His servant tunic hung loosely over his figure, his thin tanned limbs stretched from beneath its worn folds. A dark shock of hair framed his youthful features in a tangle of wild curls. Though his face appeared young, his hands were rough and strong with the familiarity of hard labor. Plucked from the arms of his mother as an infant, Felix had known no other life but that of a slave. From an early age the boy had won the favor of his master through his dedication and spirit, as well as the heart of his master’s daughter whom he’d grown up with. This secret cast a threatening shadow over Felix’s future, he couldn’t afford being caught up in a scandal with a Roman patrician’s daughter or the consequences would be deadly. He had to keep his reputation clean, for-despite his humble upbringing-Felix had always harbored a fascination for accomplishing something greater and more permanent with his life. If only he could escape the prison of slavery he was bound in and make a name for himself. The only path he knew to this freedom was manumission, thus Felix committed himself to excellent service, hoping one day he would proudly wear a citizens ring on his hand.
Opinionated. Powerful. Persuasive. Philosophical. Simply the mention of his name sparked recognition in the eyes of citizens young and old. Marcus Tullius Cicero was a man who could sway the most steadfast opinions with his words. Though he was older than the average man, his mind was still as sharp and daring as the youths being schooled in the forum. Despite his recent monetary struggles, Cicero still walked about the city in his finest togas, maintaining an air of stateliness and pride. But his emotions were not completely impenetrable. The recent death of his beloved daughter, Tullia, had deeply affected him. As he posed in the workshop for his portrait carving, he enlisted every effort to stay composed, but the artist knew that Cicero was empty. Deep in his troubled eyes one could see that the man was tortured by his notions of guilt and blame.
