Jacob Armstrong
5366711
Assignment
4
Character Intro
Looking
down into the clear water of the Tiber, Nemo saw the face of a boy
looking up at him. The boy was scrawny and awkward, all limbs
underneath the toga praetexta he wore. Mud stained the garnet border
near his waist and a long tear ripped the toga from right calf to
foot.
“Jupiter's
ball sack!” Nemo cursed. If his father discovered Nemo had ruined
another one of his good togas, he would be furious. He would have to
sneak back into the estate and change, before his father got back
from the city. Hopefully he could discard of the evidence without
anyone noticing. It was then that he heard a voice behind him.
“Looks
like someone's going to be in trouble once Father gets home!” His
brother Marcus jibed. “What is this the third one this week? You're
are lucky father doesn't force you to wear some scratchy plebeian
wool frock!” Marcus had forgone his usual toga virilis, which he
had been so proud of wearing since his coming of age ceremony, for a
simple tunic and soleae. The wool of his tunic was of far higher
quality than the peasant frock he had described and complemented his
stocky frame well.
“Well
ya know what!?” Nemo retorted, “Your new toga looks like one of
Fausta's Stollas!” Initially a slave, now Fausta worked for their
father as a caretaker for the boys. Her position granted her certain
privileges and luxuries, but she was still just a freed slave, and
their father, her patron.
“Take
that back!”
“Or
what!?” taunted Nemo
“Or
this!” And with a shove Marcus pushed Nemo into the Tiber.
Splashing and spitting water, Nemo sat up, a scowl on his face.
Seeing one of his mulleus floating in front of him, he grabbed and
chucked it at his brother's head. With a cackle Marcus dodged the
shoe and ran off.
“Ass!”
Nemo yelled after him. With a sigh he started to push himself up
and....
And he
woke up. Sitting in his small rickety bed, Nemo sat for a moment
remembering the events of his dream. Oh what he would give for a pair
of shoes, thinking of his rough callused feet, but a slave did not
own shoes, or fancy clothing, or much of anything for that matter.
Not even Fausta would envy him now.
“Plebeian
frock indeed,” Nemo muttered to himself, scratching at his rough
woolen tunic. He sat thinking in the darkness for a while and before
he knew he drifted back into sleep.
