Standing in his private seat in the Hippodrome Justinius looked out over the crowded seats. His people look towards him as the charioteers gathered bellow him. He raised his hand and slowly the dull chattering silence d and everyone turned to him. He took a deep breath a projected his voice into the Hippodrom and it carried like a low thunder.

"Friends, Citizens, Romans!" He called out and recieved a general chear. He waited for silence again befor he continued. "I a burdened with the pleasure to welcome you to this, the first Ides of my fifth year as your Augustus. Once more the Demes, the Blues and the Greens shall compeet for the valor of this Ides. May your cheer of nika carry them to victory."

The chears boomed and thundered in the Hippodrome, ampliphide by the architecture of the structure. Justinius felt it shake his bones as a thrill ran along his spine invoking the sensation he always felt in a fight. With a smile he waved once more and sank into his throne as the crowed quieted and the race began.

The races were as exciting as ever for Ezekiel as he watch Mihalis of the Greens pull and snap the reigns of his chariot. The wheels of Mihalis dangerously close to Drakon of the Blues. They were jokeying in the straightaway for the favored inner position of the first turn. But as exciting as the race was for Ezekiel the energy of the cowd seemed mutted.

After the Augustus finished his speach for opening of the races he felt a shift in his felow spectators. As if some invisible hand was squeezing the back of his neck Ezekiel felt a growing unease. He looked away from the race just as Drakon took the inner position and saw a segnifigant portion of the crowed not paying attention. He saw Greens and Blues next to each other and not cheering, instead they staired at the Augustus in his box.

Ezekiel was woundered with anxiety of the posibility of another riot. His throat suddenly dry he gulped down his cup of wine. Thats when he heard it, just aboce the dull din from the spectators, not chears for the racers but a plea.

"Clemensy! My Augustus, Please!"

"Spare them!"

"God saved them, my Augustus!"

As the first race finished with Drakon as the victor he rounded the cours again waving to the few spectators paying attention. From the pause in the racer's well practice wave it seemed that he shared Ezekiel's unease at the muted excitment for the Ides Races. Ezekiel watched as Drakon and Mihalis booth looked towards the Augustus. Ezekiel could barely see the Augustus from his seat and what he saw was not the happy and joyus man excited for the race but a mask of grim sturnness.

The races when on as they always had just not with the excitement fo the cowd that everyone was used to. As most of the attention was on the Augustus and the chears replaced with pleas. Then a new voice cut through the pleading.

"Long live the merciful Blues and Greens!"

"Long live the merciful Blues and Greens!"

"Glory to the Blues and Greens!"

"Glory to the Blues and Greens!"

Unified chearing rang into Justinius and induced a gnawing sensation into his bones. Every inch of his body was alight with a slowly building sensation of anxiety. Often befor his assention to the position of Augustus and his time as a soldier a similar sensation always surfaced. Now, after so much time since his retreat from the front lines to play his part for Theadora it now he felt the sensation settle onto him like an old, familiar cloak on his shoulders. His hackles rose just a moment befor the chant that lodged a stone in his gut.

"Nika!"

"Nika Augustus!"

"Nika Justinius!"

Nika, the word echoed slowly into Justinius' mind as the dual meaning word burrowed into him like a wolfs fangs. Nika, the cheer of victory called by the spectators when their champion wins the race. Nika, a chant that was herld at the opposing champion during the race. After the name and nika meant victor, but befor the name it ment ill will.

The guards in the box with him moved just as swiftly as Justinius. He was gone like a morning mist burned away by day's light. Into the tunnle that lead from his box seat back to the palace he hurried in the flickering lamp light as the thudding of the cross beam falling into place filled the tunnel.

"They are sure to return to each others throats without me to draw their collective ire," Justinius muttered to himself.

As he said it a thought came to the surface of his mind. The secret keeper, the one who knows too much and shares too little. She had to have known about what was bound to happen in the Hippodrome, that the blood of the Demes was hot and that they do not snap at each others throats. If the secret keeper knew, and she always knows, then that ment that Theadora knew as well and said nothing to him.

He felt the heat rise up his throat and climbed to his scalp as he realised once again his near irrelivance, ignorance, and utter uselessness in the political feild. Of how little his wife deamed he need to know. That he was just a piece in a much larger game he didn't even know he was a part of.

The gnawing sensation in his bones didn't leave him and sound was drowned out but the rush of blood in his ears. He barely heared the yelling as he exited the tunnel. The mix of noise barely rose to his concious mind but he did hear one thing, "the gates! Fire at the gates!"