Deep Below the Gods

Beneath the Earth, Beneath Dignity

The mines of Monte Ferrum were a labyrinth of misery, a place where sunlight was a stranger and hope suffocated beneath the weight of earth and stone. The laborers here were the Roman Empire’s refuse: freedmen too destitute to avoid conscription, petty criminals granted the dubious mercy of servitude, and gamblers who had wagered away their freedom. They dug with bleeding hands for iron, silver, and lead, their existence barely distinguishable from the beasts of burden above ground.

Marcus Curtius, however, thrived here — if thriving meant surviving with cunning and callousness. The wiry, sharp-faced man had perfected the art of staying just above the notice of the overseers while fleecing his fellow miners in dice games or stealing their rations. Today, however, his ambitions reached beyond mere survival. Today, Marcus had seen Livia.

Livia wasn’t supposed to exist in a place like this. Her beauty was an insult to the grime and despair that surrounded her, her presence a flicker of humanity among the wretched. She was here because of her husband, Decimus, a towering but gentle miner who’d taken the job to support her after losing their farm to a bad harvest.

Marcus first noticed her at dawn when she brought a loaf of coarse bread to Decimus. She had smiled, brushing dirt from her husband’s cheek. That smile burned in Marcus’s mind all morning as he swung his pickaxe in Shaft XII. By noon, the embers of obsession had flared into a plan.

Decimus’s broad shoulders flexed as he wedged his pickaxe into a stubborn vein of ore. Marcus watched from a ledge, his own tool resting idly against the rock.

“Careful there,” Marcus said casually, stepping closer. “That’s a treacherous edge.”

Decimus grunted in acknowledgment, his focus on the task at hand. The moment presented itself as if fate had placed it in Marcus’s lap. One push. That’s all it took.

The scream was short-lived, swallowed by the shaft’s oppressive darkness. The sound of Decimus’s body hitting the rocky walls on the way down was met with indifference from the other miners. Accidents happened all the time. No one cared to investigate further.

Marcus dusted his hands, forcing a solemn expression. “Poor bastard,” he muttered before returning to the surface.

“Bold,” Mercury mused, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Let’s see how far this one goes.” With a flick of his winged sandal, he turned his attention back to more pressing divine mischief.

The sun was setting when Marcus approached Livia’s tent, carrying a jar of wine he’d stolen from the overseer’s supply. He had cleaned himself up as best he could, wiping away the grime of the mine and smoothing his tunic. He rehearsed his words, confident in his ability to play the grieving friend.

“Livia,” he called softly, stepping into the dim light of her tent. She sat on a crude stool, her hands trembling as she clutched a threadbare blanket. “I… I heard about Decimus. It’s a terrible loss.”

Her eyes, red-rimmed and hollow, met his. She didn’t reply, so Marcus pressed on. “I brought some wine. Thought we could toast his memory. He was a good man. Deserved better than this place.”

Livia’s silence broke with a faint nod. She allowed him to pour the wine into two mismatched cups. Marcus raised his, his voice low and solemn. “To Decimus.”

“To Decimus,” she whispered, drinking deeply. Marcus watched her, calculating his next move.

The night wore on, the wine loosening Livia’s grief and Marcus’s inhibitions. He spoke of the cruelty of fate, the injustice of Monte Ferrum, and his desire to help her through this tragedy. By the time the moon reached its zenith, Marcus had moved closer, his hand brushing hers. She didn’t pull away.

In the distance, the sounds of the camp faded, leaving only the crackle of a dying fire and the low murmur of Marcus’s voice. Above, Mercury chuckled, knowing the mortal’s triumph will be as fleeting as a thief’s shadow under torchlight.