be remembered and sung by our descendants. It will serve as a constant reminder to those who come after us that in central Italy, in the Latium region, along the banks of the Tiber River, there once stood a great city-state, and its name was Rome!..."

Listening to Potitus's words, the Senators unconsciously raised their heads and sat up even straighter, a spark of vitality returning to their despairing eyes.

Having finished, Potitus let his encouraging gaze slowly meet the eyes of his colleagues once more. He swept over them one by one—first Maluginensis, then Ambustus, then the high priest Ulysses, and finally the aged Senator Lucretius...

Potitus slowly sat down, gently laid his cane aside, and brushed the dust from his robes. Closing his eyes, he ordered in a heavy voice, "Light the fire!"

The great hall was dead silent for a moment.

The older Scipio shouted, "Light the fire!"

The soldiers outside the hall, as if waking from a dream, hurled the torches in their hands at the temple, which had already been drenched in olive oil. In an instant, a raging inferno flared to life...

Apuleius, who had been groveling on the floor, sprang up violently, as if jolted awake by the blaze. He picked up a small stone from the corner and hurled it at the towering divine statue in the center of the hall. With a sharp crack, it struck Jupiter squarely on the head.

"Ha! Ha! Ha!..." Apuleius burst into maniacal laughter, stomping his feet and cursing loudly. "Damn you, Jupiter! Damn you, Camillus! Damn Rome! Hahaha!... Damn Rome!..."

Apuleius's frenzied laughter, mingling with the agonizing screams of the Senators and soldiers as they were engulfed in flames, became the final echo of the great fire atop Capitoline Hill.

...

The self-immolation of the Roman Senators and soldiers meant the complete extinction of Roman resistance. Aside from the surrendered Roman Aristocracy and their families who grieved in silence, and a very small handful of plebeians like Stolo who felt sorrow, the vast majority of the common people merely felt immense regret over the destruction of the main Latin temples to Jupiter, Juno, and others. They even cursed bitterly, saying, "These self-immolating Roman Senators insisted on ruining the temples on Mons Capitolinus on their way to death, just so we commoners couldn't worship at them!"

Of course, the arrival of the Festival of Hades quickly dispelled their frustration. Even though the festival in Rome was hastily organized, and the grand theatrical play in the plaza about the founding of Daionia was performed by soldiers temporarily drafted from the Daionian Army stationed in the city—lacking professional training, making the costumes crude and the performance riddled with errors—the Roman citizens found it immensely entertaining. It was their first time seeing such a unique, large-scale production.

Later, in front of a makeshift altar to Hades, the believers devoutly offered sacrifices to the Greek Lord of the Underworld, led by a priest. The priest then solemnly declared, "From this day forth, Hades shall protect the City of Rome!"

The believers' cheers did not move the onlooking Roman citizens. But soon after, they watched as a massive stone stele—carved with the names of the Roman Reserve Cohort soldiers who had died fighting for Daionia—was carried to the altar by Daionian soldiers in full armor and with utmost solemnity. The priest blessed it and announced, "Once the temple is completed, this stele will be moved into the Hall of Valor to receive the worship of the Roman people, and their souls will continue to guard Rome!"

This gesture truly shook the Roman populace, bringing many who had lost loved ones to tears.

In the afternoon, still in front of the altar to Hades, Asistes, the administrative officer of Rome, read a decree signed by King Davos in the name of Hades, granting freedom to many Roman slaves who had performed exceptionally well during this period.

The freed slaves cheered with joy, loudly and repeatedly thanking Hades and King Davos. The scene also filled many slaves who had rushed over upon hearing the news with eager anticipation for this kingdom they had newly joined.

Immediately following, on the second day, the Rugby championship began.

Curious Roman citizens, as well as some Veientes and Fidenates, brought their families and flooded into the arena, quickly becoming captivated by the matches. Although the teams were mostly composed of newly relocated Daionian Citizens and a minority of Romans, and the level of competition wasn't particularly high, it was sufficiently novel and intense for the Roman public, who were watching these games for the first time—or, for a few, the second.