As always, when in need of a bit of privacy, but without the time to take a hack, she sought refuge in a latrine. Slaves might attend her in the bath, but her excretions she could keep to herself unless ill.

Carefully she settled herself on one the benches, keeping the skirts of her stola and her wrap clear from the little self refreshing pool that was used for cleaning up. The soun d of water trickling below reminded her of all the trouble she had a year ago after discovering the condition of her husband. So much had passed.

And so little.

She was still Cornelia of the Scipios. Domina. Materfamilias of a powerful if Plebian family. Conceivably the wealthiest. Married for political reasons. Married for power,influence and ties. Married to a 'lesser' man, a man who was not of her class, to keep the Republic together in the face of a man of her own class. By blood, she should be married to that man- Caesar. Now that same blood - her blood- was being used to keep that very man in check.

The odd part, was that in spite of her sense of self, family, and position, she knew she was in a far happier marriage than any she could have had with Caesar. Caesar treated women very well, with class,but they did did not share an inner part of his being with him. His wives did not matter to him in the way she mattered to Pompieus. Servilia came the closest, but even there she suspected Caesar kept a certain part of himself reserved. In contrast, Pompieus offered his innermost soul to the women he valued.

A year ago, she couldn't have understood this. To her surprise, she was profoundly glad things had turned out the way they had.

A slight tapping on the door.

" Domina, are you all right? The slaves are ready to serve." It was Dacia this time.

" Yes, of course." Acting on the urge the trickling water had created in her, she finished her business and thoughts, washed up, and proceeded down the hall towards the dining room.