You're right, who cares about such and such actor. At least they leave us alone, they're not the ones turning this planet into a prison... Well, the help I need is more on substance than content. I mean I can take care of the spelling, the history, the anthropology and character development but I do need help on certain awkward turn of phrases, chronology, believability of events, the characters' ideals (does what drive them believable, does it makes sense?)...things like that.
I'm Belgian only through my mom and no, I cannot anything decent in French. I left Europe back in 1990 for the US and lived there for 20 years and even though French is my mother-tongue I write and express myself infinitely better in English... Go figure
“She’s resting now,” the doctor said taking Stolo aside. “Her fever persists, yet it’s her heart I’m worried about.” The old man was tall and lanky but his tunic fitted him well. He was a Greek, a freedman as most doctors were, and had assisted Stolo’s mother in birthing her three boys and two daughters. The family considered him almost their own and his sadness was evident. “How are you holding up, boy?” Stolo shook his head. “Better than my mother it would seem. What can be done?” “I gave her anethum and petroselin for the fever and the chamomelum should ensure she’ll sleep for a while but, frankly, I’m at a loss.” He rubbed his gray beard pensively and walked slowly out into the courtyard where he sat on a bench, his thoughts bent on what doctors of renown like Archigenes or Aretaeus would recommend. Stolo went and stood near him, his gaze roaming about the villa. The place looked desolate but for a few servants busying about. He saw Phocas at the other end of the courtyard give instructions to the record keepers before sending them out to the mercatores at the family’s businesses. Even with the events of the past week, the Juventius family still had to uphold its commitments to the empire and Stolo was grateful for the Greek foreman. He had kept everyone who was tied to the Juventius holdings on their toes while maintaining contact with all the merchants his father had hired in Gaul and Hispania. Stolo dreaded the day Phocas would be in a position to secure his freedom as he was sure there was no other vilicus as good as he. With his hands on his hips Stolo looked at his feet for a long moment, nodding and seemingly deep in thoughts. His short dark hair reflected the morning sun like polished basalt and his broad shoulders rose rhythmically with his deep chest. He wasn’t tall but his frame was the perfect embodiment of the Mediterranean Etruscan blood, thick-boned and well proportionate. When he finally stirred again Stolo said nothing but the look on his face was that of hard determination. He walked toward the villa’s gates, calling for his horse, then paused a moment before looking back at Akios. “When my mother awakes, tell her that I must go to Rome to have answers, will you?” The doctor looked puzzled and rose from the bench shaking his head. “Answers to what, Stolo? If I may help you with anything…” “Indeed you may. See that she lives, Akios,” his voice boomed over the courtyard. With that Stolo walked his horse out of the gates and gave a nod to Phocas before he mounted up and left the villa behind him.
Grandepensees Blog Comments (8)
Book I'm working on, help welcome :)
If it becomes available, I'm sure it shall be translated in a few main languages like Swahili, mandarin and berber