The market Boarium was throbbing with activity in anticipation of the games. All the merchants loved it.
Pius Aeilus Cinna sat hunched over on a small wooden stool, at his usual spot, next to his display of wares. From his shady perch, his eyes darted back and forth, as he watched the daily rush of slaves, citizens, brothel-keepers and priests. He seemed statue-like in his immovable pose and stillness. Again, he glanced at the troupe which was comically reenacting one of Caesar’s battles. A standing crowd laughed when the Pompeian opposition leaped off their low platform, in their silly mock-battle uniforms. Coins of approval were tossed on the stage. Others booed.
Over his drab tunic, Pius wore a grey toga with soiled edges that floated above the floor. His head was shiny and bare when he had time to shave, but most days there was black and silver stubble that crowned his tanned head. Besides his leather sandals, he had on his left index finger an ebony ring with the insignia of Mercury, the patron deity of trade, and theft. He dressed like any other Roman citizen. Still, native Romans, self-dubbed Latins, would see Pius’ features as vaguely foreign. Pius himself wouldn’t be able to define where his ancestors were from, being born a slave of a slave of a slave. “We are from Somewhere”, his mother would say.
“Pius!”. A shout came through the crowd. “Where are you today?”
Pius sat up in his chair and searched for the source of the voice calling his name. At the moment, a litter, carried by four large Gallic bearers, passed directly in front of Pius and then moved out of the way, revealing the man who was shouting his name; a very confused and large man, with his stomach pushing his glossy green toga outwards . The fat one discovered Pius first, then noticed the retreating litter. He continued walking towards Pius with an expression of disgust souring his chubby face. With his neck turned, he hatefully stared at the litter, and its occupant, rolling his eyes and puffing.
“Something wrong, Trimalchio?”, asked Pius.
Trimalchio sighed and turned to Pius. His hair was cropped short, and thereby proudly displaying his former life as a slave. He had multiple rings of gold and silver studding his fingers and his green toga lavishly stuck out in the crowd.
“My friend”, said Trimalchio , “I have a job of a lifetime. When can you talk in private?”
