Roman Identity (Book 2)

Lessons to Learn

Note: Chapter has been edited.

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What did I do wrong now? Was it because I almost dozed off at my last lesson? Was it because I had not started my history assignment? If it was not for the dinner party, I would have started it. Every mistake and every infraction would be recorded and used against me. I was on trial, and I had not even set foot in the Basilica.

He gestured for me to come closer. My footsteps never felt so loud against the tiles.

Father began by saying I was a good student but that I was easily distracted. It was showing in my private sessions. He was "concerned" and thought that if given the chance to attend the Grammaticus classes with boys in my peer group, I could excel and reach my full potential.

I knew this day would come when I would join my peers in an actual school setting. While I was continuing my education, Barbarius' schooling was ending. The last year of his formal schooling consisted mostly of Greek philosophy. He was at the crossroads of his education. Anias told my father that if he desired, he could travel abroad to Greece to attend one of the best universities in Athens. But Father would not approve of the idea—not that Barbarius expressed a desire to attend anyway. Instead, he would study under the guidance of Father.

Meanwhile, Apollus was studying oratory at the Rhetoric school, where he would receive training in public speaking and the art of debate. I would get there too next year, but first I had to survive the Grammaticus. Anias assured me that the classroom shouldn't be too crowded. Only young men of means could attend.

My former Greek tutor Anias and my new slave traveled with me by chariot to my first day at the Grammaticus. That morning, passing horse-drawn wagons and slow-moving commoners congested the narrow roads. Towards the final stretch of the ride, Anias turned in his seat and said, "You understand that your father wants the best for you."

I nodded, looking down at my feet.

"You should be proud for taking this step in your education," he quipped. He was right. I should feel proud instead of the growing unease and anxiety that churned my stomach like butter. I should be proud. Even though it was not my choice, Father felt I needed to be around other boys my age, which would give me a competitive edge.

"I suppose you will not need me for primary instruction," he added. "Even though I will no longer be your instructor, you are always welcome to see me if you need additional help. I will see to it you get all your assigned readings from your new instructor," he said.

I sighed before turning in my seat to face him. "I will miss you." And I meant it. I would miss his patience as he took the time to answer my questions. I learned from an early age not to interrupt him. He hated that. He was not bashful about discipline either, so I learned to sit still and keep my mouth shut until directed to speak. Even though my brothers and I feared him at first, I learned to respect him. Even admire him. I learned so much from him. How to read, how to write, how to count, and how to speak and read Greek, which he was fluent in.

Then my body lurched forward before falling back into my seat. In front of us was a three-story building. I peered through the open doorway to find an assortment of tables and chairs. The ground floor looked more like a furniture shop than what I pictured a school to look like. My slave boy helped me out of the chariot before Anias handed him my wax tablet and stylus. I thanked him and trotted towards the building.

"Make sure you have your lunch with you," Anias called out.

"I do," I exclaimed, pointing to my slave boy's other hand, which held a sack of bread and other eatables.