He paced the room, mindful of his leg. Damn Andre. Damn this whole miserable business.
They all thought they knew his reasons for doing what he did. And history... he shuddered to think of what history's judgment would be. But he didn't care. It had to be done. And clearly, he had been chosen to do it.
He had been shown a vision, it must have come from God; for who else can split the veil of time and show him of days yet to come? And what he saw chilled his blood.
He saw their grand experiment a hollow shell, the great democratic ideal simply rhetoric to justify tyranny. He saw a nation capable of greatness, too often led toward folly. He saw the end of all they sought to begin.
And he knew.
"We'll be no different," he whispered, glancing nervously around. Andre still hadn't arrived. Damn him! "As went the Roman republic, so shall ours. As we fight, so shall we in turn be fought against. No." He shook his head. "Better the Empire we know..."
He left the room. Andre wasn't coming. He feared the worst. The plan was lost, he was certain, but he would escape, he and his wife. And he would fight for what he'd fought against.
So the dream will stay pure, he would kill it before it can be born.