Antonidus wanted to finish their business and go home to his family, but knew he could not rise until Sulla became tired. He wondered when that might be.

“Your new magistrates will be confirmed tomorrow at the Curia,” he said.

Sulla lay back on his couch, his expression resuming its sulky lines. “They had better be. I owe those men favors. If there is another delay, the Senate will regret it, I swear before the gods. I will disband them and have the doors nailed shut!”

He winced slightly as he spoke and his hand drifted to his stomach, rubbing gently for a moment.

“If you choose to disband the Senate, there will be civil war again, with the city in flames once more,” Antonidus said. “However, I suspect you would emerge triumphant at the end. You know you have unwavering support in the legions.”

“That is the path of kings,” Sulla replied. “It draws and repels me at the same time. I loved the Republic, would still love it now if it were run by the sort of men who ruled when I was a boy. They are all gone now, and when Rome calls, the little ones who are left can only run crying to me.” He belched suddenly, wincing, and as he did so Antonidus felt a worm of pain begin in his own gut. A sudden fear brought him to his feet, his glance falling to the bowls, one empty, one barely touched.

“What is it?” Sulla demanded, pulling himself upright, his face twisting in the knowledge even as he spoke. The burning in his belly was spreading and he pressed his hand into himself as if to crush it.

“I feel it too,” Antonidus said in panic. “It could be poison. Put your fingers down your throat, quickly!”

Sulla staggered slightly, going down onto one knee. He seemed about to pass out and Antonidus reached toward him, ignoring his own smaller pain even as it swelled.

He pushed a finger into the Dictator’s limp mouth, grimacing as a flood of slippery pulp vomited out of him. Sulla moaned, his eyes rolling back in his head.

“Come on, come on, again,” Antonidus insisted, pressing his fingertips into the soft flesh of the inner throat. The spasms came, ejecting dark bile and saliva from the lips until the Dictator heaved dryly. Then the wrenching chest sagged and the lungs ceased to draw, emptying in one last wheezing breath. Antonidus shouted for help and emptied his own stomach, hoping through his fear that he had not taken enough to kill him.

The guards were quick, but they found Sulla already pale and still and Antonidus semiconscious, spattered with a stinking broth of all they had eaten. He had barely enough strength to rise, but they were frozen, unsure without orders.

“Fetch doctors!” he croaked, his throat feeling raw and swollen. The pain in his stomach began to level off, and he took his hand away, trying to gather himself.