[ WP ] A group of people worship a small , plain , clear glass marble . You touch it , and realise why .

`` Let me pass!'' Pontius' voice cut through the murmurs of the crowd. Like fresh snow in spring the assembled group melted back, revealing a path to the plinth upon which it stood. One or two bowed their heads respectfully as the Senator passed, but many stared at him. They were hard faced and angry, gaunt men with fire in their eyes and angry women clutching children to their side. Walking beside his master, Aquilus kept close, for fear that the crowd would forget their places. 
 
 
 They stayed, however, watching Pontius as he approached the glass ball. Someone had placed it on a velvet pillow, and it was nestled there as a pearl in an oyster, reflecting the midday sun. To Aquilus' ears the sounds of the market had stilled. No flies buzzed, no traders haggled. Even the familiar sound of priests preaching to whoever would hear them was absent. 
 
 
 Aquilus remembered the sentries on the gates as they had passed through in the cool morning. Even in their leather and bronze uniform they had looked thin. No cats or dogs chased each other through the narrow streets. He could not smell bread, could not see a single amphora. This city was starving. The children around him were bloated in their hunger and their eyes followed him. He hurried his step. 
 
 
 Pontius extended a hand towards the glass marble and the crowd held its breath. Aquilus watched a bead of sweat as it escaped his master's hairline and trickled down his neck. Pontius licked his lips. His finger touched against the glass marble and his eyes flickered shut. He was transfixed, held there for an eternity, though when he let go Aquilus realised it had only been as long as it took to release a breath. 
 
 
 `` I understand,'' Pontius said to the assembled crowd. Still the men watched him in silence. No weapons were permitted in the Forum, but one or two had whips or short knives at their sides. All Aquilus held was the wax tablet, beginning to melt fluidly under his arm in this heat. Pontius carried no armament himself. `` I understand,'' he said again. `` Our gods have spoken.'' 
 
 
 Aquilus flicked a nervous glance towards the marble. The sun beamed overhead, glowing against the clear glass. 
 
 
 `` What have you learned, master?'' He asked in an undertone to Pontius. 
 
 
 `` Only the man who touches it can know,'' Pontius replied evenly. `` But we must not delay, we must leave this city as soon as we can.'' 
 
 
 `` The horses will not be fresh,'' Aquilus responded. They had begun to move through the crowd again. Was it his imagination or were there more of them than before? Tanned brown hands moved to the knives at their belts. Pontius' steps were slow and unhurried, like those of a man in a dream. 
 
 
 `` Damn the horses,'' Pontius said. His face was pouring with sweat. `` We must...'' He keeled, down onto his knees. Aquilus grasped at his master's arm as the man fell, looking up at the hungry crowd as they closed around him. One man bared his teeth like a dog. 
 
 
 `` What did you see?'' Aquilus asked, struggling to raise the man up again. Tanned hands reached for him and he slapped them away. `` Off! Off!'' He cried. `` What did you see?'' 
 
 
 `` You must touch it to know,'' Pontius wheezed. 
 
 
 Aquilus reached for the marble, the sun glaring from the glass into his eye and as he touched the smooth glass, he was blind. 
 
 
 And he saw the Fall. Barbarians spilling into the white city. Sacking, looting, burning. An empire brought to its knees, the bronze wolf turned upon her side and her suckling babes turned out onto the hard roads. He removed his hand and saw the same fire in the crowd's eyes that he knew blazed in his own. It was no longer a time for worship, but a time for war.
