Seneca adjusted his ceremonial toga from out of his armpit where it constantly bunched up and wished for the sea-scented breeze to blow harder. He was sweating and stinking much the same as everyone else, and it wasn't even lunch.

The marble hall was packed tight with men in togas, each man hairier and uglier than the last. Depending on the group, they were either standing and yelling, waving their arms, ignoring the proceedings or conspiring with their neighbors. Seneca remarked how lonely and morose he must seem to the others. Many would be watching his lead, unfortunately. To keep up pretenses, he hissed loudly and motioned for the senator on the floor to step down.

He was jostled as someone squeezed onto the bench next to him and he caught the elbow of the elderly man before he fell flat on top of him. Wagging tongues would be busy describing the embrace through dinner that evening otherwise.

"Seneca, you look as though your cat barfed you up and left you here," Marcus rasped at him with his sand on stones voice. Age was leaching every drop of moisture from the man and transforming it into nose and ear hair.

"Marcus, you are a festering blister on an elephant's ass, and you are interrupting my chance to take a quick nap."

Marcus chuckled and clapped Seneca too hard on the shoulder. "Naps are for this evening. Our illustrious Caesar will be called to defend his position soon." He paused to cover the wine colored stripe at his left clavicle. "Wouldn't you care to discuss your thoughts about this...diplomatic approach of his with your old friend Quintus?"

Seneca placed his hand over his left stripe, as well. "You are the only old friend I have. No, I plan on riding this storm out. Letting it gust and blow mightily while I watch from my mistress's bower."

"That does sound tempting. But wouldn't it be worth it to you if one of your pet projects suddenly found the funding it needs?"

"Votes for votes? These arrangements are never satisfactory and are, of course, illegal."

"Allies for allies. We don't want just a vote bandied about. It could be well worth your time to consider, at least."

Seneca made a show of cheering on the next orator for a moment. He covered his stripe when he was done. "How is it worth my time?"

Marcus hissed and jeered, calling out several sexual positions for the senator on the floor to assume. "I can't help but think this is exactly what I was afraid of by granting women the right to vote. Let them cast their ballots and look what kind of Caesar gets elected. A eunuch in disguise. An ass who's dressed up as Apollo for the masses. A diplomat who wants to negotiate peace. You cannot be happy with this, hmm?"

"Oh, I eagerly await the day that women are eligible to run for office. It won't take long now and I'll have something more attractive to look at than shriveled up old men like you. I might make it a pet project to get a few beauties lined up on the ballet. That will make me happy."

"And seeing your deep sea colonies finally built? Solving housing problems for thousands in your home town alone? That wouldn't make you happy?"

"What else?" asked Seneca, his face perfectly bored.

"Bringing into light the nuclear fusion work your scientist has done with his micro-missiles. Your name splattered all over the banners of victory."

"What victory?"

"Don't be dense. Our upcoming victory over the Germanic barbarians and Mongolian hordes who think they have a chance of supplanting our rule where they happen to live."

"Ah, Germanic barbarians and Mongolian hordes – ever the scourge of Rome. The Mongolians had one serious shot at sacking Rome and that was when they had Genghis Khan, what was it 800 years ago? As for Germania, we suppressed the barbarians after the Declinet Magna 1500 years ago when Rome began to burn, but rose from the ashes," Seneca said. He motioned at Caesar Felix Augustus yelling at a group of senators, spit flying from his mouth. "Besides, we aren't at war. A peaceful arrangement can still be found."

"But then where will your funding be?" Marcus asked. He began to cough, hacking and heaving until his face was nearly purple.

Seneca snapped for a water boy to come with a cup, and the coughing subsided.

"What else would make this worth your time?" Marcus asked when he could.

"New elections. Perhaps some traditional games. And funding for the space exploration program. It's been stagnating since we sent those ten fools to die on Mars."

"Come and talk to Quintus." Marcus canted his chin at the opposite side of the forum. "It would give me great pleasure to go by Otho and Pontius again and fart in their faces."

"I'll walk in front in that case."

*****

"Seneca," Quintus whispered as Seneca took a space behind him. The men kept their hands over the top part of their stripes.

"Quintus," Seneca said with a nod.

"How is your wife and family?" Quintus asked through the whistles and shouts in the marble hall.

"My wife is remarkably single these days. She has returned to her father's house now that the suffrage for women is successful. You might imagine that has put a damper on my political gusto for causes that are not my own. My son is bull-headed, and my sixteen year old daughter has fallen in love. I will insult the young man's family if I don't accept the marriage, so all in all I'm in a rather foul temper these days." Seneca smiled.

"Friend, let me ease your mind. I want to work with you, not screw you."

"Consider me more at ease, but not convinced."

"We have a situation brewing in the North. These Germanic people, always wanting to fight and dominate. They have begun to appropriate Nordic symbols and spout nonsense about a supreme race that they are part of, and that does not include Roman citizens."

"I have heard the rumors," Seneca said.

"Not rumors. This is truth. They wear bands on their arms with broken bolts of lightning, proclaiming adherence to a primitive racial ideal, despite genetic evidence to the contrary. They intend to invade their neighboring Poles in a week if we do not act."

"Send in the Davinci Drones, that's why we have them."

"Not good enough," Quintus said.

Marcus leaned his wrinkled rhinoceros face closer. "The leaders have taken to the bunkers already, the drones won't target civilians on a mass scale."

"Speaking of mass scale targets, have you heard these barbarians, this so-called Aryan race has been persecuting Romans, Jews, handicapped, and basically anyone not blond and blue-eyed and a heterosexual? Not just everyday persecuting or ridicule; they have a plan in place to eradicate the Earth of inferior 'races.'"

"Wait, they are attacking homosexuals, too? What kind of plan do they have?"

"For now they are rounding people up in work camps and ghettos," Quintus said. "They won't stop there. These people are...methodical. They have even stooped to allying themselves with Asia in order to bring about annihilation of Rome and all it stands for."

"No one has told them the Asians aren't blond with blue eyes?" Seneca asked.

Quintus shrugged. They paused while some particularly vitriolic shouting killed all possibility of whispering.

"These sons of sea witches," Marcus said, "don't know Roman citizens alone are allowed to persecute, dominate and eradicate others?"

"We will have to explain it to them, but I need support. When I stand to call for military action, I need you to stand with me," Quintus said. "Seneca, after a military victory, I can procure funding for your deep sea colonization. The populous will demand elections and we will rise with the next vote."

"What military force are you suggesting?"

"For Asia, we will need bombs. I would hate to drop an alpha; their industry and art is too valuable, you understand," Quintus said.

"And the sushi is quite nice," added Marcus. "But we both agree a bomb for the Japanese. Your scientist fellow, what's his name?"

"Einstein."

"Yes, from what I hear he has developed quite the micro-missile, yes?" Quintus continued.

Seneca nodded.

"One or two of those small atomic bombs somewhere in nature should do the trick and if not, we'll send the drones to wipe out their ocean fleet. That would upset anyone into submission."

Marcus chuckled in agreement.

"And for the leaders of this Aryan race movement? What about them if they are hiding in their bunkers?" Seneca asked.

"We have...a traitor."

"We have a traitor?"

"They...they have a traitor. One of their own who will sell out his comrades and his Fuhrer. For a price. But we could move a small force into their territory and pull these rats from their hole before they can shit their pants and beg for mercy. This sort of minimum loss for Rome has always been popular."

"Who is this Fuhrer? Is that his name?" Seneca asked.

"Fuhrer means leader. Marcus, do you remember him? These primitive names all sound the same to me," Quintus said.

Cups of wine and water were served and the men helped themselves while Marcus tried to remember.

"'H' something or other," the old man said, swishing his wine around. "Hickler? Hicklman...Himmler! That's it! Heinrich Himmler, a brilliant strategist, he studied in our schools in the Bavarias."

"All right," said Seneca. He narrowed his eyes at Quintus. "I will support these two military interventions to rid Rome of the threat of German and Mongolian invasion, for funding on my two projects – sea colonization and space exploration, the use of my scientist's inventions, and one other small favor."

"Name it, my friend," said Quintus. A spreading smile created creases in his face.

"That you bring this Himmler back and put him in the arena. Make him the laurel leaf of the victory games. Traditional games – chariots, gladiators, crocodiles, everything. I want his death to be spectacular, and I want privileged seating for myself, my son, my daughter and my future son-in-law. That way I save money on the wedding celebration."

"It is all yours! As you lead, many senators will follow. We will not fail."

"And one other thing. This traitor, what is his price?"

"The fool is desperate to be made Fuhrer himself. After he betrays his people, he thinks we can prop him up as their new leader." Quintus scoffed.

"I can't abide traitors, weaklings or fools. Bring him back alive to Rome, as a final favor to me. We have some starving lions in cages at the colosseum, don't we?"

"Of course," Quintus said.

"Perfect, we'll feed this traitor, this...What's his name?"

"Hitler," said Marcus. "Adolf Hitler. I told you all their names sound alike."

"We'll feed this Hitler to the starving lions as punishment for believing himself a superior being."

The men uncovered their anti-conspiracy mics hidden in the stripe of their togas, and grinned in understanding at one another.