Roman Flames

Chapter Two: Son of Marcus Aries

Chapter Two: Son of Marcus Aries

Sanctius

Can’t let them catch me. I can’t let them catch me.

“Get back here!” I heard the angry shouts behind me. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. My lungs burned and I had a cramp in my side, but I ignored it. I swallowed back the pain. I couldn’t let them—

“Got you,” smiled a guard. I couldn’t stop myself soon enough, and I fell right into the waiting grasp of the law. The man grabbed me roughly by my upper arms as a second came and pushed me down to my knees. I fought to free myself, but I was no match against Roman law.

“Release me!” I fought. A third guard, one of the ones who had been chasing me, came and punched me and kicked my stomach. I would have doubled over were it not for the two men holding me up.

“Not until you give back what you’ve stolen,” he said. I clenched my jaw.

“I have stolen nothing. Release me; I am a Roman citizen!”

The guard smirked. “With no home, no land, and the skin of a slave?”

I glared. “I am a Roman citizen,” I repeated angrily. The guard bent down and stared at me. Then, he grabbed the leather cord that was around my neck and pulled out the pendant from underneath my tunic. It wasn’t really a pendant; rather a ring with lapis inlaid. It didn’t look like it belonged to the likes of me, and it probably shouldn’t have belonged to me, but it did.

“What have we here?” asked the man when he saw the ring.

“The ring of the house of Marcus Aries, and I am his son, Sanctius Marcus Aries.”

The man furrowed his brow. “I don’t recognize the name. You are just another filthy, lowly thief.” He yanked the cord and it broke. My heart flamed in anger, but I stayed still as I watched him pocket the ring. “It shall be brought to the house of Nero, so that it may be returned to its proper owner.”

“I am its proper owner!” I shouted. The guard looked down at me like I was a spot of dirt on his caliga.

“Liar and thief. We could have you arrested.”

I didn’t say anything. I was not about to beg for mercy. The man looked me over.

“However, we are merciful. This time. Judging by the scars on your arms…you’ve already paid some sort of price in the arena.” Then, to his men: “Our business here is done.” The men pushed me down to the ground and walked away. I stayed there, on my hands and knees, while I caught my breath. I considered turning around and putting up a fight…but it would have been foolish. Those men had swords. I had nothing.

After a few moments, I got up and wiped the blood that was trickling from the side of my mouth. I was a Roman citizen. How could they treat me like that? Was it my ‘slave skin?’ I stared at my arms. My olive skin was criss-crossed with scars from battle. Had I no scars, I would have looked like any other Roman. I sighed and ran my fingers through my dark hair. I could have arguably passed for an ex-legionnaire. But I wouldn’t get my ring back. My father’s ring.

I clenched my fists. I wanted to punch something, but I restrained myself. Slowly, I looked up. Father. Grant me patience. I looked around, and people were staring, but I didn’t care. I was just like them. I was just like them, save in one respect, and if they knew my secret, I would surely be burned at the stake.

I started walking to the place where I knew I was safe. It was a small tavern you could reach if you walked an hour down the Appian Way (starting at the Forum), and it was where I worked and stayed. I walked, my only mode transportation, down the Via Appia towards the tavern.