Free Empire Of The Undead by Ahimsa Kerp

the Flavian Amphitheater, but a hundred and fifty thousand would fit in with room to spare. For important matches, spectators would arrive the night before. The pleb seats were free, of course, but they had no shade and those in the seats risked frequent brawls and the occasional orgy. A better bet was the shaded seats for Senators. They entailed less brawling and more gambling. They were also the best place in Rome to pick up a randy aristocratic woman because the games incited their lust. Thinking of that soft flesh surrounding him, Rufus almost regretted his current position. On the other hand, his place here was a singular honor, elevating him above all other Senators in Rome.
    Rufus was honored to be the only Senator in the pulvinar, but of course, they were not alone. His own aide, Plautius, was sitting at the back. The man was dependable and competent—a rare combination. Domitian's guards stood at the back with him; there were more at the sides of the Imperial box, and many more lined the tunnel between the palace and here. They were led by Cornelius Fuscus, prefect of the Praetorian Guards. Since his long-ago return to Rome in 71, Domitian had been close with the Praetorian Guard.
    More pleasantly, there were several nude slaves, each from different parts of the Empire, who stood behind them. They were there to serve wine, food, or any other need that might arise. If he was sure it was not an insult to request their services before the Emperor himself had done so, Rufus would have tried to take them up on some of their more exotic functions.
    He examined the Emperor more carefully. It had been a decade since Rufus had returned to Rome, and those ten years had not been kind to Domitian. He had gone from young man to heir to Emperor and it had cost him. Most of his hair was gone now, and his belly protruded largely from his otherwise thin frame. His eyes were bloodshot and a haunted look was etched permanently on his face. He looked twice his thirty-two years. Rufus couldn’t blame him. Watching what power had done to his once friend had been frightening.
    The Empire was stretched. Roman legions warred in Gaul, in Caledonia, and along the Danube. They were running out of soldiers. Last year, Domitian had been forced to create an entire new legion. While popular amongst the people and especially the army, the Senators resented Domitian and repeatedly clashed with him. In addition to political and military concerns, Domitian’s only son had died two years before. Soon after the boy’s death, he’d been deified. There were posters of the god-child throughout Rome—recently, coins had started to bear the boy’s likeness. It must have been scarce consolation, as Domitian had lost his son and his heir. Until he had another child, the Flavian dynasty ended with him.
    “I’ve finished your arch,” Rufus said. “It will be precisely one-third the size as that we erected for your brother.”  Two years ago, Rufus had built a triple arch honoring Titus at the east end of the circus.
    There was a long pause. He could smell the perfume of the women behind him, and the faintest remainder of Domitian's gas. Below them, the racers sped through their laps. As they completed each lap, one of the metal dolphins on the spina lowered. When none were left raised, the race would be over.
    “That is good. My brother,” Domitian said, “he knew what he wanted. It’s a pity he’s not here.”
    Rufus thought carefully about what to say next. Titus had died less than two years into his reign, just after the inaugural games had finished. Many had suspected Domitian of having played a role in his brother’s demise. Rufus doubted that—Domitian seemed too regretful, too unwilling to embrace the Empire as his plaything. His first act as Emperor had been to deify his brother, but it made for uncomfortable conversation whenever Titus' name was mentioned.
    “We have in addition completed the new gladiator barracks near the Flavian