The sun rose slowly on the horizon, peeking its red orange crown over the Mediterranean Sea. Sitting on a rock overlooking the bay, Stolo glanced up at a flock of sea gulls gliding over him and squawking their complaints in search of a morning meal; in his mourning he almost envied them. He had sat on this rock all night. From here he could gaze on the busy port of Massilia set in the distance against the coastal hills. Yet today this word meant little to him. No matter how civil and lawful life within the empire seemed, the world still held within it an element of barbarism. Whose cruel jest had it been that a moment in time decided the doom of his father, his brothers and one of his sisters on that calamitous voyage? Weren’t merchant ships supposed to be protected on their way East to Cappadocia, the very place where Emperor Trajan would stage his campaign against the Parthians? If his mind was too numb to ponder such a question, his affronted heart nevertheless kept assaulting him with cries of vengeance.
Stolo sighed and stood up. If the gods had no answers for him, then he felt that the last few days at the temples were wasted on prayers and incense while those responsible continued to breathe, oblivious to his pain. He started down the slope that would lead him to his family’s estate, the Juventius latifundia. He only walked a few minutes when the vilicus, his servants’ foreman, came up and greeted him formally. “Dominus,” he said in earnest. “Your mother isn’t well.” “What is it, Phocas?” Stolo asked as he started to a jog. “I can’t say,” Phocas panted. “Photine gave her thymus and trigonella all night but her symptoms have worsened. We’ve sent for Akios.” Stolo knew that if the woman’s powerful concoctions were impotent against whatever ailed his mother, then it must be bad. He openly cursed Cardea and Fortuna through gritted teeth; and Phocas gave him a strange look.
When Stolo entered his mother’s bedchamber, Akios, the doctor, was there, Photine hovering over him, eager to give her assistance should he need it. Juviana, Stolo’s younger sister, forced a smile, her eyes red with grief. Stolo sighed as a deep sense of helplessness invaded his chest.
RE: Book I'm working on, help welcome :)
The sun rose slowly on the horizon, peeking its red orange crown over the Mediterranean Sea. Sitting on a rock overlooking the bay, Stolo glanced up at a flock of sea gulls gliding over him and squawking their complaints in search of a morning meal; in his mourning he almost envied them. He had sat on this rock all night. From here he could gaze on the busy port of Massilia set in the distance against the coastal hills.Yet today this word meant little to him. No matter how civil and lawful life within the empire seemed, the world still held within it an element of barbarism. Whose cruel jest had it been that a moment in time decided the doom of his father, his brothers and one of his sisters on that calamitous voyage? Weren’t merchant ships supposed to be protected on their way East to Cappadocia, the very place where Emperor Trajan would stage his campaign against the Parthians? If his mind was too numb to ponder such a question, his affronted heart nevertheless kept assaulting him with cries of vengeance.
Stolo sighed and stood up. If the gods had no answers for him, then he felt that the last few days at the temples were wasted on prayers and incense while those responsible continued to breathe, oblivious to his pain. He started down the slope that would lead him to his family’s estate, the Juventius latifundia.
He only walked a few minutes when the vilicus, his servants’ foreman, came up and greeted him formally.
“Dominus,” he said in earnest. “Your mother isn’t well.”
“What is it, Phocas?” Stolo asked as he started to a jog.
“I can’t say,” Phocas panted. “Photine gave her thymus and trigonella all night but her symptoms have worsened. We’ve sent for Akios.”
Stolo knew that if the woman’s powerful concoctions were impotent against whatever ailed his mother, then it must be bad. He openly cursed Cardea and Fortuna through gritted teeth; and Phocas gave him a strange look.
When Stolo entered his mother’s bedchamber, Akios, the doctor, was there, Photine hovering over him, eager to give her assistance should he need it. Juviana, Stolo’s younger sister, forced a smile, her eyes red with grief. Stolo sighed as a deep sense of helplessness invaded his chest.