Lucius arose just before dawn. He was
always first to arise, eager to enjoy every day he could at home. He dressed
simply, but with purpose. Lucius had broad shoulders and carried himself as a
man entirely without guilt or regret. Those who knew him spoke of him with the
utmost respect, while those that saw him passing in the street took him for
vain or arrogant. The truth of the matter was this; no man had ever been more
courageous in battle, or as loving at home. Scars riddle his body. The little
nicks and gashes here and there were a veritable map of the lands he has seen.
Greece, Carthage, Spain, all had once feared his blade. His eyes, a piercing
green with flecks of grey, gave him the gaze of a youthful owl, strong yet
wise. His face was one of sharp angles, giving Lucius a statue like appearance,
until he smiled. His smile expressed the warmth that emanated from his heart.
Today,
Lucius must venture into the world he despised. The world of politics. He cared
little for the bickering of petty men. Drunken, delusional men who sent great
romans to die on fool’s errands. If only Gaius Julius Caesar’s wisdom could be
transplanted into the minds of these weak, sensitive men. Behind him, his wife,
Tita, arose from bed. She was beautiful to her core. Long flowing hair bounced
on her shoulders, and her brown eyes smoldered with inner passion. She was
loyal, yet not subservient. Though she abided by manus and did Lucius’ bidding, if ever he were to go too far, his
dear Tita would steer him back on course. Her soft nose and luscious mouth
complimented her hourglass frame. As Tita rose with a greeting and a kiss, Marcus
rushed in. To Lucius, Marcus is the reason to be alive. Marcus was a perfect
combination of his mother and father, and would someday make a great
paterfamilias. Even though he was young, his judgment was already better than
his mother’s. Marcus knew and understood people, and always wanted to help. All three embraced, and began to prepare for
the day.
A knock
at the door turned the family moment sour. Tiberius, the wretch, had news for
Lucius. Tiberius was a disheveled man, one who forever appears dirty regardless
of his actual cleanliness. Tiberius wasn’t poor, but by no means was he an equestrian,
in wealth or class. He looked like a hawk that lost a fight, and wanted
revenge.
