Atticus slammed his hand against the table, demanding everyone’s attention. He splayed the two remaining fingers on his right hand for the entire senate to see. “I did not spend three years in Etruscan prison only to give them back the land they lost in the war,” he fumed, folding his arms in front of his chest and stalking to the back of the room, giving the rest of the senate a clear view of his back. “But Atticus,” said the other Consul, Marcus, “They are offering a safe trade route to the north in exchange, which could be far more profitable than a bunch of rocky mountains near an active volcano.” Atticus whirled and faced Marcus, his face red with fury. “And make Rome appear as a weak, soft-hearted country? Ha, there would be nothing to stop even the most pitiful of armies from walking all over us!” he spat. “No, instead refuse them the land and find our own trade route. Right now, Rome needs to be a force to be reckoned with, something our enemies would never dare touch in their dreams! Part of that will come from the protection that the mountains provide us. The mountains you so willingly want to give to our enemies.” And with that, Atticus turned on his heel and sped out of the room, leaving Marcus and the rest of the Senate whispering in his wake.

Meanwhile, Lucius and Claudia stepped up on a crudely made platform in the middle of the town square. Around them, the marketplace swarmed with traders shouting the prices of their wares, and women in plain clothing strolling from stall to stall, collecting food for that night’s meal. Claudia exchanged a meaningful glance with Lucius and gripped his arm in support. “Hey!” Lucius’ deep voice boomed over the crowd, “Hey! Over here everybody!” Immediately all attention was fixated on Lucius, who stood as if he were the highest of noblemen, not a poor plebeian who grew up on the streets. Claudia squeezed his arm in reassurance with a faint smile on her lips. “Go on, just as we practiced,” she whispered. Lucius took a long look at the congregating crowd before him. “Oh man…what are we about to get ourselves into?” But before he could stop himself, he began to shout.

Back at court, Atticus sat in a corner, muttering to himself in anger. The Senate had voted against his favor, even though Atticus was a Consul and most likely to be elected as Dictator in a time of war. As he was sitting there pouting, a guard burst through the door, flustered and out of breath. “Sir, Atticus sir, you are needed immediately in the square! The people are threatening to go on strike!” Atticus glared at him, “Then let them.” The guard looked at Atticus, stunned. “But..but…they’re demanding that we allow them some kind of representation in court…what are we going to do?” Atticus replied, “What do you mean ‘what are we going to do?’ I said, let them go on strike. They’ll soon realize their pathetic attempt at a rebellion will never work.” But as time went on, the lower class completely stopped working, and everyone began to feel the effects. Both patricians and plebeians were beginning to go hungry, defense posts were left unattended as soldiers went home to help save their families, and the city began to descend into chaos. Finally, as Atticus gazed down upon his divided city, he came to the realization that a divided Rome is a weak Rome. “Guards!” he barked, “Bring me Lucius!”

Soon after, Lucius and Claudia found themselves sitting at a table, facing a beet red Atticus. “This is no place for a woman.” he muttered, his voice sounding like a coiled snake ready to attack. Claudia just stared coldly at him. “I will leave when we get representation in court,” she replied with a voice cold as ice. “We will call off the rebellion once this happens and you patricians will get your precious little resources back.” Atticus rose to his feet in fury, “How dare you refer to the patrician class with such contempt. You will never, I repeat never, be anything more than a lowly plebeian. Your race will be your own demise!” Marcus shook his head in exasperation at Atticus’ unwillingness to see any perspective but his own. “Ah, but you see that’s where you’re wrong,” Lucius countered smoothly, “Us ‘lowly plebeians’ are used to hard work, we’re used to fending for ourselves, something that I’m not sure you can say for your patricians. We are used to roughing it, we’re survivors.” Atticus shook his head, muttering under his breath. “Let us try this again,” Lucius continued, “If you do not give us representation in court, we will do more than just refuse to work. We will leave, start our own city.” Lucius’ eyes grew bright with excitement as he talked, “And with our numbers, there will be nothing you can do to stop us. After all, we were afforded the same education as you.”
Marcus leaned over to Atticus and began to whisper in his ear. Atticus relaxed, a ghost of a smile on his face, “Okay fine, let’s talk.”