To see the previous installments, click on the following links: #1, #2 , #3, #4, #5, #6, #7, #8, #9, #10, #11, #12, #13, #14, #15, #16, #17, #18, #19, #20

The transfer of Marcus's son to Rome was like a dire omen, an inevitable fate that everyone in Pompeii felt coming. The guards who escorted him offered him not a word of comfort as he crossed the Forum, with the shouts of the merchants and the laughter of the commoners all around him, oblivious to the torment the young man carried in his mind. Every step towards the capital was a march towards uncertainty, for what awaited him in the Carcer Mamertinus, the most feared and ancient prison in the Roman Forum, was not only the darkness of a cell, but the weight of politics and the ambition of those who decided the fate of Rome.

The Tullianum, where he was confined, was a place of misery, a grim reflection of the abyss into which even the most privileged could fall. Dark dungeons, dimly lit by the occasional torch, and dank walls permeated with mould and despair surrounded it. The air was thick with death and oblivion. Hundreds of criminals and political prisoners had trodden those same stones and many had not made it out alive. Filth and pestilence reigned, while young Varius, Marcus's son, stood alone in his delirium, caught in a struggle between madness and fading reality.

Meanwhile, far from his prison, in the palaces of power in Rome and Pompeii, an even more cruel and merciless battle was raging: the struggle for the imperial succession. Vespasian, old and infirm, saw his two sons, Titus and Domitian, competing for his favour, and with it, the throne of Rome. The case of the young Varius became more than a matter of justice; it was a piece on the great chessboard of political ambitions.

Marcus's family, driven by fear and despair, mobilised their allies to implore Titus to intervene. Titus, known for his more clement and just temperament, owed Marcus a personal debt, having been his assistant in the Judean war. His clients, businessmen and senators, began to pull strings, invest favours, and negotiate behind closed doors, hoping that Titus's benevolence might free the young man guilty of an act that many, deep down, knew was not an intentional murder, but a tragic accident of a broken mind.

But in the other corner of power, Domitian, Vespasian's youngest son, saw in this case an opportunity to demonstrate his toughness and his willingness to punish those who betrayed the imperial order. The Flavians, one of the most powerful families in Rome, had been wronged by the death of Lucius and Domitian was not prepared to allow such a sensitive matter to go unpunished. Domitian's clients also began to mobilise, betting on the future of Rome under his rule, investing their fortunes and influence in a ruthless resolution: the condemnation of Marcus' son as a traitor and murderer.

The situation became increasingly uncertain, as the families concerned found themselves at a crossroads of interests. The future of the young Varius depended not only on the facts, but also on the political tide that was sweeping the Empire. The duoviri of Pompeii and the magistrates of Rome were no longer neutral judges, but pieces in a much larger game, where the scales of imperial justice could be tipped in either direction according to the ambitions of the emperor's sons.

The fate of Marcus's son was now tied to the fate of the Empire, and as Vespasian aged, the intrigue deepened. The question was no longer just whether the young man would be found guilty or not, but which side would prevail in the imperial succession. Titus or Domitian. Justice or revenge. Freedom or death. Everything hung in the balance, and Marcus's son was the unwitting protagonist of this Roman tragedy.

To be continued

Header Image:

Ars Fatum. Source: mostraespanha.org