Olipor rested his hand against the cool stone frame of the threshold for balance as he quietly cinched the worn leather straps onto his feet, cautious that any noise would disturb those resting inside. He looped a cloak over his tunic, its solemn color mirrored the sunless predawn sky that blanketed the hilltop.
The downhill path to the forum at this hour was silent, save for the soft crunch of gravel beneath the feet of other slaves who dotted the trail. As he reached the main road, rays of sunlight begin to spill through the columns of the Temple of Vesta, as if the goddess herself was spreading out some of her sacred fire to bring warm sustenance to the sleeping landscape. Olipor hurried onward, halting in front of the monumental façade of Basilica Aemilia.
His heart pounded with excitement as he clambered up the stairs and inside. With head tilted back and eyes upturned, Olipor studied the building’s frieze in silent awe. There, facing him in masterfully cut marble, lay the history of Rome. The figures seemed alive and full of motion despite the stony frames that housed them. Olipor could spend hours studying the enchanting carvings, but the responsibility of his duty for the day weighed heavy on his conscience. With a sigh he returned to the top steps.
The Forum Romanum stretched out before him, framed by magnificent basilicas and temples. He’d spent longer admiring the art than he should’ve. The forum was now filled with a writhing sea of bodies; waves of slaves flooded the market fronts, and the size of the crowd continued to grow as more latecomers trickled down from the various roads. As he pushed his way into the multitude, Olipor prayed that the wine his master desired would still be available.
