Genesis (plain mob) wasn’t having the best of days. The politics, the murdering, the threat of civil war weighed heavy on his shoulders. Caesar and Pompey were ruthless, dominating men, who were bound to leave their mark on history. They used people like craftsmen used their tools, and used them without regard for comfort or conscience.
Genesis did keep up, a necessity of being part of Caesar’s entourage, but it was never easy. His nerves were frayed, his mind troubled and his sleep was always interrupted by nightmares about the people he had to kill.
He sighed and slumped over the table he was sitting at. It was long past midnight, and he knew soon the morning light would appear in the window. He looked at the document he was working on; the list of people that appeared to be hostile to them.
“Juno, guide me.” he sighed.
He knew the Populares trusted him completely and the people on his list would likely be dead in the coming days. He gulped down another cup of fine Iberian wine, and called to a slave to bring a bowl of olives.
“This slave must be new”, Genesis thought.
His major domus was always rotating the slaves to get them familiar with various tasks in the house in case one died because of the frequent beatings. Gotta beat them for morale purpose! But he’d not seen this one before. Looked beefy. Didn’t matter, got the olives fast enough.
He didn’t know the slave was a Spartacus infiltrant, with knowledge of the coming and going in the household.
Thoughtlessly he nibbled on them and spat out the pits. They tasted a bit off. Not like the usual fare the major domus got from Lucius. Like they were flavoured. Or… A thought struck him!
Poison! These were surely poisoned! He started coughing and choking.
“Help… me…I’ve been posioned ” he rasped to the slave. “Get a… feather!”
The slave nodded and ran off immediately, and returned a minute later with a very large chicken feather. It looked a bit moist at the tip, but who cared.
Genesis pointed at his open mouth. “Put it in! Help me vomit it out!”
The slave obeyed, and pushed the tip feather into Genesis’s throat, and moved it about. It burned. But it worked, as the wine and chewed up mass of olives gulped out onto the marble floor.
“All… right. Ugh."
He spat once more.
"Now…get me a doctor, I want to make sure I’m alright!”
The slave nodded and ran off again, leaving Genesis alone. The burning in his throat got worse and he felt his breathing constricting. Must have been the vomiting. Breathing got even harder though, and to his horror he felt his windpipe close up completely. He choked and fell on his butt as his legs gave out.
His eyes fell onto the feather, now covered in vomit, and comprehension dawned. It had been a double ploy in case the olives didn’t work. Poisoned tip. He briefly admired the cleverness of it, before he passed out due to lack of air, face blue and eyes bulging.
The Populares would have to make up their own list. Genesis’ part in this story was at an end.
Genesis (plain mob) dies, killed by Spartacus.
