Please read the previous post in this thread to understand the context of this story, before reading this. Thank You. Skarr

A true son of the Republic

By Skarr One

The young Quintus Caecilius Metellus had fallen in love one day and it had been sudden and unexpected. He remembered that day well, when he first met her, his love.

Like all young Romans, especially patricians, a proper education was the most important first step, on the road to public office. All the Caecilii attended the most elite school at the time in Rome, run by a master named Archimedes. He was a learned Greek from Corinth who had relocated to Rome after the city was sacked by Lucius Mummius just two decades earlier, after a terrible massacre of its citizens.

On that day, he had followed the master Archimedes after class, eager to ask him a question, a philosophical question actually, on the purpose of life itself and whether it was the Roman’s right to impose it by violence on other peoples who were considered less fortunate. This question had particularly bothered him especially after reading the way the Romans had treated the peoples they conquered, whether in Italy itself or Carthage or Greece.

The actual accounts of the battles and the massacres had been horrifying, as he read casual accounts written about the mass slaughter of human beings.

The master Archimedes, although a small man in stature, was pretty quick and Quintus had a tough time following him through the narrow streets of Rome towards the merchant shops close to the Forum that sold the latest fabrics to the wealthy ladies of Rome.

It was rumored that the master’s new wife, it had been quite a scandal as he had married a girl nearly twenty years his junior, for she was barely twenty and he well past forty, was very demanding and required him to please her by buying something almost every week, spending all his money on the latest fashions.

Gossip was rampant at the school ever since he married the girl, who was from a prominent patrician family, too, an Aemilia no less, from the prestigious Aemilius family. She had visited the school a couple of times, escorted by a slave to meet the master in private. Every boy in the school, including the young Quintus, craned to have a look at her as she entered the building by a private entrance that led directly to the tablinum of the master. Since then, a lot of the boys had composed lines of poetry, love letters to her and even bribed her slaves to carry their missives to her.

She was beautiful and had a slim figure and they could only get a glimpse of her in profile, as her head was covered and slightly turned away, as if she was aware that she would attract a lot of attention. The second time, she had actually turned towards the boys ogling her and had smiled, which caused a couple of boys to blow kisses at her and place their hands over their hearts, indicating they all loved her. She had giggled like the girl she was and had even blushed, which endeared the boys to her.

He must get to the master before he entered the street where the shops were located or he would think Quintus was after his new bride. The new master was well aware of the interest the boys had shown and after that second visit; she had not come to the school again.

Quintus began to run, almost catching up with the master when he ran smack into the veil of a young girl, who was adjusting her hair and had stopped in the middle of the street suddenly, catching him unawares. With his face completely smothered by the veil, and not being able to see anything momentarily, he fell, slipping on the smooth cobblestones, as it had rained that afternoon.

He heard the girl giggle when he fell and he thought for a moment, being unable to see clearly, as the veil had somehow wrapped around his head, it was the master’s wife and I am truly shamed! The laugh sounded exactly like her and it was at that moment, that he fell in love with the girl, as she retrieved her veil with soft fingers and as she bent down, he thought he was looking at one of the most beautiful creatures he’d ever seen.

The lovely Aemilia! She had perfect features, he thought, observing her thick black hair framed delicately around a clear face, soft skin and almond shaped eyes and soft, sensuous lips. In embarrassment, as she had to almost touch him to retrieve her veil, she had involuntarily opened her lips and he could see the pink tip of her tongue lick so sweetly her own lips and at that moment, that was the exact moment, he remembered, his heart began to flutter, and he was out of breath, unable to somehow speak or even stammer, to say he was sorry.

At that moment, he expected the master to sternly admonish and even threaten to speak to his father, for the harassment of his new bride.

To his amazement, she offered him her hand to rise and lightly holding it, he regained his feet and embarrassed, finally finding his tongue, he stammered a little, saying he was sorry and that he had just intended to ask the master a question and that he meant no disrespect and so on. She was laughing now, a merry, ringing tone of laughter and when he looked around, he saw the master Archimedes himself, accompanied by his wife, who was excitedly showing him something she bought.

If that was the lady Aemilia, who was this young beauty standing before him?

She had now fixed her hair and her veil and he observed that she was smiling at him. She was accompanied by a slave girl, who was also smiling, as if they enjoyed his embarrassing explanation, which must have made little or no sense to them.

“Forgive me again,” he said, bowing slightly, “My name is Quintus Caecilius Metellus and I mistook you for our master’s wife, the lady Aemilia.”

“She must be young then,” she said.

“And beautiful,” he said. Then, seeing her expression, he hastily added, “Not as beautiful as you.”

“I barely know you young man,” she said. “People are watching and I don’t think it is proper we talk here.”

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry,” he said smiling at her and looking at her directly, to show that he meant it.

“I have to go now,” she said, “My mother is expecting me. I accept your apology.” Blushing again, as he continued to look at her, she gave him a little smile and starting walking towards the shops.

“Wait,” he said. “At least, let me know your name as I’ve told you mine. And your father’s name, so that I may ask his permission to meet you.”

She again blushed and said, “I am Livia and the daughter of Marcus Livius Drusus.”

She then rapidly walked away, obviously late to meet her mother in one of the merchant’s shops.

“Livia,” he thought. What a pretty name. Throughout the rest of that day, he kept seeing her face and repeating her name.

That evening, when Quintus came running to his mother’s room and told her excitedly about Livia, she saw something different in his eyes this time. It was not a crush but genuine love, a deep love. Oh, my son, she thought, how can I explain this to you?

Reluctantly, she agreed to talk to his father, while he made plans to meet Livia. The very next day, he waited near the alley leading to her house and after a long wait; he was about to leave when he saw her, accompanied by her slave girl. He followed her for a certain distance and came upon her suddenly; expressing surprise at seeing her. She also seemed charmed, as she smiled again, that wonderful smile from yesterday. As there was no one around, they began talking, a little more freely than before.

For the next few days, they met almost every day and one day, to his surprise, she invited him home as her mother wanted to see him. At her house, he not only met the lady Fausta, her mother, but also her younger sister, a shy girl who fled indoors to her room, soon after being introduced.

He was really in love by this time with Livia and bought her little gifts, each time he stopped by the house. One day, she said she would show him her bedchamber, as they generally met in the atrium. He saw something really shocking in the peristylium, on the way to her bedchamber, which seemed to affect him deeply, as he kept turning to look at the strange sight.

Livia really didn’t appear to pay much attention and led him straight to her room. Seeing his expression, she said, “Oh, you must have seen my mother, who likes to get a massage every afternoon from a slave that belongs to a friend of hers. It is really good for the skin, you know. Don’t tell me that you have never seen a naked lady before.”

She then began kissing him and after an initial moment of discomfort, he began to reciprocate to her kisses.

From that day, he couldn’t get enough of Livia and met her almost every afternoon. He didn’t see her mother again for some days, except on one occasion and that had been shocking too. By then, he didn’t really care, knowing Livia was waiting for him.

A couple of months later, after he’d been seeing Livia regularly, he walked into the atrium and met her father, Drusus. He’d apparently arrived recently in Rome and was sitting there beside Livia, who smiled and introduced him. He shook hands and although a little intimidated, as he was a large strong man and expected some sort of rebuke, he turned out to be quite pleasant and asked him questions about his father’s health.

That very day, he resolved to talk to his mother and arrange for his father to meet Drusus, to fix his marriage to his beloved Livia, before he set out on his campaign.

That night had been the worst in his life as his father flatly refused, saying his marriage had already been as good as arranged, as he was to marry Decima, the daughter of Publius Decimus Nerva. He had stormed out of his father’s tablinum in a rage, and had tried to convince his mother that Livia was the right one for him, but she sighed and said, “You know I want the best for you, my son, but it all depends on your father now.”

Thinking that the best course of action for him was to meet Drusus and volunteer for a grueling campaign in the East, he met Drusus the very next day and offered his services. To his delight, Drusus had immediately accepted and offered him the commission, which had already been counter signed by the senator Scaurus.

Armed with this commission, he had stormed into his father’s study that night, the tablinum, and showed him the document, saying, “This proves my commitment to marry his daughter and it is she that I will marry and no other.”

Shocked by what he had done, his father was silent for a while. Then, he said slowly, “Do you know, my son, that they are not patrician? Despite their name, they are only a distant branch of the family and the censors have already rejected his application twice, for inclusion in the senate, even as a back bencher.”

“What does it matter, father?” he had responded angrily. “It is not the first time that a patrician has married a knight’s daughter.”

“But the family is not respectable,” said the father gently.

“Respectability is a word, father, and has no real meaning. It is love which has meaning and I love Livia, regardless of whatever you say. I say again, I will marry only her and no other.” Quintus was defiant now and almost glared at his father, who was strangely not belligerent, but even looked a little defeated.

“Do you know anything about her mother, my dear son, the lady Fausta? If you knew what she does to men, you would change your mind, I’m sure of that. You are, after all, a Claudian.” His father was looking at him steadily now, as if he wished to convey something important to him.

The senior Quintus looked up suddenly as his son started to laugh, saying, “I know, father, I know, for I have seen her myself. I’m surprised at you, that you have kept tabs on her and rely on the gossip spread by one of her slaves, who has probably spread this among the other slaves and this has somehow reached your ears.”

The senior Quintus now stood up in a rage and shouted, “You don’t understand anything! If it were only that slave and no other, or if she confined her practices of that shameful act to her own home, I would still support you, despite my own feelings on the matter. But she also does that to patricians, to people that our family knows well.”

Quintus appeared stunned and was silent for a few minutes, absorbing this information.

“I know you well, father. Do not forget that I am your son and know how you think.

But you must know this, as a Claudian, as you put it, I do understand my responsibilities to this family and will obey you, if you command it as the paterfamilias. This is one prerogative of yours and over which I’m utterly helpless against you, since you are the lord and master of this household. I am only your son, your servant and maybe, even your slave!”

Quintus was totally silent now and waiting for his father, who was now looking at him almost fondly, a look he hadn’t seen in his father before.

Coming up to Quintus, the senior Quintus embraced his son, holding him close, in a rare display of emotion, surprising him.

“My son, my son,” said the senior Quintus. “You again do not understand.”

Pausing a while and as if ashamed, he released him and walked to a shelf where many of his scrolls were stacked neatly and turning his head, he said in a soft voice, that Quintus could barely hear, “I have seen her with my own eyes. A few months ago, I was at a villa, attending a private party that was hosted by the senator Fabius. The highlight of the party was the arrival of a woman dressed as an Egyptian priestess, with the elaborate wig, the painted face and the red lips, including the costume. It was her, my son, it was her. I know I was not mistaken when I saw her again recently, after your mother spoke to me about Livia.”

The senior Quintus was silent and so was the son, who stood there, as if he had just been punched violently in the stomach, as he staggered slightly, hearing about the Egyptian priestess. He knew what was coming next and with a sinking, almost despondent feeling, he knew that he had lost this battle.

He could never marry Livia, not while her mother was alive. And even if she were dead, her reputation would follow and his family would be tainted forever. How had he not seen this earlier?

What a contrast the lady Fausta made to his mother, the lady Julia, who was always clad from head to toe in the most conservative fashion, wearing the traditional woolen gowns that the Roman matrons favored, swaddling their bodies in layers of fabric.

He then turned his back slowly and silently left his father’s room without saying another word, not even to bid his father goodnight, as he felt that he was the most unlucky man in the world and his heart felt heavy, as if made of lead.

Going out of the house, he walked aimlessly for hours, not caring if he was attacked, as the streets of Rome were dangerous at night and there were few people around, once daylight started fading.

Coming to the top of the hill near the Arx Capitolina, he stared at the various temples, especially the temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus, wondering how he had been deserted by all the gods. For a few moments, he considered flinging himself off the Tarpeian Rock, the place of execution for criminals, who were flung down the steep southern face of the hill he stood on to certain death below.

The citadel and the temples were all deserted and there was an eerie silence with little or no wind blowing.

Suddenly, an eagle perched high on top of the temple of Jupiter swooped down near him, startling him as it took off into the night sky, in pursuit of some prey.

It was a wonderful omen. A sign from Jupiter himself, he thought. Even though he would soon be far away from Rome in a campaign to the East, he resolved to do something spectacular, something that would make his name shine and make his entire family proud, following the cursus honorum or the path of honor. The Roman eagle had shown him the way, the way to glory.

With a new determination, he walked with firm steps, his head held high, back to his huge house located off an alley near the Clivus Victoriae, in one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in all of Rome, right on the Germalus of the Palatine.

It was the last time he would think of Livia again. Nothing, no one could replace the honor due his ancestors. It was the way of the Republic, the way of Rome and he was determined to act as its true son. Scaurus, his mentor, would demand no less from him.