locutus-sum

Name: locutus-sum Discord: locutus-sum#9606

Well, a slave would never talk badly of the master's child, but Sergia could see genuine affection on Metella's face as she described the girl. She'd nursed Cassia, of course, so naturally she would be fond of her. But even allowing for exaggeration, if the girl was indeed as vibrant as Metella claimed, she'd probably get on fine with Sergia. For Sergia herself still had a kind of girlish enthusiasm and sense of wonder which hadn't left her even though it had been a decade since she was eleven. She clearly wasn't going to get a proper picture of Cassia until she'd met her. But she could see Metella understood perfectly well why she was asking. So much for subtlety. Well, no matter. If Sergia was going to be joining the household, Metella would surely want to assess her too. "She's been friendly to everyone she's met." Sergia hoped it would be the same for her. Life wouldn't be much fun if her stepdaughter resented her. Stepdaughter! What an odd idea. Sergia didn't think she was quite ready to be a mother figure to anyone yet. Perhaps that was for the best - Cassia would surely prefer a friend to a replacement parent. "Well, I hope to meet her someday," said Sergia with a smile, to keep the conversation going while she collected her thoughts. "And I am sure she's as dear to you as she is to her father. I mean, my mother nursed me, but lots of my girl friends had nurses, and they are all very dear to them. And I am sure Senator Longinus appreciates your obvious affection for her." She paused, considering her next words. "But then, I may be wrong, but I imagine your master is generally more appreciative of you all that some people can be." @Chevi

Sergia looked at her cousin with shining eyes, every minute more and more convinced that avoiding conversation with him until now had been a huge mistake. You could tell by the way he talked that he shared the same natural delight at the storyteller's craft. Funny. She hadn't really met many slaves with a passion for something. That was probably because she hadn't talked to many slaves, she was beginning to realise. She listened with interest to Teutus's defence of the great epics. She found herself nodding. "Yes, I see what you mean. But as you say, they're all such self-absorbed, puffed-up, bloodthirsty... well, men!" She paused, looking at her knees then back at him. "I admit I haven't read them in a while. Perhaps I will give them another chance. But I prefer characters I can understand, even if they're not good people." She cleared her throat, then, with an apologetic smile, quoted in Greek: "In all other things a woman is full of fear, incapable of looking on battle or cold steel; but when she is injured in love, no mind is more murderous than hers!"* *Euripides, Medea. translation David Kovacs @Sharpie

Sergia listened, rather subdued, to Aulus' account of his activities during the Civil War. "Why do you ask? Want to test my allegiances, Sergia Auletia?" "Gods, no, sir! I hope I didn't..." then she caught the twinkle in his eye. "Oh. Well, as I said, I don't know much about politics and war." But something about his recitation and his comments afterwards piqued her attention. "'To spare the defeated' ... I'm not always the best at following my own advice." His readiness to admit fault was an admirable quality, no doubt about it, but Sergia's heart lay in peacetime and in the gentle country life. Yes, men behave differently in times of war, and she didn't pretend to understand what it was like. But she so desperately needed Longinus to be different from that type of man that was all too common in Rome - donning civilities along with their spotless togas while in Rome, but quite prepared to cast all that aside when in the provinces, becoming just as brutal as the raging barbarian hordes they claimed to be subduing for the greater good. But were there really any men just as honourable wherever they were in the Empire? Or was violence simply in their natures? Sergia realised she had fallen awkwardly silent. "Your recitation... it is a sentiment I also value greatly," she faltered, in an attempt to flog the rapidly dying conversation back to life. @Sara

"Metella, domina. I am Cassia Antonillia's nurse." So, if anyone could tell her about what her (hopefully) future stepdaughter would be like, it would be Metella. She was curious about the child: on the one hand, Sergia did love children; on the other, she was slightly concerned about being accepted as a stepmother. "Aha, is that so? I'm sure Senator Longinus is ever so fond of his daughter. How old is she now? And what does she like? I have a lot of my old things from when I was young - some lovely dolls, some jewellery - which I would be more than happy to gift to her." @Chevi

"Recite me some?" His eyes were kindly and sparkling, his smile could only be genuine. But what to recite? Not some of the saucier stuff - not everyone liked Ovid, though she suspected Longinus wasn't exactly a prude - but something more high-brow. Come on, Sergia. Just choose something. Her mind alighted immediately on those lines that had so enchanted her in girlhood. "And when the infant feet their first firm steps had taken, the small palms were armed with a keen javelin; her sire a bow and quiver from her shoulder slung. Instead of golden combs and flowing pall, she wore, from her girl-forehead backward thrown, the whole skin of a tigress; with soft hands she made her plaything of a whirling spear, or, swinging round her head the polished thong of her good sling, she fetched from distant sky Strymonian cranes or swans of spotless wing. From Tuscan towns proud matrons oft in vain sought her in marriage for their sons; but she to Dian only turned her stainless heart, her virgin freedom and her huntress' arms with faithful passion serving." * Sergia realised she'd been reciting for a while in her nervousness, the words tumbling out of her memory without fault or hesitation. She faltered to a stop, smiling apologetically. "I read that often, as you can tell." She was somewhat glad when Longinus' conversation returned to her comments on the outdoors. She was glad to hear he shared her passion for nature. Perhaps, if all went well, they'd end up living out of Rome together, somewhere with fields and vineyards and iugera of land all to themselves...? "I too have always dreamt of leaving this city, to tell the truth," she replied, as if to express these thoughts. "My uncle's estate in Tibur is lovely sometimes, just to lose yourself in. Of course it's much nicer to lose yourself with someone else. I have no siblings, but my cousin Teutus comes with me from time to time." "I suppose you've not travelled much in the Empire? Although you surely didn't stay in Rome during the Civil War?" Ah. The civil war. Such matters had rather gone over Sergia's head, truth be told. Politics was of little interest to her - the Senate wall little more than a bull ring into which her Uncles and all the other egos of Rome threw themselves to clash horns. And sometimes the scrapping got a bit out of hand, meaning she and her family had had to leave Rome for a bit. "Well, we were here and there, in and out. My uncles felt they needed some... time away from things. We spent our time at various estates in various parts of Italy. I don't pretend to understand it all," she said simply. This was a sore topic for a lot of people, but Longinus had brought it up, and so though she didn't much care whose side he was on, she chanced returning the question. Sergia knew it was always valuable to know how someone had suffered. "And what was the war like for you?" @Sara * Translation by T.C. Williams as found on Perseus. Aeneid, book 11, P. Vergilius Maro.

Note: set ~74CE, the morning after this thread: https://www.aeternaromarpg.com/topic/7033-good-omens/#comment-24268’ TW: suicide Quite how he’d arrived back home, Marcus wasn’t entirely sure, but pushing against the invisible, foggy barrier to recollect details led only to the surfacing of memories that made his heart sink progressively lower. He’d started off using the same optimistic bluster on himself that he would on others; surely it couldn’t have been that bad? He didn’t remember anything too mortifying… and that was when something else would unhelpfully pop into his head that was, indeed, that bad. Ye gods, he didn’t think he’d be able to look Aulus in the eye ever again! As of now, the boy’s discretion was the only thing keeping his reputation seaworthy: as it was, Marcus wouldn’t even trust such a creaky vessel to take him on the crossing from Delphi to Corinth; take away the few planks nailing it together and it’d go under completely. It was these things that Marcus Horatius Justinus was mulling over as he dragged his somewhat deflated self along the Appian Way, heading for the city gates. He’d dispensed with an entourage for today, allowing himself instead to blend in with the crowds as they got on with their merry lives all around him. Quite what he was going to do, he wasn’t entirely sure. He only knew where he was going, and that stowed under the folds of his toga was a small, army-issue dagger that had been secreted away in a trunk under his bed since he’d last returned from service. Thankfully, he reached the city walls without incident. He’d already had enough interaction today with the wailing, grovelling flocks of clients waiting for him on his doorstep that morning; he’d told them all as politely as possible to get stuffed. The last thing he wanted was to run across some well-meaning acquaintance or other, asking him how he’d been and whether he’d support some wretched proposal or other. But nobody did stop him, and now he was here, watching the road get progressively less well-maintained, the verges get scrubbier, the scrappy little houses on the sides of the street within the walls turn into a jumble of modest marble tombs on the outside, all clamouring for attention, all the same - long dead, and to all intents and purposes as forgotten as the next man. Marcus’ feet knew just how far to carry him - his thoughts stayed firmly turned inwards - and he raised his head only when he stepped off the path as he came to that twisted old cypress tree. There was Aemilius Paulus, with his short, curt little epitaph; behind him, the flashy tomb with the marble columns that Marcus made a point of never reading; that soppy, leering sarcophagus by a certain Cethegus to his jumped-up whore of a freedman wife, immortalised for having the ‘biggest tits in Rome’; and then, at last, sitting gracefully in the centre of the little collection, a lovingly-maintained monument with a frieze of the graces above a large panel of carved text. LIVIA CALAVIA M. HORATII IUSTINI VXOR FIDELIS ET PVDICA VIVIT ANNOS XLVI LIBEROS IV IN TERRA RELIQUIT VI VIOLENTIAQUE AB INVIDIOSA FORTVNA ABLATA EST HOC FECIT PRO CARA CONIVGE M. HORATIVS Marcus grunted with the effort of squatting down before it, but when he began to rub at the inscription with a rag, cleaning the accumulated grime from the lettering, he did so with great tenderness. When he had finished, he sat back on his haunches. The stone now showed its brilliant true white hue; the same could not be said for the surrounding stelae. Cethegus’ wife, for all her fondly-recalled endowments, lay mouldering beneath a grimy piece of rock untouched for years. Perhaps her husband was long dead; perhaps he saw no point in caressing stone when he could no longer caress flesh. Marcus was more devoted in his ministrations. After tearing up the odd weed from around the stone’s base, Marcus allowed himself rather self-consciously to trace the outline of the first two words. Livia Calavia. Livia Calavia. His fingers fell to rest in his lap. He gave a small cough and glanced over his shoulder, then back at the tomb. “H-hello there, my robin. It’s silly old me again. Look at me now, eh? What a sight. You never knew what it was like to get old and hopeless. Somehow I can’t imagine you getting old. You were always too beautiful, too spirited for that.” A fond smile. “Look what I’ve got.” Shaking fingers slipped inside the folds of his toga, found the bound leather, pulled it out. A glance over the shoulder again, just in case. The blade took some tugging to unsheath after all those years. As he traced it across his wrist, he smiled, almost in shame. “You remember I did this once before. I promised you then I’d never think of it again, didn’t I? Well, here I am again. Of course you knew I would be. I was always so weak, I think you knew that, or would have, if you weren’t so damned infatuated with me, the gods only know why.” A chuckle. A pause. Then, quietly, “it’s been ever so long, my dear. Perhaps… perhaps my strength has got me as far as it can. Would you forgive me, Livia, if I did it now? If I poured myself out and came running down to meet you? I know Horatia wouldn’t. Stubborn girl.” The very thought of her made him hang his head. “I love her more than myself.” The knife dropped the hand’s breadth to the ground with a dull thud. “No. No, my robin, we both know I couldn’t. This damned world isn’t finished with me yet.” Marcus rested his forehead against the edge of the monument and closed his eyes. “But when it is -” he spoke at barely a whisper now - “it’ll be here that they find me. Like this.” With that, Marcus Horatius Justinus heaved himself to his feet again, stretched, cast one last, lingering look at the block of stone on the roadside and headed back to Rome.

Sergia sat down and smoothed her skirts, smiling politely at the woman. "No, that'll be fine, thank you," she said, but as the woman nodded and turned to leave, she added, "but I wouldn't mind some company for a bit. I... well, it wouldn't hurt to get to know the kind of people Senator Longinus has in his household. While I'm here. You know?" Play it cool, Sergia, for the gods' sakes. "Your name, first, so I can let the dominus know how hospitable you have been to me." She patted the bench beside her, inviting the woman to sit. @Chevi

Sergia put on an endearingly girlish pout and did her best to feign disappointment. "Oh no, and I only just missed him! What a shame. Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to stay for one drink, since I came all this way specially." Sergia took a good look at the redheaded slave-girl as she followed her through the atrium and into the more private area of the house. Ordinarily she would not have given a mere maid a second glance, but something about her shockingly ginger hair with its little ringlets that bounced as she walked caught Sergia's attention. Slaves were not supposed to catch people's attention. The fact that this one did spelt trouble. Gods, Sergia! Suspicion and jealousy do not become you. But that was exactly why she was here. That doubtful, bitter part of herself needed to be convinced that Longinus was the man she thought he was. Still, she was flooded with a wave of shame as the girl gave her a friendly, unassuming smile and hurried off to give orders to the kitchen slaves to bring wine. @Chevi

By the time Longinus had stopped speaking, Sergia found herself rather short of breath. Had her girls cinched her stola more tightly today, or was it just the excitement from the fact that she'd made a gamble that had yielded spectacularly promising results? It was her turn to be taken aback by his honesty. And if she was to be honest with herself, it made her feel rather giddy. Men, she'd found, were seldom entirely honest, and even less frequently were they self-deprecating. When she had first met Longinus, she'd noticed a sort of glint in his eye that shone through the mask of cordial indifference that men adopted when doing business. It was that which she'd latched onto over the months afterwards to give herself some hope that this marriage could be more than a transaction, perhaps even a friendship. Before she'd had to content herself with stolen glances across the table. Now they were free to communicate, and he was showing through his words and actions that spark of humanity that had given her romantic side the promise of happiness she craved. "That's nice of you to say," Sergia said. "This is only the first time we've actually spoken without one of your uncles breathing down my neck." It was strange to hear someone else say it out loud like that. Strangers' acknowledgement of her uncles' domineering ways was always tacit and smacked of respect for the status quo. But Longinus... he told it like it was. He took the power out of it. All the men she'd met until now had been controlling, violent egomaniacs. She'd always believed that another type of man really did exist, and perhaps, just perhaps, Longinus was one of them. If her belief was correct, that is. The last thing she wanted to do was trust him too easily and be proven horribly wrong. "What do you really enjoy doing? And if you say weaving your wool I'm sorry but I just won't believe you because how any woman can actually enjoy that is beyond me..." Sergia cracked a smile. "Well, there isn't much to do at home, and it's nice to just have some peaceful girl time from time to time," she admitted, "but you're right, it can get rather tedious. What do I like? Well, lots of things I suppose: variety stops me getting bored. I like the outdoors - walking barefoot, swimming in lakes - and I dip into books now and then. Poetry mostly." Anything to escape, really. But she couldn't say that. Anyone would laugh at her silly girlish fantasies, even if that's all she really had to herself. Gods, I bet I sound frightfully dull. @Sara

Thanks the gods, Longinus didn't seem to judge her - far from it, he was now chuckling gently. She wasn't quite sure what had amused him, but she was glad. Perhaps he could come to love her eventually, if she kept this up and didn't let her guard down. That was if he even decided he would marry her. She herself took to grinning as he proudly gave the details of his exercise routine. "I see." "You don't have to be nervous, you know." Damn. So he had noticed. She appreciated his comments though, more than she'd admit, but found herself saying, "Ah, but that's where you're wrong, Senator, with respect. I'm here, pretending that this is simply a casual conversation, when we both know full well that a large part of my future rests on your impression of me. If you decide I will not make a suitable wife, then you can simply tell Uncle as such and seek another woman. You also already have children, and a successful career. I, on the other hand, am twenty-two years of age and as yet unmarried, which for a woman is a great deal more serious than it is for a man." It suddenly struck Sergia that she had been speaking for rather a long time. Her brain was begging her to stop, but she'd already gone this far. She made sure to smile at Longinus, to show her tone was still light. "It's not you that I am frightened of, but rather of your rejection." Oh gods. She'd really done it now. @Sara

Sergia slipped her hand into her covered basket as if searching for something inside. Really, though, her attention was focused on the flash of white cloth in the corner of her vision as a toga-clad figure swept out of the house she was lingering beside, leaning nonchalantly on a column and minding her own business. A glance upwards when it was safe to do so confirmed his identity: yes, Longinus had left for the Senate. Sergia inhaled. Part of her resented the opportunity to do what she was about to do. It simply wasn't proper for a young lady to to snooping round her suitor's house, inciting his slaves to betray his confidence in small ways. It wasn't even like she had any reason to doubt Longinus; he'd been entirely good to her, but perhaps that's why she felt this compulsion to investigate him. To make sure that he was just as pleasant behind closed doors as he was in public. Whatever the reason, she was here now. Thankfully, her maidservant (because of course her uncle would hardly allow her to leave the house unaccompanied) was still acting as dozily as Sergia had hoped she would when she chose her for her companion on this little escapade. The girl was new, so not so deep under Secundus' control as the others, and was rather fond of her drink when she could get away with it. Sergia had to elbow her to get her to follow her up to the house; the girl seemed more interested in her fingernails than in keeping an eye on her mistress. Here goes nothing. "Salve. I am Sergia Auletia, niece of Secundus Quinctilius Varus. I was just passing and thought I would drop in to pay my compliments to the master. I hope he's not too busy?" @Chevi

Yes, history was full of stories that were boring "to girls like Antonia." "To anyone who's not boring, I say," added Sergia with conviction. "I simply can't stand those men so puffed up with literary pomp that they put themselves through the dullest literature imaginable to make themselves feel special." She noticed with delight that her cousin was beginning to warm to the conversation, with a pleasant smile on his face, even asking her about her own favourite childhood tales. "Oh, anything with a good story, really. Human stories." She wasn't going to be entirely upfront about her secret girlish predilection for love poems at the moment, but she allowed herself the following: "Ovid is really rather clever, don't you think?" @Sharpie

"Oh, don't fuss so, my boy, I'm perfectly alright! I just..." At that moment, one of his knees gave way. Marcus's body fell against the doorway, his other hand gripping Aulus' shoulder for support, fingers digging in. Stubborn old man. You're not fooling him. Go home. "On second thoughts, perhaps I had better... yes, a litter would be very nice, thank you," he said somewhat sheepishly as his slave came hurrying over to put an arm round his shoulders and take his weight off Aulus. "I haven't been sleeping well. Perhaps it's catching up with me." Marcus just about registered his son-in-law saying the usual things about him always being welcome another time etc., to which he replied with a vague 'Well, I'm honoured, I'm sure," as someone helped him into a seat. While Aulus went off to arrange transport, Marcus fell to rubbing his signet ring absent-mindedly, imagining with horror Aulus relating this whole incident with a sigh, and Horatia's disappointment, embarrassment, worry... he couldn't let it happen! His dignity was at stake! It simply wasn't right for a younger man to degrade a man of his status in the eyes of his own daughter. Soon Aulus' shape came back into Marcus' bleary field of vision. Marcus clapped his hands down onto both of Aulus' shoulders and slowly pulled himself up, staring right into his son-in-law's eyes, his face inches from his and his wine-steeped breath warm and acrid on his face. "She CANNOT," breathed Marcus, "cannot know. You'll do this for me." @Sharpie

Sergia pressed her lips together and looked away to disguise her amusement at Longinus' almost-slip-of-the-tongue. She could understand why he checked himself - that wasn't the kind of language that patrician girls were used to - but the 'prim and proper' behaviour that had been drilled into her didn't interest Sergia. Nonetheless she held her tongue and disguised her relief (was it relief that she was feeling? That this man wasn't the dry humourless senatorial type?). Even if Longinus came to appreciate her attitude later, it suited her now to play the sensible, well-brought-up maiden. That was the kind of girl men liked to think they were marrying. Despite his reassurances as to Ragum's benign nature, Sergia couldn't help but feel relieved as the animal was handed over to a slave. She inclined her head graciously when Longinus suggested they take a stroll, falling into a slow pace beside him, her eyes fixed modestly on the floor in front of her. I wonder what he's thinking. Is he looking at me? I can't tell. Her entourage flocked around her as they walked, barely an arm's length away from her, ready to perceive ever gesture, drink in every word, report back every movement to her uncle. Untrustworthy, insidious little creatures, scurrying under her feet. "Oh back off, by Hercules, or I'll..." It slipped out before she could stop herself, her hand flicking out to bid the slaves retreat. She was perfectly right to admonish them - a slave should aim to blend into the background, not become a pest to their mistress - but she didn't want to give the impression of potentially being one of those nightmare matronae barking orders at resentful slaves and making the whole house a misery. And it really wasn't her practice to be so short with slaves - her relationship with her cousin Teutus came to mind - but these girls' loyalty was to Uncle Secundus, and she wasn't going to let him ruin this occassion. By the gods, she hoped Longinus wasn't thinking all these things! "You look lovely by the way." Sergia allowed herself to smile. Of course. His mind was on the moment, on simpler things. On her. He spoke steadily and masterfully, but there was also something strangely bashful about his demeanour. Perhaps he too was nervous, though why she did not know; she was the one who had to impress. She bit her lip and turned to look him in the eyes, her smile showing now. "That's kind of you to say. And kind of you to notice:" she raised her eyebrows, "I've had my maids poking and patting me for hours. But you also look..." Was she supposed to compliment him back? The Roman male didn't pride himself on perfectly coiffed hair or lavender-scents, and she was worried he'd take it the wrong way. He was, after all, naturally, ruggedly, Romanly handsome, with those twinkling eyes and those creases when he smiled, not some perfumed Greek pretty-boy. She faltered: "I mean... you are looking in rude health, with a very nice colour on you." Gods, Sergia, shut up! She wanted to blush and turn away, but her anxiety to see his reaction kept her eyes locked dangerously on his face. @Sara

Antheia initally started at the touch on her arm but caught herself before snatching it away and let Volusa's hand rest there for a second. She could relax here. It was clear Volusa did not represent a threat, but rather, Antheia hoped, a potential friend. "I'm sure I will; if everyone is as welcoming as you have been, I am sure to." She smiled genuinely at the younger woman. "Well, thanks for showing me round." @Sharpie

"Oh, you have a brother at the palace? Do you see him often? What's his job?" Antheia studied Volusa's face, taking note of the features, the distance between them. Perhaps she'd recognise Helenus if she saw him around just from the similarity. How pleasant it must be to come across a face so like your own that a smile feels like a kind of reassurance nobody else could give. It was a long time since Antheia had felt that. Not that she remembered the feeling, though she must have felt it sometime. @Sharpie

So it was finally happening. It is not often that a living person's absence is felt more strongly than their physical presence, but this was certainly the case now. Freedom to move unimpeded without the constant tug of the leash her uncles' constant observation bound to her. But now was not the time to indulge her inner frolicking puppy. Sergia was here to play the good matron, to convince this man, older than her and practically a stranger, that she was worthy of becoming his wife. She didn't really feel like any of those things. But now was the time to become a woman, though she felt she was little more than a girl. Don't worry so much, Sergia. This is what you've always dreamed of. So why all of a sudden do I want to go running back to my uncles? She stopped short of the Portico as the party approached, her eyes scanning the figures strolling beneath the columns as her maids fluttered about her, pinning up curls that had fallen loose and adjusting the brooches at her shoulders. Eventually the hands retreated, darting back only to make a few final adjustments. "That's enough," said Sergia firmly. "It's time." Chin high, shoulders back. Walk slowly and confidently. She clocked Longinus' presence immediately upon entering the Portico. Neither Longinus nor his slave companion was of particularly weedy constitution, but their stature was rendered somewhat less imposing by the presence of the huge, slavering hound straining at its rope, forcing Longinus to lean backwards with his whole bodyweight to counter its massive pull. Sergia had been trying to make a steady and dignified approach, but she couldn't help faltering at the sight of the dog. Whether Longinus intended to intimidate her or not, she did not know - the animal didn't seem particularly aggressive, at least, just enthusiastic - but she couldn't help but feel rather ill at ease. Eventually her suitor succeeded in dragging the animal back to his side. Sergia forced herself to turn her attention to him instead of his pet as he flashed her one of those rather alluring grins. Little creases appeared at the corners of his eyes as he smiled. "Salve, Sergia Auletia. Ragum also says hello." "Salve, Senator Longinus," - she brushed a strand of hair out of her flushed face and gave a shaky smile - "and, er, pleased to meet you, Ragum. What a handsome dog. I have always liked animals." She gave Ragum her best effort at an appreciative glance, not quite mustering the courage to reach out and pet the thing. She wasn't lying when she said she liked the company of animals, it was just that she preferred ones that didn't look like they'd have your fingers off if you got within five paces. @Sara

So Volusa still saw her parents regularly, and had grown up here. "That's nice, that you can see them still," Antheia commented out loud with a smile. A nice life, then, or so she supposed. One never liked to assume these things with any slave, though. "I suppose this place really does feel like home to you." No wonder she was so unfazed by all the hustle, bustle and splendour. Antheia knew it would be a long time before she herself grew used to it. She smiled slightly at the younger woman's observations on her accent, though she was not offended. Antheia was well aware that her Latin pronunciation was less that perfect, despite having lived most of her life in Rome. Her old master had encouraged her to speak Greek as much as possible in her work as a tutor to improve his young daughter's speaking skills, and she had spent most of her free time talking to Aristo in their native tongue. "Yes, I was born in Athens and came to Rome-" well, taken to Rome was more accurate - "when the city was sacked. I was about ten. I've lived here ever since. Rome feels like home for me, too." At least, her old domina's house had felt like home. But that was in the past. No use dwelling on it. This was home now. @Sharpie

Marcus gave a hearty laugh. "Oho, yes, I would be delighted to sample your hospitality and see my little girl again." Then, his face visibly fell. He couldn't. Not like this. Horatia thought the world of him. And right now, he was in no state to make conversation. Oh gods, Aulus would probably tell her anyway. Unless... Well, you've always been good at hiding it well, Marcus. And you've barely drunk anything. He probably hasn't noticed. "Yes, it would be lovely..." Oh, but my head is swimming. And I'm feeling decidedly... "Excuse me," croaked Marcus, tripping over the table leg as he rose suddenly and moved towards the back door of the taberna at a surprising rate for a man of his age. As he fell to his knees on the cobbles, the vomit burning acidly in his mouth as he spewed up into the drain, Marcus felt a kind of noiseless, foaming rage spread through his heaving chest into his trembling arms and white knuckles. By the Gods, why am I so old? Why am I still here? Take me now. Just let me fall down this drain and keep falling until I'm down there with her. If you don't take me soon, I'll do it myself, honour be damned. Footsteps. Marcus heaved himself to his feet, wiped his mouth on his sleeve and manoeuvred himself into the doorway to hide the evidence pooling on the alley floor. @Sharpie

Sergia listened to her cousin explain his predicament with a feeling of relief. Now here was something she could help with. She remembered only too well what it was like to be a ten year old girl stuck staring at rolls and rolls of the driest prose imaginable while outside the world was bathed in the soft yellow glow of the mid-afternoon sun, the grass was dry and ticklish against bare feet and even the slaves, chattering in the distance as they went about their chores, sounded more carefree than she felt. But she'd been taught by a hunched-up old Greek with a voice as dry as papyrus, and Teutus was not that. Sergia smiled inwardly. Bless him for at least making the effort to be interesting. "Well, don't go putting chunks of text in front of her, though I expect you'd worked that out already," she said, brightening up. "I used to wish the gods would smite my pathetic old tutor whenever he did that. And don't, whatever you do, give her that stale old history stuff. Talk to her about stories. It's the stories we like," she said, wringing her hands conspiratorially. "Read her some poetry. Or... or tell her about Penelope." She couldn't help smiling properly now. How she'd been captivated by that tale! Her mother had always chided her for taking so long finishing her embroidery work. She'd never worked out why that was - how every time Sergia slipped free of the supervising eye and came across her needlework lying around, she'd poke her small fingers in between the threads and unpick the last few stitches she'd done, flushed with excitement at her secret game, dashing off round a corner every time she heard a maid approaching. Oh, yes, she'd loved that story. Wouldn't it be marvellous for Antonia to hear it too! @Sharpie

"Of course I have," said Antheia, raising an eyebrow. "I've met plenty with whom I didn't see eye to eye, and plenty who simply have different experiences on life. You should be able to tell that from what I've told you about myself." As she stopped speaking, she lowered her eyes again. She hadn't meant to sound so forceful. She simply wanted to impress on Cynane that she wasn't some sheltered little soul who spent all day staring at the clouds and thinking about cosmology just because she wasn't some kind of tough warrior. Antheia surprised even herself with this reaction. It wasn't often her pride flared up - she didn't think she even had pride - but her whole character, her life, rested on the stone foundations of the strength she'd built up over the years. Antheia breathed in, smiled lightly and met Cynane's gaze steadily, watching every line of the other woman's face to see how she'd respond to a more frank approach. "I'm just... gathering my impressions of you, that's all, as you are doing for me." @Atrice

Antheia wasn't usually one to be affected by others' judgement, but something about Cynane made Antheia strangely desperate for her approval. The Briton's words hit her hard. Well, she had been staring, and for once, she hadn't done a very good job of hiding her thoughts. After a moment of faltering, Antheia smiled apologetically, shook her head and said, "Yes. You're right. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to seem... untrustworthy in any way, I promise I have no malicious intentions of any sort. I'm sorry, I suppose I'm just... well, curious." She went slightly pink. "The way you see your world is so very different to mine, you see, and I've always found people... well, interesting." In reality it was a lot more complicated than that, but essentially she was telling the truth. She raised her eyes timidly, unsure how Cynane would react. @Atrice

Damn him, now neither of them could enjoy their time in the garden! A strange mix of frustration and sympathy welled up inside Sergia as she met her cousin's doleful gaze. Oh, if Uncle Tertius could just free Teutus all this would just go away! But there he was, swallowed up in his sack-like tunic, eyes downcast though they were set into a face that anyone could see belonged in the noble family of the Quinctilii Vari. Usually, Sergia would simply leave. But something about this situation bothered her. She didn't find it easy to treat Teutus the way others treated him, and now she was hit with a sudden compulsion to show she was not entirely aloof. Laying aside her needlework and smoothing out the folds, she slowly made her way around the portico until she reached her cousin, sitting herself stiffly down beside him and arranging her skirts over her knees. "What are you writing?" she asked, affecting a tone that was as neutral as possible - not so friendly that it was unbefitting for a mistress addressing a slave, but not so detached as to make him feel totally alienated. The balance was not an easy one to strike. Talking to Teutus was rather like picking one's way barefoot across a floor covered in shards of broken glass. @Sharpie

Marcus politely tamed his chuckle into the odd snorting giggle, adopted a wide-eyed expression of seriousness and attempted to answer his son-in-law’s question. Lucius? Couldn’t Aulus have asked about Publius? His elder son was far more impressive to talk about. But Aulus probably knew all about the latter, and with good reason. “He’s serving as tribune in Germania at the moment,” said Marcus, setting his cup down with a ‘clunk’ as he gathered his thoughts. Try as he might, Marcus had never been able to impress quite the sense of duty upon Lucius that he had upon his older sibling. Still, the reports seemed favourable enough. The boy liked a joke - that was well enough, he supposed, in one’s youth - but there were no whispers of any major misbehaviour. “Yes, he’s getting on well. Seems set up for a military career. His wife is in good health, as are his children. Not that I get to see the little ones much, being as they are in Germania.” Marcus tried desperately to brush away the sudden onset of wistfulness. After a characteristic moment of stillness, Marcus launched back into conversation at a greater volume. “But you, Aulus, must let me know how your own family is faring. The lovely Calpurnia Praetextata, for instance: she’s well, I hope? You must be ever so proud of her. Ever so proud.” A sudden spark came into Marcus’ eyes. He leant forward, his breath hot and wine-steeped on Aulus’ face. “Of course, we are looking to get your little Calpurnia married, but perhaps… have you considered, my dear boy, sending her the same way as her esteemed aunt?, hm?” His voice had dropped to what was, in his tipsy state, his best estimation of a conspiratorial whisper. @Sharpie