The King’s Hypnotist: Chapter Seven
Tiberius Tullius woke up to his headache, dry mouth, and sore dick. He REALLY felt unwell and was thinking about trying to dodge the morning duties of a powerful man. In other words, telling his minions, allies, and friends to go home.
Yet he knew that would not be proper. Even if he was a drinking, womanizing, no good, orgy going Roman he had to follow some of the rules. Traditions kept culture and society alive. They also protected old fashion life styles, personal honor, and fools such as himself.
Traditions, in fact, helped keep the rich in power, the poor in the gutter, and the middle class wishing they were rich. It had been that way before the fall of Troy. It would be that way when Rome fell also.
Maybe. After all, Rome was forever , right?
Still, he wanted to get back to working on building up the number of his minions. So many people to brainwash. Maids, guards, cooks, stable boys, and post office workers. So many people, even among the lower class, could help him in so many ways.
Control the kitchen staff and you can kill with a word. One drop of this, one drop of that, and a person could die a painfully, slow, death.
Control those who ran the stable and you could have a saddle sabotaged or a horseshoe loosened.
Once he had control of the Palace staff he could do almost anything to insure northing would get in the way of his plots.
Tiberius glared at the slaves. Many were scared of him, his dark moods, and swift fists. Also, many had been part of his late night orgies and were somewhat sore themselves. They carefully shaved his face, cut and combed his hair, got him dressed, fed and finally planted him into the chair in the garden.
He decided, once he was in charge, to replace his slaves were more effective, better looking, slaves. All females, of course.
“Tell those birds to shut up!” he snapped.
Maybe he could brainwash the birds too? Why not, he would soon be able to do anything!
Tiberius was looking forward to his noon visit to the bath house. There was a bunch of new slaves, right from the Middle China. Small, cute things, with soft voices and fair skin.
His mind, in other words, was elsewhere during his morning interviews.
He nodded and made all the right noises, while handing out coin and suggestions, but he heart just wasn’t into it. He wanted to be in the hot water, being massages and taken care of by soft hands. Eager or not, he did not care, as long as they did what he told them to do.
“Are you awake my Friend?”
“Oh?” Tiberius said, blinking. “Oh Hector, only you.”
“Yes,” said his Greek friend. “Only me. And I have been talking to you for five minutes now. Are you well?”
“Oh yes, very well,” said the Roman with a shrug. “Very well. Too well. Look, I’ve been over doing it, right? Just a tad too much wine and women.”
“Yes, so I have heard.”
“Heard?” said Tiberius, eyes wide with alarm. “Heard what?”
“Well, let us just say,” remarked Hector, “that certain rumors of certain goings on in certain quarters of the city have been roaming the Royal Palace.”
“Oh dear,” said Tiberius. “I guess I better be more careful.”
“Yes,” said Hector with a smile. “More careful in what ever you are doing.”
“I will,” said Tiberius with a nod.
“Also I need to talk to you about a little problem,” added Hector with a frown replacing his smile.
“A little problem?” asked the Roman.
“A Roman problem,” added the Greek.
“Oh,” said Tiberius as he felt the shit hitting the fanning slave girl.
“Let us talk over breakfast,” said Hector gesturing towards the front door. “A proper breakfast…not just of bread, cheese and cup after cup of wine.”
“As long as there is no garlic,” grumbled the Roman as he followed his friend.
Hector took him to a restaurant over the river—literally. It had, at once, been a bridge, and had been bought up by a family from India—the one on Terra. The family had enclosed the bridge and had started a restaurant. Luckily for them they had a huge family, so their children could wait on the tables while the parents cooked up the meals.
The result was a beautiful view of the river traffic and a wonderfully sense of strangeness. The low tables, the pillows instead of chairs, and using your fingers to eat were all wonderfully foreign to most quests. So, of course, Tiberius hated it.
“So much rice and spices,” he complained as Hector chuckled.
“For a Roman, you seem to be uncomfortable with Eastern food, my friend,” said the Greek as he refilled Tiberius’s cup with some chilled fruit juice. “At least there is not much garlic,” Hector added with a grin.
“Give me good old fashion lobster in a fish sauce,” Tiberius remarked as he sniffed the juice. No alcohol. Oh, the horror. He placed the cup down on the table. “You brought me here for a reason.”
“A Roman agent is asking around about a plot,” said Hector picking up some spiced lamb.
Tiberius turned pale and gestured for his friend to be quiet. “Shhh!”
“There is no bugs here,” said Hector with a shake of his head. “Only the poor or traders come to eat here. Sometimes a Noble if he is bored. Nothing of import is discussed here, so nobody bothers to watch it.”
“Never the less,” hissed Tiberius, “I prefer not to talk of such things in public.”
“We WILL talk of such things,” stated Hector, with a frown, “because these things have somehow linked me to you. Why would agents of Rome come and ask me questions? Why do they bother my slaves and students? Why do they invade the schools and universities of the Palace?”
“Oh,” said Tiberius, trying not to look too guilty. It was hard as he had never really felt guilt before and did not really know how to hide it.
“What have you done?” demanded his friend as the Greek picked up some flat bread to help scoop up some spicy rice.
“Well, as you know, I am trying to take the planet for Rome,” said Tiberius, leaning over the dishes of food, still worried about being over-heard.
“Yes, yes,” said Hector. “Sadly, I think I am not the only one who has figured out your little plot. But how did the Roman Senate hear about it? And why do they think it has to do with some cult?”
“How should I know?” demanded Tiberius, downing his drink before remembering that it was healthy fruit juice. “Yuck…all I know is that I do not wish to be nailed to a cross.”
“And you gave them my name?”
“Well…”
“Cock sucker!” growled Hector.
“Hey, hey!” responded Tiberius. “Now, don’t get mad. You are innocent of any wrong doing. Once they realize that, you’ll be left alone. Whatever it is has nothing to do with either of us, right?”
“You have not dealt with the Roman system of justice,” said Hector. “You are too rich and powerful to have to go through such circuses. The boring lawyers with their day long speeches. The court rooms filled with the insulting crowds. The tossing of rotten fruit and the smiling judges who take bribes.”
“Well, no,” said Tiberius. “But my family will help you. Do not worry. I will protect you.”
“You will protect me?” said Hector with a snort. “You gave them my name!”
“Well, yes…”
“And if the Senate is behind them,” pointed out Hector, gesturing with a piece of bread, “who says you are so rich and powerful enough to protect YOURSELF?”
Tiberius blinked and felt real terror. Hector was right. Just because he was a member of one of the most powerful families did not mean he had no enemies. Even a big cat could be taken down by wild dogs if there were enough of them. He had seen it happen enough in the games at home.
Tiberius stood up, pulled on his toga, and said, “I need to go think on this.”
Of course, Tiberius was able to think better when enjoying himself. So, off he went to his underground lab, to test out his machine on one of his newest slaves.
The slave was young and this helped with the brainwashing. Young minds are more playful and, in some ways, easier to shape. Younger minds were also less experienced in protecting themselves from outside influences.
The slave whimpered a lot, as Tiberius attached the wires to her forehead, and shivered.
Tiberius did not notice and did not even try to calm her. She was a lab animal. She was equal to a monkey or rat many Roman scientists used in their own medical experiments. Greek scientists, the life loving fools, preferred to use insects or fish. Said it was more humane.
Tiberius snorted to himself, flipping the switches, thinking about Greek ethics. Humane? Roman science was now hundreds of years ahead of the Greeks. Roman science was hundreds of years ahead of everybody!
“Because we do what we need to do!” Tiberius said aloud as he turned to face the table.
The girl was still, staring off into space, her body as limp as a bag full of grain.
“Now,” he said with a grin, “to test just HOW to kill somebody.”
He carefully attached the wires to his head. This would be the most dangerous experiment of them all.
“I will program you to kill,” he said with glee. “I will make you a gift, to one of my friends. And you will kill him at a certain time, in a certain place, and in a certain way.”
He adjusted the control panels. “And if you fail….well, you will be tortured and, very likely, killed without being able to tell anybody why.”
He leaned over the girl’s motionless body and said, “Listen to my voice and relax. Relax and find comfort in my voice. You need to relax and sink into the softness of silence.”
He pulled up his chair, sat down and smiles. “I am going to tell you about a friend of mine. A man named Marcus.”
The brainwashing was wonderful at helping him deal with his stress. The woman took to the trigger as a starving man takes to water. It inserted itself into her mind as easily as a nail could be inserted into soft wood.
There was no sex afterwards which saddened Tiberius slightly. Yet his plans would work better if she was a virgin when presented to the Roman Agent. Deflowering her, after all, was part of the danger.
It amused him greatly that the first time she had sex would be the last time Marcus did.
Later that day Tiberius, enjoying a evening meal of boiled goose eggs, crab legs, and spiced wine, had a message delivered to him. The message was delivered by a Roman, in a plain tunic, carrying a gold container with the symbol of the Republic stamped on the wax seal.
Tiberius opened the container after proving his identity, and unrolled the scroll with a flick of his wrist. He placed it on his knees and started to read:
Dear Tiberius,Thank you for the slave. It is nice to have one who knows Latin and has proper cooking skills. She is a good, shapely one—so unlike Roman women. I will have a nice time with her.
I AM so sorry that I can not answer your questions about what I am investigating. Let me just say it does threaten the very foundation of our Republic and the very universe itself.
Signed,Marcus Caepio Brutus
Tiberius smiled at the waiting Roman agent and said, “No reply. Please visit the kitchen before leaving and have some wine. Terribly hot outside.”
The Roman bowed, smiled, and was led away by a slave. Tiberius was so happy to know his plans were moving forward without a hitch he didn’t even whisper to the slave to only give the man his cheapest wine.
Tiberius sighed happily. With the leader of the Roman Agents out of the way he would be able to continue with his plans to take over the world. By the time the Senate knew what was going on it would be too late.