Dies Iovis, Septimus Mensis Maii, Anno Urbis Conditae MCCXXX
(Thursday, 7th Day of May, Year of the Founding of the City 1230)
A few more days had passed since his audience with Prefect Varro. Each morning, Alexander found a little more strength returning to his limbs. He could now walk the length of his private chambers and the adjoining colonnaded walkway overlooking a small, secluded garden without undue fatigue, though Elara still hovered with a watchful eye. The physician, Lycomedes, expressed satisfaction with his progress, attributing it to the Imperial constitution and diligent care. Alexander knew his own iron will, forcing the young body to obey, played a significant part.
His mind, however, had never been idle. The scrolls Theron provided were a daily focus. He delved into Senator Gallus Cicero's Commentaries on Imperial Governance. This Cicero, Alexander noted, clearly sided with the Senate, but the man was thorough. He detailed every right the Senate claimed, every past grievance. He seemed to relish citing old examples where Emperors, in Cicero's opinion, had pushed too hard, or those rarer times an Emperor had yielded to the Senate's advice. The writings were a direct window into how potential opponents might think and argue, invaluable for understanding how they might try to restrict his own developing plans.
The meeting with Varro had been a small but significant step. The Prefect was a blunt instrument, loyal for now, but Alexander understood that official reports and pronouncements of loyalty were merely the surface layer. In his previous life, he had learned that the most critical information often flowed through less formal channels: whispers in corridors, discreet observations, the careful cultivation of sources who knew what others did not, or what they preferred to keep hidden. An empire, even more so than a corporation, would be rife with such undercurrents. He needed ears within the palace, and eventually, beyond.
His mother, Livia, continued her daily visits. She brought news of the court, her interpretations of events, and subtle advice. She spoke of certain Senators forming a new caucus, ostensibly to discuss "economic reforms," and of a popular general in the northern provinces, Gnaeus Marcellus, whose recent victories against barbarian incursions were being lauded perhaps a little too loudly in some quarters.
"Marcellus is a competent soldier," Livia had said, her fingers tracing the rim of a goblet, "but he enjoys the adoration of his legions, and some say he harbors ambitions beyond his station. Your father respected his abilities but always kept him far from Rome."
Alexander listened, filing away the information. Livia was a valuable source, but her views were inevitably shaped by her own position and alliances. He needed his own, unfiltered streams of intelligence.
That afternoon, he summoned Theron again. The Master of Scrolls arrived, laden with a fresh delivery of requested texts – detailed genealogies of the prominent Senatorial families and administrative records from his father's reign.
"Master Theron," Alexander began, after the initial pleasantries, "your assistance has been invaluable. These records are most enlightening." He gestured to a stack of scrolls. "I find myself curious about the daily administration of the Palace itself. Not matters of state policy, but the household. Rosters of staff, appointments to minor positions, the provisioning of the Imperial residence. Are such records maintained within your Archives?"
Theron looked mildly surprised by the mundane nature of the request after their recent forays into high matters of law and history. "Indeed, Your Majesty. The records of the Cura Palatii, the Office of Palace Administration, are quite extensive, dating back centuries. They detail everything from the wages of the kitchen staff to the inventories of the Imperial treasuries housed within these walls."
"Excellent," Alexander said. "I would be interested in reviewing the records for, say, the past year. Particularly those pertaining to appointments within the household guard, the scribal pool attached to the Imperial chancery, and the chamberlains or personal attendants serving within my private wing."
This was a fishing expedition, but a targeted one. If he were to find individuals who could serve as his discreet eyes and ears, he needed to know who they were, who appointed them, and to whom they might already owe allegiance. Understanding the existing network of patronage within the palace was crucial.
"A most… meticulous interest, Majesty," Theron commented, though he made no objection. "I shall have the relevant ledgers brought to you. They can be rather dry reading."
"Sometimes the driest texts contain the most useful truths, Master Theron," Alexander replied with a faint smile.
While Theron was occupied with that, Alexander turned his thoughts to more immediate, less formal avenues. Elara, his elderly attendant, had served the Imperial family for decades. She was deferential, diligent, and seemed genuinely devoted to Valerius. She was also, by nature of her duties, privy to the quiet rhythms and subtle shifts within the Emperor's private domain.
Later, as she was adjusting the cushions behind him while he read, he spoke to her, his tone casual. "Elara, you have served my family for many years, have you not?"
"All my life, Your Majesty," she said, her voice soft. "I served your grandmother, the divine Faustina, and your noble father, and now it is my honor to serve you."
"Your loyalty is a comfort," Alexander said. "In these times, with my memory still… incomplete… it is good to have familiar faces I can trust around me." He paused, then added, "The palace is a large place, full of many voices. Sometimes, I imagine, things are said, or noticed, that might not reach an Emperor's ears through official channels."
Elara stilled for a moment, her hands ceasing their work. "The palace always whispers, Majesty," she said quietly, her back still mostly to him.
"Indeed," Alexander continued, keeping his voice low and confiding. "I have no wish to pry into the private lives of my household, of course. But as I regain my strength and my duties, it would be… helpful… to be aware of anything that might affect the smooth running of this household, or the well-being and morale of those who serve here. Anything unusual, any undercurrents of discontent, or even noteworthy acts of loyalty or diligence. Small things, perhaps, that might pass unnoticed."
He hadn't used the word "spy," or anything quite so blunt. He had presented it as a matter of her loyalty, a way for her to help ensure the household ran well. It was a careful, understated approach. Elara turned then, her movement deliberate. When her ancient eyes met his, he saw a brief, knowing glint within them that suggested she understood more than his careful words had strictly conveyed.
"I have always tried to be observant, Your Majesty, for the good of the House," she said, her voice even softer than before.
"And I value that," Alexander said sincerely. "Your discernment is a great asset, Elara. Simply keep your eyes and ears open, as you always have. If you believe there is something, however small, that your Emperor should be aware of for the good of his household, I trust you will find a discreet way to inform me."
She held his gaze for a moment longer, then gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. "As Your Majesty commands."
It was a start. Elara was not a trained intelligencer, but she was strategically positioned and, he hoped, loyal to him personally, or at least to the young man she believed him to be. Her observations could provide a baseline, a starting point from which to build.
Theron returned later with several heavy ledgers bound in worn leather: the staff rosters and administrative notes Alexander had requested. As the old scholar departed, Alexander settled in to study them. Names, positions, dates of appointment, sponsoring officials, notes on conduct. It was indeed dry, but it was also a map of the human terrain within his immediate vicinity. He cross-referenced names with those Livia had mentioned, looking for connections, for patterns of patronage. Who reported to whom? Who owed their position to a particular Senatorial faction or a powerful courtier his mother had warned him about?
He noted down a few names that appeared frequently, or in key positions: a captain of his personal daytime guard, Decius Arruntius, appointed on the recommendation of a Senator known for his traditionalist views; a young, ambitious scribe in the chancery, Marcus Scaeva, who had apparently penned several flattering panegyrics to his father. Potential assets? Potential liabilities? It was too soon to tell.
His study was interrupted by a visit from Livia. She seemed pleased to find him engrossed in what appeared to be official ledgers.
"You are truly applying yourself, Valerius," she said, a note of pride in her voice. "Your father would be pleased to see such diligence."
"There is much to learn, Mother," Alexander replied, gesturing to the ledgers. "Understanding the very bones of our administration seems a sensible place to start." He then subtly shifted the conversation, using information he had gleaned. "I was reviewing the household appointments. Captain Arruntius of the day guard, for instance. He seems to have served reliably for some time."
Livia's expression was neutral. "Arruntius is competent enough in his duties. He was a recommendation of Senator Metellus, a man of solid, if somewhat inflexible, principles."
A connection confirmed. Alexander nodded. "And the scribal pool? Many new appointments in the last year, I see."
"Your father was expanding the chancery's work, improving record-keeping across the provinces," Livia explained. "There was a need for more skilled hands."
They spoke for a while, Livia unaware that Alexander was subtly guiding the conversation, cross-referencing her opinions with the dry data from Theron's ledgers, building a more nuanced understanding of the personnel and politics immediately surrounding him. He was still an invalid in their eyes, a young Emperor finding his feet. He would use that perception to his advantage for as long as possible.
As the day drew to a close, Alexander felt a sense of quiet accomplishment. He had not moved mountains, but he had laid the first, almost invisible threads of his own information network. He had identified potential sources and begun the painstaking work of understanding the human landscape of his new prison, his new kingdom. The Emperor needed ears, and Alexander Volkov was meticulously beginning to cultivate them. The shadows were his allies, for now.