Liv

(Letter dated late November 74 AD)

Titus Sulpicius Rufus to his dearest friend Longinus,
greetings .

As promised, brother, here is the list you desire. Most Almost all of the work is Valeria’s, but I took the liberty of summarising it lest you end up with two full scrolls for each lady.

Calpurnia Praetextata

Sister to our good friend Aulus of the same name and by all accounts a very beautiful woman, although I have never seen her up close. I don’t think it gets any more prestigious than marrying a former Vestal, although fertility is naturally an unknown quantity in her case.

Claudia Caesaris

Second only to a Vestal is the imperial household. Again, I am not closely acquainted with this lady, but she is young and said to be very good-looking. I can ask my sister-in-law Cornelia for more information if it pleases you.

Oriana Laecania

It saddens me to inform once more I have no first-hand account of the beauty of this lady, but according to Valeria she throws some very nice parties. My dear wife tells me she is Equite but looking to move up and comes across as rather smart. Young widow, no children, plenty of money of her own so she won’t go after yours.

Caecina Tusca

I know it has been your lifelong dream to settle in that mucky shithole we know as Britannia, and to accompany you in your misery who better than the proconsul’s daughter? Think about it, you could have dinner with your father-in-law every night! Too bad it’s not a hereditary magistracy… right?

Quinctilia Varia

Widow, on the older side, but not too old to have a third child. Comes from a good family, too. Do you like redheads, Longinus?

Sergia Auletia

If the mother doesn’t cut it, maybe the daughter will - but don't go thinking about threesomes now! Valeria says she hasn’t been married before.

Licinia Aureliana

My sister-in-law’s niece, daughter of her sister. I haven’t actually seen her in years but she’s said to be very pretty.

If you do not find anything to your liking on this list, Longinus, then I will once and for all be convinced that the Britons sacrificed the real you, cock and balls and all, and summoned your castrated lemur to take your place. I shall make sure the appropriate rites are observed and pray for your soul once a year or so.

Farewell, my dearest friend and brother.

@Sara

Shit, he'd let Longinus' goblet run empty. Hopefully his friend would forgive him for being a less-than-attentive host if the error was quickly rectified. The slave came at the sound of clapping, refilled both cups and disappeared again, leaving Titus to look sheepishly at his friend as way of apology. As further penitence, he settled for rubbing the shoulder Longinus had just shown some love to without complaining or returning the blow. "You'll have that list in your hands by the end of the week, don't worry."  

"Fine, fine, I was just asking," he mumbled in pretend offence, raising his free hand as if to shield himself from an invisible projectile. Titus reckoned he could pick out Longinus' type with sufficient accuracy - essentially women least like the late Antonia -, but age was trickier. Late teens to early twenties, perhaps, since childbearing was a concern? "How young is too young?" He was fairly sure Longinus could have his pick, anyway; money and status were always desirable and demand outstripped supply, he thought with a little smirk as he took a small sip of wine.

"Who knows, maybe you'll find your next wife there at the Venus. At least you know she's young, pretty and a good fuck. All ingredients to a happy marriage," he philosophised between sips. It wasn't hard to imagine that to be the unspoken dream of many a prostitute there: a handsome and wealthy senator falls in love with her, purchases her freedom in order to make her his lawful matron and she lives out the rest of her days in luxury. It was also incredibly trite.

Three slaves was perfectly manageable, but also a little... few? Titus raised an eyebrow at Longinus, squinting to better gauge if he was being played (although the action made no difference). "Are you sure that's all you need?" Longinus did have a point: Dacians were not bad cooks, and in addition knew to appreciate the fruity, velvety taste of good wine. Definitely much better kitchen slaves than Britons, Titus concluded to himself with a series of small nods. 

It would be bad form to refuse the offer, but Briton women in general didn't do much for him, in part because so many of them were fair-haired: the only blonde, blue-eyed female he saw himself allowing into his bed in the near future was little Valeriana when she woke up screaming from some ridiculous but scary kid nightmare and would not be consoled by anyone but mummy or daddy and preferably both at the same time. This fact, of course, Titus opted not to share with Longinus; a sincere friendship was all fine and dandy until the danger of losing face materialised. 

He tapped his chin and hummed, making a show out of what was in fact a rather simple decision. "I could use an assistant for the kitchens. Not a cook, mind, just someone to fetch things and peel vegetables, that sort of thing." With Nymphias spending less time in the kitchens and more watching Valeriana, he didn't want his cook to punish the family by lowering her cooking standards in protest and blaming it on 'not enough help'. "And have you got a decent gardener? If I'm going to be spending some more time here, I don't want to come home to a desert." 

The brutish bloke Longinus mentioned was a bit harder to place. One of his Dacians could easily do the job as guard, but Titus wasn't sure he was completely broken in yet... Besides, the man's braggart ways served him better in a ludus or with one of the chariot stables. "Sure, a guard would be nice. Even better if he's mute and lets his fists do the talking." The last thing he needed was a couple of Britons discussing how to escape in their pig parlance. Female slaves were more likely to settle down and accept their lot in life, but men were in the majority as troublemakers.

"So let's say you trade me a kitchen helper, a gardener and a guard for two cooks and a..." A what, indeed? "... Personal trainer?" He clasped Longinus' shoulder and shook it as raucous laughter overcame him. "Nah, you don't need that, you're tough enough as is." He let go of the other man's shoulder, still chuckling at his own joke. Everything became funnier after a few cups of good wine! "Do you keep bees at your villa? I've got a beekeeper to spare! Or a smithy if you want to start your own bracelet sale. I'm not even kidding, they do make very fine ones. Superb workmanship." Valeria could attest to that if needed.

He smirked at Longinus, nudging him to have a drink. "Yeah, yeah. Fuck prestige, we're only in it for the loot. We go in for the slaves and gold and stay for the exquisite military rations..." As much as he enjoyed legion life, Titus would not complain if he never had to force down a hardtack biscuit again.

@Sara

LUCIA SAFINIA

17 | 28^th February 57 | Plebeian | Cook’s assistant | Heterosexual | Original | Kaya Scodelario

Personality.

Safinia has never experienced fiery passion or all-consuming hatred. She has never screamed her heart out in grief, had her belly hurt from laughing too much or cried at the misfortune of a close one. The emotions that guide human behavior come to her only in muted, diffuse forms, like shades of grey in a world of colour. She does not know if she was born faulty like that or if it was a consequence of the fire, as her recollections of childhood are few and blurry; she remembers her father’s hands more than his face and her mother’s favourite red dress more than her voice.

As a result, she is guided more by physicalities like cold and hunger than virtuous ideals or fanciful desires – the exception being a mixture between old habit and greed that has her stealing small things here and there, sometimes to sell immediately or to keep and admire until she tires of them and trades them for coin.

Safinia’s loyalty is to first and foremost to herself, and she goes about daily interactions putting her own interests first. Despite this, she does not participate in plots or schemes, because she has trouble seeing more than face value to words and promises. That is not to say she does not lie or deceive; she will if it’s convenient to her, but her lies are spoken with the same bluntness as her truths, and more like plain denials than convoluted stories.

Social niceties are anything but intuitive to Safinia, and in spite of years of observation and ‘training’, she is able to successfully fake them only about half the time, and even then rarely for more than a few hours. To make matters worse, she is unceremonious and straightforward in speech too, seldom running her words though her defective social filter. This causes much irritation amongst the more sensitive of her peers, but has earned her a reputation of frankness with others.

All in all, Safinia feels no special attachment to other human beings; they’re often more trouble to figure out than they’re worth. Her plans for the future do not extend beyond the next couple of months, at least for the time being, and essentially consist of keeping herself clothed and fed with a roof over her head.

Appearance

From her Romano-Lusitanian father, Safinia inherited her dark brown hair and average height of 154 cm; from her Gaulish mother, fair skin and vivid blue eyes – which do not provide a window into her soul, or if they do, show only a flat and undisturbed surface. Light freckles appear around her nose and lips and under her eyes when the sun is strong, and dimples form on her cheeks when she smiles, but few have had the chance to notice the latter.

She has an oval face with a small nose and thin lips and a penchant for looking people straight in the eyes, which makes many uncomfortable. Objectively, she is a pretty young woman. Slimly built, Safinia usually wears whatever she get her hands on, which given her station and wealth tends to be well-worn and cheap. Although she works for the White faction, her work guarantees dirtying of any white garments she were to wear, so Safinia sports the colour on hair ribbons instead.

Her back is covered in burn scars from a fire in her youth; they are usually hidden from view by clothes, but when they do have to be on display like at the public baths, Safinia is thoroughly unbothered by it.

Family

Father: Lucius Safinius (b. 14 AD, d. 64 AD)

Mother: Safinia L.l. Flora (b. 20 AD, d. 64 AD).

Siblings: N/A

Spouse: Marcus Dellius (b. 52 AD, d. 74 AD)

Children: N/A

Extended family: N/A

Other: Paula, surrogate mother (b. 18? AD, d. 74 AD)

History

57 AD: Safinia is born in Pax Iulia, Lusitania to a Plebeian scout for the White chariot team and his Gaulish freedwoman. According to family legend, her paternal great-grandfather was a veteran of Augustus of southern Italian roots who was settled in Emerita Augusta; her grandfather, in turn, moved to Pax Iulia, where her father was also born and raised. Perhaps due to her parents’ age, she is the couple’s only child to survive birth.

57 – 64 AD: Safinia grows up in Pax Iulia. She is taught the rudiments of reading, writing and mathematics. More experienced parents might worry about their daughter always wanting to play alone, but Lucius and Flora are just grateful that Safinia is an ‘easy’ child.

64 AD, February: The Safinii travel to Rome as Lucius has some very important report for the leader of the Whites. He has been to the capital before, but it is Flora and Safinia’s first time in the eternal city. They rent a tiny house not far from the White stables, and Safinia celebrates her seventh birthday and her first outside her hometown.

64 AD, March: The house where the Safinii are staying is set on fire in the middle of the night and burns to the ground along with a few neighbouring houses. Her parents perish in the fire, but Safinia survives with some burns on her body. The arsonists are never caught, and the incident is deemed a random act of vandalism as no suspects are identified.

65 AD, early spring: After roaming the streets of Rome and stealing to survive for roughly a year, Safinia is taken in by Paula, a childless widow who pities her.

65 – 73 AD: Safinia works as centonaria alongside Paula, sewing rags and patches into a semblance of clothing. When she delivers garments to their customers at their houses, small valuables like jewellery and statuettes mysteriously disappear, although it occurs sporadically enough that nobody associates her with the missing objects.

73 AD, November: Safinia marries Marcus Dellius, a neighbour and roofer five years her senior. It is arranged by Paula, and Safinia goes along with it out of something resembling filial duty, despite having zero feelings for Marcus. He is shy, does not drink excessively and cries when Safinia dispassionately tells him the story of the burn scars on her back. Coins start to disappear from Marcus’ money purse at random intervals, but he never suspects his new wife. Safinia continues to work as centonaria, but from her new home.

74 AD, January: Paula dies of infection following a rotten tooth. Safinia follows mourning rituals and traditions, but the loss impacts her as much as what Caesar had for lunch, which is not at all. Her eyes stay dry throughout. Whatever valuables Paula possessed are subtracted from her house by someone who knew where they were hidden.

74 AD, August: Marcus and Safinia fall ill with Roman fever (malaria). Marcus dies after a few days; Safinia recovers but loses the child she was carrying. As before, she does not shed a single tear, and misses the small comforts afforded by Marcus’ pay more than the man; the miscarriage is similarly dismissed with no consequence.

74 AD, October: Safinia starts working for the White faction as cook’s assistant, name-dropping her father and his connection to the team; she makes it sound like she was taken in by a relative after the fire, and neglects to mention her sewing skills, keeping them as a card up her sleeve in case she needs to find a new employer or gain favour with the Whites. Safinia moves to a different neighbourhood, cutting contact with everyone she knew from before. Trinkets and small objects of little value start disappearing from the stables and mess hall.

Liv | GMT+1 | PM/DM (Liv#5452)

@Gothic

Oh. So it was just household tasks she meant. Tension he hadn't realised was there left his body, but he remained oblivious to how rigid Nymphias seemed to have become all of a sudden. "That's good. Clothes is good." Between three growing children and Valeria's occasional flights of fancy, sewing and altering clothes were time-consuming tasks for the household, and another pair of experienced hands would be welcome. "Are we talking about mending and adjusting them or can you actually make them from scratch?"

She seemed to have some awareness that her time should not be spent idly, which revealed more insight than some previous slaves of his had shown in a lifetime (which may have played a part in why they were 'previous'). But unless Valeriana completely flipped personalities overnight, Nymphias would soon discover that minding the 4-year-old would take up a very large chunk of her time and in all likelihood increase her need for sleep. It would be more fun to let the slave find out on her own, though, so Titus only smiled enigmatically.

"Gossip is..." He bit his lip in thought, making a conscious effort to pick out simple words. "It's when you tell things, usually bad things, about another person that may not be true. Like if you see a married woman with a man who is not her husband, and you tell someone about it thinking she has a lover, but in the end it was just the woman's brother." Like Porcus, essentially. Not that he expected Nymphias to know how to read in the first place, let alone be familiar with Landicus and his works.

"Did that example make sense to you?"

@Beauty

Mind if I snag a cook's assistant? 

Britannia, late 67AD

Nostalgia hit him with full force as Titus entered the military camp on a chilly (for one, not rainy) morning. It was early, but the camp was alive with the hustle and bustle of hundreds of men going about their tasks... Except for a group of four off to his left, where two huddled close to the ground and two others stood and watched. As he got closer to them, the familiar sound of dice rolling inside a cup could be heard, followed by sudden silence and a mix of boastful laughter and groaning.

Fasces in tow, Titus approached one of the spectating legionaries and barked a question at him. "Soldier! Where is your legate?" The man flinched and whipped round so quickly he nearly broke his neck, showing a face full of pimples. He had the presence of spirit to step away from his comrades and salute Titus.

"I-I d-don't know, sir!" the young soldier managed to stammer out.

Titus was unimpressed. "Then why don't you do something about it?"

The legionary stared at him with an asinine look. Titus hoped Balbus Papulus was at least a good fighter, since he had neither beauty nor brains. He rolled his eyes, feeling his patience dwindle. "Go find out, then come back here and take me to him, you idiot!" 

The order spurred the young man into action at last, and he sprang off in search of his general. In the mean time, Titus busied himself with shooting the gambling soldiers dirty looks until the sting of disapproval - or the threat of the fasces - was strong enough to make them put the dice away and start polishing their boots with exaggerated gestures.

Balbus Papulus came back surprisingly soon and lead Titus through the camp to one of the bigger tents. The young man did his best to announce that "Qua-quaestor Titus Sulpicius Rufus is he-here to s-s-see--", but Titus dismissed him with a sigh and a wave before he could finish and strode into the tent.

A quick look around the tent and its occupants let him know he needn't be too formal, but proper greetings were de rigueur in case someone was lingering just outside, trying to listen in.

"Salvete, legate, Aulus Calpurnius," he greeted each man with a nod, predictably ignoring the slaves in a corner.

Now that that was out of the way, Titus relaxed his posture a little, but still did not smile. "Did you know you have men gambling for money this early in the morning? At least teach them to be discreet about it."

@Sara @Sharpie @Chevi

It warmed Titus' heart to know he wasn't alone in wanting to delay - preferably ignore, or even forget altogether - a daughter's betrothal as much as possible. The passage from child to woman/wife/mother was painful to think about and would be even more so if he ruined the nice buzz he had going on by giving it much thought; it would be insulting and disrespectful to the wine, too. "Let's banish such ideas for now," he murmured with a wave of his hand, as if physically shooing them away. "They're better off playing hide and seek while they can." He chose not to take Longinus' bait about difficult women, for it would be very unjust to speak of his wife in such terms. Valeria could be... unique at times, but Titus had never seen her behaviours as a hassle. His sister, on the other hand, might fight the bill better, especially during their younger years...

The lack of a male heir had been the bane of many a good family's existence for generations. It was a shame that Longinus also had ended up in that situation, but in theory it could be rectified. Were Titus in his friend's shoes, he would probably try to find a healthy young widow to wed, preferably one with a living son or two; if she had done it before, she could do it again, and failing that, adoption of her boys could be in the cards. "Well, you have Cassia and Pelias, so it's not you," Titus affirmed with definiteness in his voice, trying to cheer the other man up. "But you can't have another son without a woman, so..." The taunting smile was quickly hidden by a sip of wine, but the gibing twinkle in Titus' eyes could not be done away with so easily. "...Self-inflicted trouble much?"

At last he had enough of poking fun at Longinus' predicament and listened as attentively as he was able to to the other's proposition. Britons were generally unruly in his experience, but if they'd been in Longinus' household for a while, they might be somewhat domesticated. However, he wasn't keen on having many slaves from the same region: they could easily revert to their barbarian languages and plot their escape, or even be stupid enough to try and emulate Spartacus. It was also why he had sold more Dacians than he had kept. "A Briton or two would be nice, but I honestly don't need them in return for some Dacians. They can be my souvenir to you from the lands beyond the Danuvius." Before delving further into the request, Titus made a sluggish mental tally of which slaves he had that were suitable. A particular trio he was intent on keeping, but the rest was less memorable.

"How many do you need? Five, six? A dozen? Any particular skills you're looking for?" His words were followed by a suggestive wiggling of eyebrows.

Titus had been wrong. He hadn't had enough of poking fun at Longinus after all.

@Sara

The girl's name was fitting enough in terms of appearance, but would she ever be able to become a bride? From looks alone, she should be able to charm a Roman into freedom and marriage, but only if her mistress did not mind parting with her in the first place. "That's a very pretty name," Clio complimented with a smile. "Do you know what it means?" She had little doubt her new friend was not proficient in the language of Homer.

It was smart of Nymphias to want to learn new words, though, and Clio loved playing tutor in the rare opportunities to do so. "Crass means stupid, dense. Like a very unintelligent and unrefined person. You know, the kind of man that looks at you like you're a piece of meat and tells you what they would like to do to you." She made a face in disgust, wrinkling her nose as if she were in a pigsty. Most if not all women were sadly familiar with that type of cur.

Clio had never viewed the ludus as frightening, but that was because she had always had blind faith in her domina's protection. She felt safe knowing she was untouchable to gladiators and fellow slaves - and even dominus -, and her position and duties spared her from too much interaction with the men. Still, she conceded the point with a shrug. "I can see why you think so, but I'm safer there from unwanted attention than in the streets of Rome." Hades hath no fury like an Annia Comna enraged.

'The barbarinians' made her want to laugh, but a good tutor should not laugh at their pupil's mistakes, however hilarious.  But the Bithynian did not understand Nymphias' confusion at the lethal nature of the games: since the dawn of time, rulers had taken their place by killing their predecessors, and there had always been appreciation for those who fought well. What foreign land was the blonde from that they did not have such a concept there? Clio put a finger on her chin and tapped it a few times, contemplating the best way to enlighten Nymphias.

"Well, it's a game because most people find it entertaining." That bit was obvious, or it should have been. "Fights are interesting, people want to see who will win. And they don't all have the same weapons, so that makes things more exciting. You wouldn't think a man with only a net and a trident could beat another armed to his teeth, but retiarii often win against secutores." The expected and the unexpected were equally popular, and spectators would bet on the victory of household names with the same ardour as they would shout the name of underdog gladiators. As long as the public was entertained and eager to part with coin, everything was as it should be.

"They don't always fight to the death, you know. If they did, nobody would want to run a ludus since they wouldn't make any money," Clio chuckled, imagining the huge complex of the Dacicus bereft of life. "Many men enjoy their careers. They like showing people how much faster or stronger they are than the other fighters. And if they do well, they can even win their freedom! Even if they are a barbarian."

Was Nymphias simply queasy at the prospect of blood and death, or were theree other reasons for her reluctance? Clio knew that criminals and runaway slaves were sometimes sent to the arena or thrown to the beasts to serve the double purposes of entertainment and deterrence - could there be something in there? "Do you not like fights?"

@Beauty

Perhaps Nymphias was curious about his siblings, Titus mused, given how enthusiastically she nodded after he mentioned them.  Did she maybe want to see what they looked like? It could also be projection, and the eagerness simply due to a mind filled with thoughts of her own kin. Still, if she wanted to sneak a peek when Quintus or Sulpicia stopped by, Titus wouldn't stop her; it was harmless enough, save for a possible deathmatch between Valeria and Sulpicia for the rights to a future blonde wig should his sister catch sight of the slave's locks.

As well as the conversation had been going - her question had actually surprised him in a positive way -, Titus had to purse his lips in displeasure as Nymphias' voice grew quieter and quieter. "For starters, you'd do well to remember what you're told. Speak up!" he chided, the flat tone coloured by a tinge of irritation. He'd give her one more chance to redeem herself before he introduced her to his command voice. If she was forgetful, well, that wasn't his problem - and if she was nervous due to some past mistreatment, that wasn't his problem either. It was on her to learn how to cope, much like Titus had learnt to cope with bloodied hands and boots and sword and dead, unblinking eyes staring up at clear blue skies. Survive and thrive, survive and thrive.

Convinced that Nymphias would do a better job of taking his words to heart from then on, he cleared his throat, ready to continue. Her promises of hard work meant nothing until she made good on them, and in a noticeable way. If declarations of will were enough to bring about results, half the world would be dead and the other half would be rich.

"That's the most important thing: do as your told. Request from the children are more important than whatever the other slaves tell you to do, within reason. Your domina's orders take precedence over theirs, and mine override anyone else's." Titus had now assumed a practical, matter-of-fact tone that left little room for ifs or buts; it was the same one he employed in the field while instructing tribunes and centurions, but he had hardly noticed that.

"Other than that, don't talk back. Don't steal. Don't lie. Don't gossip, especially with outsiders. If you break or ruin something, be upfront about it." It was a bit repetitive when so much of what he was saying was plain common sense for people of good character, but better safe than sorry. "And try to at least learn the way from this house to the Gardens of Sallust and back, unless you want to be indoors forever," he added with slight exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose. Titus had nothing against letting well-behaved slaves roam about a little every now and then, but if they got into trouble, they'd better know how to get out of it without his having to intervene. "If you behave as expected, you shouldn't fear punishment."

The bit about 'extra work' had him intrigued, though. Did she mean to sleep her way to the top of the domestic slave hierarchy? If that was what she was hinting at, the prospect was vaguely horrifying; the Briton was pretty enough to look at, but still too child-like in body and demeanour - not to mention practically his daughter's age! Not like that stopped a good deal of his peers, of course, but it stopped him. Apprehension was written all over Titus' face as he stared at her. Was her Latin actually good enough for double entendres, or was the meaning entirely innocent? Since he was no mind reader, he'd have to ask.

"What sort of 'extra work' did you have in mind...?"

@Beauty

Not wanting to experience the shame of being last to the party, Titus hurried to the Aventini Minoris. Upon arrival at Aulus' domus, he was relieved to find that his worries were unfounded. Only the host and good old Longinus seemed to be present yet, and Titus greeted both men with an embrace and a broad grin before taking the wine cup a slave offered him.

"Lucius Cassius Longinus, I approve of your haircut. You no longer look like a Judean beggar," he joked as he clapped Longinus on the shoulder, humour belying the satisfaction he felt at seeing his friend ready to move on.

Aulus had gone all out in matters of decoration and procuring attendants, Titus noted as he looked around, taking in the sights. All, male and female, were pleasing to the eye, and tonight the domus could give any brothel a run for its money. "You spoil us, Aulus," he commented in an admiring tone.

His glance lingered a heartbeat too long on a pretty musician with piercing blue eyes. Whether she was a whore or simply an entertainer by trade, the evening would probably see her assume both roles.

@Sharpie

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone! 

"That might work, if only out of what good manners dictate." His mother-in-law was a sensible and practical woman, and would not turn away a new doctor even if her husband insisted on it; especially not if said doctor had been brought along by Valeria. Titus wasn't versed in who in Rome was a physician worth their salt: he trusted the military medici, but their expertise lay with quick surgery and broken bones, not with prolonged afflictions of the inner organs. He could, however, make inquiries. "Do you want me to ask around?" He looked at Valeria lovingly, glad for the umpteenth time that she had not inherited her father's pigheaded pride.

"Why thank you, it's nice to be acknowledged once in a while," Titus chuckled. In response to his wife's praise he caught Valeria's foot with a quick sleight of hand. "You know I'm not ticklish, dear," he teased back with a devilish grin as his fingers began a spidery feather-light dance all across the sole of her foot. He wouldn't be  letting up until she squirmed and squealed, and the knowledge that she couldn't hit him where it hurt filled him with confidence: after all, his one ticklish spot was well out of reach, courtesy of the sleeves in his tunic. His armpits would not force him to surrender this time!

He wasn't sure he wanted to trust Valeria on that particular subject; not because he didn't trust his wife's judgment - quite the opposite -, but because a lover outside the household would send the wrong message about who really was in charge. He couldn't very well have his slaves doing as they pleased, and the girl was young and gullible... If she were to fall pregnant by some random man, Titus would be very, very displeased. Some might welcome the extra slave at no cost, but he saw only supreme disobedience. The gall, the arrogance, a slave thinking they could go on to have a child without their master's -without his - blessing! 

The tickling had come to a halt and his expression was now as stony as his father-in-law's as he furrowed his brow in concentration; Publius the elder would surely approve, had he seen it. Heaving a sigh, Titus willed himself to snap out of his momentary funk. Just to be on the safe side, he'd have a chat with Nymphias later, but there was no need to do it right now, not when he could be enjoying Valeria's company instead. She was so spontaneous in her reactions and so passionate about her métier even when playing the critic, and it was so endearing that it was all he could do to close his eyes, lean back on the seat and listen to her vivacious commentary.

"I would be delighted if you did," he answered, eyes still closed. The previously busy hand was now resting peacefully on Valeria's ankle, keeping a loose hold on it. "Pustula's trying to punch above his weight, he's probably not as cultured as you," he judged, very much biased since he was only playing off Valeria's own opinion. "Exaggerations in form are often a cover for deficiencies in substance, anyway. And Landicus has been around for how many years now? Fifteen, eighteen?"

Images began to form in his mind's eye: a middle-aged man in soldier gear with salt-and-pepper hair and pus-filled blisters on his face and neck - Titus' imagination unable to separate author from character - and his daughter, who bore an uncanny resemblance to Nymphias, being carried away by a faceless giant of a man. What adventures awaited those two? He'd find out soon enough, with critical commentary by the narrator along the way. Oddly, that was the part Titus looked forward to the most.

@Joaquin

Clio cheerfully nodded at the girl's assent, although a voice inside her head pointed out the strangeness of declaring friendship with one whose name was still unknown. It was a fair point, but unfortunately subdued by the prospect of getting a shiny new ornament without having to dip into her own funds.

Mersis the Egyptian took the appropriate coins from his blonde patron's hand and quickly produced some change, which he returned to her open palm. One of few honest shopkeepers, he preferred to keep his income steady and reputation good by charging moderate and accurate prices for his wares. He bowed to the two women and retreated to another corner of the tent to take notes on his wax tablet.

"I live in one," Clio replied with a laugh. It wasn't the exact truth as the family lived in an adjacent villa, but the buildings were in the same complex. "But I don't have anything to do with the gladiators, I just serve domina and the rest of the family." And what a wonderful mercy that was! 

The girl might be now expecting an invitation to come visit the ludus, but no such thing would not be issued. Slaves weren't supposed to have friends over for social visits, and dominus might think the blonde a spy for another ludus, which was actually not impossible. Even if the girl were to ask to stop by, Clio would have to deny her request. It was simply too risky.

"It's a noisy and messy place, though. And the men are very crass sometimes," she added, wrinkling her nose. Even with whores to keep them satisfied, some openly lusted after the household slaves and seemed keen on letting the world know about it. "But you get to see the results of their hard training at the games!" Nevermind the fact that most slaves had no possibility to watch said games, unless they were accompanying their highbrow master or mistress.

Then the pressing matter from before decided it could not wait any longer: the dissonance was just too big to be ignored. "We are friends now, but we don't know each others' names yet," she started with a gentle smile. "I'm Clio. What are you called?" 

She purposely didn't ask the girl what her name was; whatever her parents had decided to call her at birth had likely been replaced by something else the Romans found more fitting or easier to pronounce. Clio had been spared of that by virtue of having been born in the Greek-speaking eastern part of the empire, and had only had to suffer a slight change in pronunciation.

Nonetheless, a slave's name was what their master decided it to be anyway. It was theoretically silly to get attached to one... But only natural, and a very human thing to do.

@Beauty

So that's what it was. The non-responsibility of having one's choice made for them, and no longer being weighed down by the burden of uncertainty. In summary, a soldier following orders, the commander this time a caprice of Fortuna made manifest in the landing of a coin. And why not? 

"You'll be a praetor to shame all others before and after you, drowning senators and plebians alike in Briton ale and making them forgo the ways of wine. Then those fucking blueys will end up owning us instead of we them." Titus raised his cup in a not-very-serious toast and downed the rest of its contents. Like before, the clapping of hands brought in the efficient slave who refilled both goblets and slithered away a few seconds later.

Heads wasn't bad - if they were both serious about the praetorship, there would be plenty of opportunities to hit up taverns and exchange rounds of wines of dubious quality for popularity amongst the masses. "With any luck, she never should," Titus replied as he put a little more effort than strictly required into catching the coin flying his way. He stood up once again to return the sestertius to the safe confines of the drawer, noting dispassionately that the floor didn't feel as wobbly before. "I meant enjoying a visit to a tavern," he added for clarification as he made his way back to his seat. There were many things women of their rank should not do, but some would and did, his own wife included.

"You can always say you stayed for her sake," Titus offered, raising an eyebrow knowingly. Rome appreciated loyalty to one's family, and putting a successful military career aside in favour of chasing a civilian post that would allow him to stay by Cassia's side in these times of mourning would raise Longinus' reputation in the eyes of many - a blessing following a tragedy.

The sounds of children playing reached him too, albeit a tad more muted than they had his friend - that, too, could be considered a blessing in some occasions. By the sudden ruckus, Titus imagined his youngest had joined the other two, never wanting to miss out on the action. Jolted from his distraction by Longinus' words, he found himself nodding energetically in agreement. "He is. Obedient, curious, a bit bookish too - probably gets that from Valeria. But he's got a decent left hook. Says he wants to be like Pliny when he grows up." Writing and military office both appealed to the boy, but he didn't have to decide just yet. "He's in the collecting stage right now. Collects everything. Called one of the slaves stupid the other day because the man threw away his rock collection." Titus tried to keep a straight face, but the recollection of the outraged Publius as he had complained to his parents sent him into a fit of laughter.

The wheels in Titus' mind weren't turning at full speed, though, and it was only when Longinus explained what he'd meant that Titus realised the other possible interpretation of his friend's words. "They truly have, Longinus," he concurred, giving his friend a heavy look. He didn't feel like boasting or being overly effusive was appropriate given the man's situation, but at the same time, he was fully aware of how fortunate he was, and it would have been very poor manners not to acknowledge it.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Titus went back to the previous topic. "Cassia is a nice young lady too." A bit serious, but that was to be expected considering the circumstances. "Are you starting to look at potential matches? I regret to inform you that my Publius hasn't discovered the wonders of the fair sex yet," Titus declared with humour. His son was still rather innocent and totally uninterested as to why his older sister had been growing so tall and sprouting curves in previously-flat places; reading about exotic plants and animals or pretending to be the divine Julius attacking an imaginary Vercingetorix with his wooden gladius was far more exciting to Publius.

@Sara

Talking about her family seemed to be a bittersweet affair for Nymphias. Titus was not familiar with the hows, whens and wheres of her captivity - and had no need or desire to -, but the sudden sorrow in his slave's tone told him the topic was one close to the girl's heart.

How was he supposed to respond? He couldn't join her in commiseration over the loss of her family: stories like hers came into being everyday across the empire, ordered into will by citizens much like himself. He had done the exact same thing in Dacia, picking off who would stay and who would go merely on a whim; his words had probably split several families like the Briton's, but he had not cared for that: the most important thing had been to split the troublemakers and scatter them to the four winds, so their connection to their land and tribesmen would be lost in time. These people had been underdeveloped barbarians, and now they were slaves, subjugated to the power of Rome and her illustrious sons and daughters and knowing better than to question the authority of her rule ever again.

On the other hand, he had a family of his own, and the gods could be fickle in their favours. Peace and quiet could quickly and easily be replaced by unrest and violence, as the civil war had proven a decade ago, and he had feared for his family's safety then just as much as any present-day recalcitrant Briton warrior would - should- at the sight of eagle standards.

"May the gods keep them alive and healthy like you," Titus said in a sober tone, and that was all the compromise he could muster. Saying platitudes about an eventual reunion with her relatives would only put preposterous ideas in Nymphias' head, but neither was he so malicious nor invested in their fates that he wished death upon them just to spite her.

"I've got a sister and brother. You may meet them at some point when they come to visit." Provided the slave didn't do anything stupid that would have her gone from the household when his siblings came around... But she had kept a cool head so far and appeared to be docile enough to follow his instructions without trouble.

Titus clapped his hands once, putting a very definite end to the topic of her family. "Moving on. Now you know a little about us, and I know a little about you. Is there anything else you would like to ask about? Anything you've not quite understood yet?" 

Better to get all the basic questions out of the way at once, so she could focus fully on her duties.

@Beauty

Was that a good idea? If the girl's domina was anything like Clio's, she'd sniff out the new accessory in no time and demand to know its provenience. In time, Clio had learnt that the best course of action was to inform Annia Comna of such purchases as quickly and honestly as possible. "Are you sure it's a good idea to hide it?" There was concern in her voice, but also hope that it would be unfounded. "She might think someone gave it to you... But of course, I don't know how strict she is with such things," she smiled sheepishly.

Feeling unexpectedly self-conscious, Clio picked up the orange ornament and tried it on - the old shopkeeper, never missing an opportunity, turned the mirror he was holding towards her. "It's so lovely," she admitted. Her mistress would probably like it too, she seemed to appreciate the contrast of warm colours against Clio's dark complexion. She shot the blonde girl an expectant look. "Will you truly? Buy it for me, I mean." If this was her reward for leading the girl away from a presumed  stalker, it was a rather good one.

"Shall we keep them on?" she pointed at both ornaments in turn. "They sort of match, don't they? Like yours is the sea and mine is the earth," Clio giggled. Then she figured she could tell the girl a little about her household; she couldn't sense anything but curiosity from the younger woman.

"I do. My domina is strict, but very good to me. I'm lucky to be at her service," she proudly stated. They had a good understanding and a strong relationship, and Clio had it as good as she felt it could get. "My family is in charge of one of the ludi. Do you know what a ludus is?" Gladiator fights were so popular in Rome that the girl was bound to have come to know of them, but she might not know of the schools where they trained. Asking was better than assuming.

@Beauty

So the girl, too, obeyed a mistress, and by all appearances a well-to-do one, since she gave her slave pocket money to spend as she wanted. That didn't sound so terrible to Clio, who considered herself fortunate in terms of servitude. She was also allowed to keep a little bit of coin, which was usually spent on food or accessories;it was such a small amount that even years of saving every quadrans would not have allowed her to buy her own freedom - although that was not a goal of hers.

The hair fixation was not uncommon among Roman matrons, but the blonde seemed not to have realised that yet. "Fair hair like yours is rare in Rome," Clio clarified. Some Romans might sport such a hair colour during childhood, but as they grew, so did their hair almost invariably darken substantially. "Roman ladies usually have brown hair, or black like mine," she tugged at one of her locks for emphasis. "So they have wigs made of slaves' hair if they want a lighter colour." If the girl was afraid of that happening, Clio couldn't fault her: her long golden hair was thick and shiny and perfect for a wig. "If you're healthy, so is your hair," the dark-haired slave shrugged. It that was indeed the end goal of the girl's domina, it was only natural she'd want her slave well-fed.

"Yeah, you should try and use some of it." On me is fine. "Because if your domina sees you don't spend it, she may stop giving you money, and then you won't be able to buy treats or hairpins such as these." Clio took the sea-blue ornament from the girl's hand and carefully placed it on the other slave's head, pinning a broad lock of blonde hair in place away and from the youthful face. The colour did go very well with her eyes. 

"You look so pretty!" Clio beamed, bringing her hands together with a clap. "Almost like a nereid. The colour suits you." The shopkeeper, ever quick on the uptake, brought out a small mirror and held it in front of the blonde girl at face height, so she could see how the accessory looked on her.

"You should definitely buy this for yourself! Although it may make your domina more jealous of your hair..." Only the girl knew if she was willing to take that risk.

@Beauty

The mental image of a handful of lictors waiting in single file while he exited the caldarium of one of the public thermae sent Titus into peals of raucous laughter. The bodyguards came with the title, and were perhaps no different from slaves hired for personal protection when it came to their duties, but there was something comical about being followed everywhere by six burly men, like a single chick under the watch of six mother hens. 

Longinus' jest, however, did not go unnoticed nor uncontested. "I want an easy life for my family," Titus stated matter-of-factly. That was the crux of his indecision: his own personal desires against the prestige a higher-ranking magistracy would bring current and future descendants. Virtus was not always so transparent to uphold.

"All my other coins are aurei," Titus explained with a shit-eating grin, bringing up his hands as if to plead innocence. The statement was, of course, false, but that particular sestertius had been given to him many years ago by his late father, and for that very reason it had been kept safe in drawers rather than spent. He'd have to let Longinus know he'd be wanting the coin back for sentimental reasons before the night was up.

"Let me see if I understand this correctly," Titus started in a tone he usually reserved for his children's unreasonable requests. "I invite you to my very lovely house, offer you food and very expensive drink - by your own admission -, and now you want to go out and drink what can hardly be called wine?" He was filled with equal parts amusement and incredulity. "Longinus, those Britons must've really done a number on your head." He lowered his eyes and brought up his goblet in a mock toast for his friend's deceased brain cells, emptying it of its contents. Maybe they'd both had a bit too much to drink if the tavern idea actually sounded like fun - and no matter where they went, they would certainly carry on having a bit too much to drink.

Titus crossed his arms in defiance and gave the other man a flippant grin. "Never let it be said I don't indulge my guests. Tails." Whilst waiting for the result to be revealed, he thought he'd share his appraisal of the coin bet with Longinus. "You know, I just wanted to see your reaction to the coin flip. Groaning and wincing when the result is the opposite of what you picked should tell you where your heart really is." Given how much alcohol he'd consumed already, this was surprisingly serious, sober advice he was dispensing. He hoped Longinus would see he'd had no intention of forcing his friend's hand, but rather help him find clarity in his desires. A shame the same trick didn't work on himself, as his resolve was too flighty and unable to settle permanently for one path.

@Sara

Under his brother's pointed scrutiny, Titus almost felt like a child caught being naughty. At least Quintus was content to express his disappointment with only a look; their sister would have slapped his hand away and sent the sausage flying off it. Rome had no problem appropriating gods and goddesses of conquered lands and putting its own spin on them: why not do the same with food? At least cheese and charcuterie - ale was a different story and well beyond a line that should not be crossed.

Slightly abashed, he forwent the sausages and picked up a small honey cake instead. It was crunchy on the outside but deliciously soft on the inside, and Titus let himself get lost in the flavours for a moment. As a child, he'd often plagued the kitchen slaves to make some and not tell his parents, and the present chatting and ribbing about their sister brought back a warm, comfortable feeling inside his chest. "Mmm, like a snake," he nodded, wiping some crumbs off the corner of his mouth. "Don't know if it was the kids or Lucius that made her calm down a bit, though." Their brother-in-law might have had a hand in it too.

"Well, I was actually thinking of both, to be honest," Titus admitted while sipping on what was left of his wine. "But family comes first, so I'm all ears!"

@Gothic

All the nodding was starting to raise the question of how much Nymphias actually understood of what was being said to her. She may be a quick study all right, but Titus couldn't help but shake the impression that his words were mostly going in one ear and out the other. Using her language had caught her attention well enough, going by how round and wide her eyes became, like a cat zeroing in on its prey; but that was a one-time thing as far as he was concerned. It could be that she was too ashamed to admit to ignorance, some people were proud in little ways like that. "By the way, if I say a word you don't understand, ask." Titus didn't care for misunderstandings that could be avoided by simply speaking up rather than assuming.

Her efforts to communicate were notable, though. She seemed like she had a clear picture of what she wanted to say, but poor vocabulary kept her from doing so. Titus very nearly started to laugh at the slave's obvious statement about the size of Rome, but he managed to turn it into an awkward smile in time. He very much doubted she came from a 'city'; knowing her country, a village was more like it, and one likely to be a mound of rubble at that very moment. 

"Oh, you're the youngest too? That makes three of us." Who would have thought he'd have something in common with his new Briton slave?  The gods' sense of humour was truly inscrutable. "So you helped the women in your village take care of their children. That's nice." No midwifery skills to put to service, then. A small disappointment, but not one worth dwelling on. "Did you have many siblings? Big family?" His use of the past tense was deliberate; not to be cruel, but to further drive home that that was then and this was now.

@Beauty

Titus glanced around furtively, making sure none of the kids had unexpectedly decided to join them, and brought his lips to a hair's breadth away from Valeria's ear. The brushing of wet hair against her lobe might or might not have been purely accidental, and definitely not a provocation. "Already? You flatter me," he murmured with an amused undertone. "I wasn't even trying to seduce you yet."

He went around the sofa and gently scooped up Valeria's legs, taking care not to disturb her upper body too much. After sitting down on, he carefully placed them on his lap, trying to restore them to their previous position in spite of the changes in seat occupancy. "If said visitor is his cherished daughter, then yes. I've seen how the corners of his mouth stop pointing downwards and just stay perfectly horizontal when you're there." It was probably the closest his father-in-law would ever come to smiling, although Titus could faintly recall the ghost of a pleased expression once... a long time ago... maybe on his and Valeria's wedding day? Still, however hard old Publius' usual countenance, it was no good sign for his breathing to be so weak, even in sleep. Titus was concerned, and he could only imagine how much more Valeria and Romilia would be. "Has your mother considered another physician?" The ineffectiveness of the current one's treatments went implicitly acknowledged.

The scroll's author brought to mind images of grisly infected battle wounds and the putrid smell that almost always accompanied them. "Vibrant indeed," Titus agreed, scrunching up his nose in disgust. He could think of several other adjectives the pen name evoked, and none of them were as commending as the one Valeria had chosen. His wife's description of the plot roused his curiosity: was this soldier failing or succeeding to retrieve his daughter? "Did he fail on previous tries or is the daughter some Helen of Troy that keeps getting stolen away?" Another possibility emerged in his mind, and he eyed Valeria askance. "Or... is this a new pen name of yours and the daughter is inspired by our slave who keeps getting lost?"

@Joaquin

Even at this point, Clio still couldn't tell if the girl was incredibly innocent or downright dumb. She seemed, nevertheless, to be immune to sarcasm, which could strengthen either hypothesis. On the other hand, the girl's less-than-polished language skills might have something to do with it. Despite being more than a  little miffed, Clio resolved to be the bigger person and give the other female the benefit of the doubt.

Her eyes followed the blue ornament the girl picked up and displayed against her blonde hair. The colour was very catching against the wheat-coloured backdrop, and brought out the girl's light eyes. "It looks good on you," said Clio truthfully. Then the weight of the girl's words hit her: she too wanted to be freed by and married to a handsome man. A slave, then. The realisation brought on a wave of compassion that drowned out the peevishness Clio had been feeling. Here was yet another one who dreamt of freedom, although all signs pointed to her condition being rather recent. It was the second such slave Clio had come across in only a few weeks, and this time she would not let the conversation take the same detours. Even if the girl claimed they were friends now, it didn't mean instant sharing of their respective life stories.

"Mersis has reasonable prices. Rich and poor can shop here," she explained with a smile. Going by previous transactions, the ornaments they were looking at probably cost around one to two asses each, and Clio told the girl this. "Did your master give you money? Or do they allow you to keep some coin to yourself?" 

Ever since returning to Rome, Titus liked to start his day by going for a swim in the Tiber. Most of the time, little Publius accompanied him - this particular exercise built character, stamina and resilience and could one day mean the difference between life and death. It also let them have some uninterrupted father-son bonding time on the way to and fro the river. On that particular day, though, the boy stayed home in bed: he kept coughing as though snakes lived in his lungs and his nose produced prodigious amounts of snot. So Titus went alone, had his workout, and was back at the domus towelling his hair in a near-futile attempt to get it to dry faster when he heard a familiar and beloved sound coming from somewhere else in the house.

He smiled, passed the towel to his body slave and walked off towards the source of the sound. His wife was sitting in the garden, enjoying a glass under the autumn sun and seemingly paying great attention to a scroll. Coming up from behind Valeria, Titus pressed a kiss to the top of her head and peered over her shoulder to get a better look at what she was reading. The handwriting wasn't hers, but he didn't recognise it; could have been a scribe's work anyway. "Whose is that?" Skimming through the section Valeria was holding left him no wiser. "You came back quicker than I expected. Your father not in the mood for visitors?"

@Joaquin

Hello and welcome! I've got zero history background, so don't worry Looking forward to writing with you!

The lack of clues as to the boy's whereabouts was hardly surprising. Rome was a big city, and many slaves worked indoors, venturing outside only on rare occasions such as festival. That, if the boy even was in Rome - after two years he could very well be anywhere, from Lusitania to Syria. Still, Titus felt sorry for his friend."Give my secretary his description, won't you? I've got this new slave whose greatest talent is getting lost in the city, might as well have her do something useful while she's at it." Provided she managed to find her way back to the domus. 

He beamed at the mention of his wife in such good terms. "I'm sure she'll be happy to, just tell her when." Knowing Valeria, she probably wouldn't waste much time finding out the whos, whats, whens and hows that had happened during the years of their absence, since gossip allowed for prolific flights of writing fancy. "What are you going to do with all that gold anyway, with no wife or public office to relieve you of it?" Titus laughed, clearly amused by his own quip.

Was a praetorship really such a preposterous notion? The laughter died out and he stared blankly at the other man, not quite sure how to respond, before concluding that another swig of the fine Alban was response enough. "I don't think I'm a bad judge of character - except, of course, for the day I accepted your offer of friendship, which I'll rue until I die." He shot Longinus what he hoped was a regretful glance. "And I don't think I'm the kind to get drunk on power either. How many times have you seen me torture prisoners just for kicks?" For information? Sure. As punishment? Absolutely. For fun? Nope. Titus did not derive pleasure from seeing people suffering gratuitously under his command. Getting drunk was best done with wine, as he was putting into practise at that very moment.

"No shame-" he paused to help himself to more wine, "in admitting that. You've got an excellent record, Longinus. Even if you never wanted glory, it found you and stuck with you. And I'm sure it'll stay that way if you serve as legate for the fourth time, be in Judea or Syria or wherever. You're good at that." He popped a small square of cheese into his mouth, grimacing as he chewed it. Blue cheese was one thing, but this was fucking mould. He'd have to have the thing banished from his house under the guise of an offering to some minor deity. At last he managed to swallow the grisly piece and hurried to wash off the flavour with yet a little more wine.

"Honest opinion: if you need more time to grieve your wife and don't feel like dealing with your mother and Roman society in general, take another post knowing it may be your last. If nothing else, you'll come back richer, perhaps wiser too." A small pause to assassinate another slice of ham. "However, I also think that you run the risk of people thinking you're only good for that one thing. Like 'oh, Longinus does such a great job as legatus, why even bother considering him for anything else', you know?"

Titus set his cup on the table and stood up abruptly; his eyes took just a second too long to focus again. "Wait just a moment, I've got an idea." He ambled over to a small desk and rummaged through one of its drawers; after a few seconds he found what he was looking for, and returned to his seat with an air of self-satisfaction about him. He held up a hand in front of Longinus: in it was an aged sestertius. "Heads says legions, tails says civilian career. What's it gonna be, legatus?"

He threw the coin up in the air and waited for it to fall on the back of his hand; when it did, he immediately covered it up with his other hand, giving his friend a mischievous grin at the same time. "Well?" Whatever result Longinus had hoped for while the coin was still in movement would reveal what in his heart of hearts he really wanted.

@Sara