The King Of Sacrifices

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The First Citizen rarely summons me. This may be because we detest one another so deeply. He has never bothered to have me killed because I am a relic of the old Republic he claims to have restored. As the oldest living senator I have a certain prestige. Besides, I am not that important. Once, my family controlled the most powerful voting blocs in the Senate, the Plebeian Assembly and the Centurionate Assembly. But that great generation of vigorous political men died in the civil wars and the remnants are scarcely worth my attention, much less his.

But I have certain talents that are unique, and there have been times when the First Citizen has had need of them. At such times he requests my presence, smiles his false smile, and seeks my aid. One such occasion occurred in my 73rd year.

I spent the morning dozing through a Senate meeting. As the power and importance of that august body dwindled, so did its speeches expand. One time-serving nobody after another got up to discourse windily upon trifles. My neighbors discreetly nudged me any time my snoring became obtrusive.

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