While Alex fought a battle against distance and terrain, Sabina fought a far more subtle war in the heart of the Empire. Her battlefield was not a windswept plateau, but the gilded, whispering corridors of the Palatine Hill. Her enemies did not carry swords, but wielded rumors, influence, and tradition like poisoned daggers. She had become what Alex had asked her to be: the Queen of Shadows, and she found the role suited her more than she had ever expected.
She ruled with a quiet, terrifying efficiency that unnerved the Roman aristocracy. She did not preside over the Senate with imperial pomp. Instead, she managed the Empire from a suite of offices near the treasury, a place of ledgers, contracts, and reports. Senators who came to her with petitions found their requests evaluated not on the basis of their family name, but on a cold, hard calculation of cost versus benefit. She was an administrator, not a monarch, and her practical, business-like approach was a source of profound frustration for the old guard, who found their usual methods of influence and flattery to be utterly ineffective.
Her primary, and most complex, challenge was Lucilla. Alex's plan to neutralize his sister by making her the grand patroness of the Fund for the Families of Rome's Fallen Heroes was a stroke of political genius, but it had an unintended consequence. Lucilla did not just accept the role; she inhabited it. She threw herself into the work with a passion that was a breathtaking and dangerous combination of genuine empathy and flawless political performance.
She became a fixture in the city's life. Dressed in the simple, dark robes of a grieving matron, her famous beauty made more poignant by her solemn demeanor, she was constantly seen in the forums and the working-class neighborhoods of the Subura. She personally visited the families of the fallen, not just the celebrated 'first martyr' Vindex, but every soldier whose death was reported back from the frontier garrisons. She sat in the cramped, humble apartments of common legionaries, held the hands of weeping widows, and promised care for their fatherless children. She became a symbol of the Empire's compassion, a soft, maternal counterpoint to the hard, masculine image of the war. The people began to call her the Mater Dolorosa, the Sorrowful Mother of Rome. She was no longer a caged political rival; she was becoming a populist saint, a "dove of peace" whose popularity was beginning to rival the Emperor's own.
Sabina understood the danger immediately. She was witnessing the birth of an alternative court, a center of emotional power built on grief and charity, with Lucilla at its heart.
The inevitable confrontation came during one of their weekly review meetings. Lucilla, flanked by two tearful but proud war widows, presented Sabina with a new budget request for the Fund. It was a staggering sum, triple what had originally been allocated.
"The cost of this war, Lady Sabina, is higher than any of us anticipated," Lucilla said, her voice filled with a gentle, unimpeachable sorrow. "The number of families in need… it is heartbreaking. The funds the Emperor so generously provided are already nearly exhausted. We must do more. The people are sacrificing their sons for the Empire; the least the Empire can do is care for those they leave behind."
It was a perfect political attack, wrapped in the guise of compassion. The two widows stood as silent, potent props. If Sabina refused the request, she would be portrayed across the city as a heartless bureaucrat, denying aid to the families of heroes while the Emperor was away at war. It would be a catastrophic political blow. If she agreed, she would be diverting a massive amount of gold from the war treasury and, more importantly, handing Lucilla an even larger platform and more resources to expand her influence.
Sabina listened patiently, her face a mask of thoughtful sympathy. She did not refuse. That would be clumsy. Instead, she countered with a move of exquisite, bureaucratic precision.
"You are right, Augusta," Sabina said, her voice warm and agreeable. "Your work is a credit to the imperial family and a balm to the city's soul. The sacrifice of our soldiers must be honored." She took the budget request and placed a mark of approval on it with her stylus. "The funds will, of course, be released from the treasury immediately."
Lucilla's eyes flashed with a momentary, triumphant gleam. She had won.
"However," Sabina continued smoothly, "a sum of this magnitude requires careful stewardship. The people must have absolute faith that every last sestertius is being used to aid the families, and not being lost to waste or corruption." She looked at Lucilla, her expression one of utter sincerity. "To ensure this, and to protect your own good name from any hint of impropriety, I believe the Fund's expenditures should be overseen by a small, independent committee. A committee of unimpeachable integrity."
She paused, as if thinking. "Yes. I believe our most trusted and morally upright senator, the venerable Servius Rufus, would be the perfect man to lead such a committee. His reputation for honesty is beyond question. I will ask him to take up this sacred duty at once."
The trap was sprung. Sabina had not denied Lucilla the money or the power. She had simply shackled her to Alex's conscience. Rufus, who was genuinely and passionately committed to helping the common people, would leap at the chance to oversee such a worthy cause. But his rigid honesty, his meticulous obsession with process and paperwork, and his deep suspicion of the ambitious Augusta would act as a perfect brake on any of Lucilla's purely political schemes. He would demand an accounting for every denarius. He would question every contract. He would bog her down in a mire of ethical oversight and procedural detail. Sabina had turned one of Alex's key allies into a cage for one of his greatest enemies.
Lucilla's smile tightened at the edges, but she could not object. To do so would be to imply that she had something to hide. "An excellent suggestion, my lady," she said through gritted teeth. "I would be honored to work with the noble Rufus."
Just as Lucilla and her entourage departed, a cloaked figure was shown into Sabina's office. It was one of Perennis's top agents, a man whose face was as forgettable as his memory was sharp. He delivered a secret report directly into Sabina's hands. It was for her eyes only.
Her expression hardened as she read the decoded message. It was an intercept of a communication sent via a chain of military couriers from the Eastern front. It originated from a tribune on Pertinax's new staff and was addressed to a small group of his political allies back in Rome.
The message was short, cryptic, and chilling.
The Praefectus sends his regards from the field. He performs his duties with diligence. The Emperor's new weapons are indeed impressive, but his ambition outstrips his wisdom. The army's supply lines are stretched to a breaking point across the desert. The heartland is vulnerable. Hold fast. Be ready.
Sabina stared at the words, the parchment crinkling in her tightening fist. Pertinax was not merely accepting his exile. He was using his new position, his intimate access to the army's logistical data, to gather intelligence against his own Emperor. He was waiting, watching, for the moment when Alex's grand campaign would inevitably falter, for the first sign of weakness. And he was telling his allies in Rome to be ready to strike when it did.
The war for Parthia was being fought in the East. But the war for Rome, Sabina realized, was still very much being fought right here, in the shadows of the Palatine Hill. And she was standing guard alone.