I. The City Holds Its Breath
Winter pressed upon Rome like a closed fist. The Tiber crawled black and slow. Frost rimmed the mouths of clay jugs along the Subura's narrow lanes. Merchants huddled inside their cloaks and watched the sun fade early each afternoon, as if it had grown tired of rising over this hard, hungry city.
In the Senate house, men argued until their voices cracked. In the stree ...