Porcia sat in stunned silence. She had never perceived so many bad things could happen to a person. It would take all the gods might to get her back on a boat again. She had been lucky in the one respect that she had survived and received small bruises and her condition was nearly perfect with only minor exceptions. This did not help the extreme guilt that now held her heart hostage. Pompey, a great and bold man, would never have been in this position had it not been for her foolishness. She stood at the threshold of Pompey’s room where he stood unconscious and when she was not anxiously waiting to see him rise had paced the palace endlessly, sleep having evaded her. Her demeanor had so dramatically altered from her experiences, and her soul would not be able to stand the blow when she heard of her father’s suicide. Until then, Porcia sat in a sort of limbo and was at odds with herself.