Remember Me (Thilbo - Bagginshield)

Skies of Ash

Roman Empire, 79 CE
12th Life
The baker and the coppersmith
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The sunlight filtering in through the window was soft, the first light of the early morning. Outside, a dog began barking, and Gaius Betilienus Laterensis was roused from his sleep. He sighed, reluctantly opening his eyes and staring up at the plain wooden ceiling above him. He wondered, briefly, if he could possibly sleep for just a few more minutes, but then decided against it as voices sounded outside on the street below his window. The day was beginning, and there were things to do.

Throwing back his blanket, he set his feet on the floor and stood. The old wood creaked beneath him as he moved about, dressing quickly and fixing his hair into something presentable. Once he was ready, he wandered into the next room, where his nephew still lay in bed, sound asleep.

"Come, nephew," he said, reaching over and shaking the sleeping figure. "There is much work to be done, and you cannot do it from bed."

He was met by a discontented groan. "I can try," his nephew replied, retreating further under the covers until all that could be seen of him was a tuft of dark brown curls.

"I am afraid you actually cannot," Gaius said, grabbing the edge of the blanket and ripping it off his nephew.

"Uncle, why," he moaned, trying fruitlessly to retrieve his stolen covers.

"Get up, Quinte," Gaius said, his voice stern. Standing, he gathered the blanket up in his arms. "The bread will not make itself." He turned and headed for the nearby staircase, still carrying his nephew's blanket.

"I hate bread..." he heard Quintus mutter as he started down the stairs.

Once on the main level, he tossed the blanket onto a nearby table and began preparing his bakery for the coming day. He had worked in this same building since he was a child and his father had owned it. They were not a remarkably large business - they served a small, rather poor area, but it made enough money for Gaius and Quintus to live comfortably.

"Quinte!" Gaius called as he threw open the shutters covering the windows, filling the bakery's rooms with early morning sunlight. "Hurry up!"

"Coming, Uncle!" Quintus yelled, and a few seconds later Gaius heard him hurrying down the stairs. His hair was still tousled from sleep, but he was completely dressed.

"Go feed the donkey," Gaius ordered, gathering up firewood for the three ovens that filled most of the back room. Quintus nodded and disappeared into the mill room.

Gaius soon had the ovens lit, ready for that day's batch of bread. As he stood, wiping his hands clean, he heard Quintus' voice from the mill room, where he was talking to their old donkey. Gaius laughed, shaking his head.

Quintus had been in his care since he was an infant. He had grown to be like a son to him, though he wasn't, in actuality, even his nephew. He had been the son of his cousin, left with Gaius after both his parents died unexpectedly. Still, Gaius was really the only parental figure the young boy had ever had - he'd only been a toddler when his parents died and did not remember anything about them. Gaius told him stories of them, but he could never really know them.

He seemed happy enough, however, and for that Gaius was thankful. His nephew had never known a life where he wasn't raised by his "uncle," though Gaius knew Quintus still sometimes wished his parents were alive, or at least wondered what his life would be like if they were.

Sighing, Gaius wandered into the front room, where a few leftover loaves from the day before still sat on the stone counter. They would all be sold today at a reduced price, most likely to the poorest of his customers. Shuffling them aside, he began making room for the loaves that would be baked in just a short while.