* * *

Sulla lolled on a couch, his thoughts drifting away from the conversation with his general, Antonidus. It had been a long day and the Senate seemed to be trying to block his nominations for new magistrates. He had been made Dictator with the mandate of restoring order to the Republic, and they had been eager enough to grant his every wish for the first few months. Recently, they had taken up hours of debate with long speeches on the powers and limitations of the office, and his advisers had said he should not impose on them too harshly for a while. They were small men, he thought. Small in deed and dreams. Marius would scorn them for fools, if he were still alive.

“. . . objections will be raised to the lictors, my friend,” Antonidus was saying. Sulla snorted disdainfully.

“Objections or not, I will continue to have twenty-four of them with me. I have many enemies and I want them to be a reminder of my power as I walk between Capitoline hill and the Curia.”

Antonidus shrugged. “In the past, there have been only twelve. Perhaps it is better to let the Senate have their way on this, to gain strength in more serious negotiation.”

“They are a pack of toothless old men!” Sulla snapped. “Has not order returned to Rome in the last year? Could they have done it? No. Where was the Senate when I was fighting for my life? What help were they to me then? No. I am their master and they should be made to recognize that simple fact. I am tired of walking carefully around their sensibilities and pretending the Republic is still young and strong.”

Antonidus said nothing, knowing that any objection he made would be met with wilder promises and threats. He had been honored at first to be taken on as military adviser, but the post had been a hollow one, with Sulla using him only as a puppet for his own orders. Even so, part of him agreed with Sulla’s frustration. The Senate struggled to protect their dignity and old authority, while acknowledging the need for a Dictator to keep the peace in the city and Roman lands. It was farcical and Sulla was quickly tiring of the game.

A slave entered with the ices, placing them on a low table before bowing out of the room. Sulla sat up, his irritation forgotten for a moment.

“You will have to taste these. There is nothing like them for relief from the summer heat.” He took a silver spoon and ladled the white ice into his mouth, shutting his eyes for a moment with pleasure. It was soon empty, and he considered calling for another bowl. His whole body seemed cooler after the ice, and his mind was calm. He saw Antonidus had not begun and urged him on.

“It must be eaten quickly, before it melts. Even then, it can be a wonderfully refreshing drink.” He watched as the general sampled a spoonful and smiled with him.