The Mark of Rome

II / lady

I was glad neither Marius or I decided to continue the wedding festivities into the next day. It was the shortest of celebrations and the only guests who remained were nearly permanent fixtures in Marius' villa.

Alba and Decima followed at a distance as I explored the grounds. The halls were sparkling with pink marble flooring and white mineral columns. I circled the atrium leisurely, noting the many eyes that peered at me in curiosity. I kept my head high like my mother had taught me.

In my periphery, I took careful note of the two men following distantly behind me. No matter if Marius was around or not, I could still feel his stifling presence.

The peristylum was sprawling with impeccably kept fountains and greenery imbuing a sense of life that filled every crevice. The tapestries and mosaics that adorned the praetor's palace were intricate and made by well known artists. Everything either seemed new or well managed, and I knew just by looking about me that Marius had everything to prove.

What I knew of my husband amounted to very little. All of the rumors seemed contradictory, but there was a general sense that he was a solitary and private figure from childhood.

I knew he was bastard-born. His father had been married when Marius was born, but Marius was still his first-born son.

I wondered how he'd even come to be recognized as the son of Marcus Libo.

I didn't know all of the semantics, but there was so much that had been carefully concealed from me from the beginning.

I did not see Marius for the remainder of the day, until he visited me well after dark had fallen. I was bathed in rose water and readied for bed. Alba was in the middle of combing through my hair when all of my serving girls excused themselves wordlessly.

I could see his reflection in the polished glass. He was lithe and nimble on his feet, and I would never have known he was there had he not made the room silent and empty save for him and I.

We sat in silence for a beat as we both tried to deduce what the other might be thinking.

"I'd consider myself fairly skilled at reading faces, but yours...yours remains a mystery to me," he commented evenly. When I had no reply, he continued on, perusing what little belongings I had brought with me. "You've a quick wit and a clever tongue, Livia Esther. I've seen centurions with half as much courage as you do."

"If you mean to flatter me, I'm afraid you'd have to be much more creative than that," I remarked.

I stood from my seat and I came to stand where I could observe him better. He unfurled long parchments of stories Marcellus collected for me. I treasured all of his gifts, but these, I treasured most. They were fables and tales of the places he had been. He traveled everywhere with Marius' legion.

The fragile, aged scrolls in Marius' hands were all I had left of him, save for my memories. Marcellus wrote in a scrawl that was difficult to decipher, but I had committed most of his stories to memory. I could nearly hear his voice in his writing. I longed to feel safe in his arms once more. Now, I only felt cold and vulnerable.

"Are these all letters?"

I shook my head, "No, fables and lore. My father served as a scribe for some time. He raised me with an infatuation with stories. I keep the parchment, though I have them all memorized."

Marius's expression was difficult to decipher, but he rolled them all neatly away with a reverence that I appreciated. "I must say, I don't know a great many girls that can read and write. But my study has a great many accounts if you'd like to read some. This home is as much mine as it is yours now."