† mihi aqua et igni interdirectur

[ad_dicendum]

WHO: Gaius Gracchus
WHERE: Main east-west path in 6I
WHEN: March 15
OPEN TO: ALL
WARNINGS: none

---

Gaius still misses Rome every day. Not just the city itself, though of course he misses that, but the life of the city, the excitement of the courts, the thrill of the people's assembly, the sounds and sights of the forum, going about the morning's business under the gaze of the Capitoline temples and the Palatine houses, the feeling of being in the heart of the most important city in the world. Rome hadn't just been his life, it had been his reason for being, its service his purpose in life from his earliest days. He'd been away from Rome before, of course, on trips to his family's estate, but even much of the time he'd spent away from the city had been in its service: visiting his clients or supporters, serving in the provinces with the army or on the governor's staff, traveling to oversee road building or the foundation of a colony.

It's a stark contrast to this place, where there are dozens of people, not hundreds of thousands, where there is no government and much resistance to establishing one, where his name and his family mean nothing. There is a reason it is one of the Roman state's greatest punishments to banish a man from the city, and though Gaius has had to accept being here instead of home, acceptance is all that it is. The fine toga Kate Kelly had made for him is no cover for that reality.

He tries not to miss the crowd of people that used to surround him when he left his home on business, and he's come to accept the solitude that he can usually find on a walk here as a daily occurence instead of an exception. The walk along the village's main road is pleasant enough, and the river at least is clearer and cleaner than the Tiber.

Gaius has crossed back over the river and is on his way back to the Inn, until he's not.

In front of him rises a colonnaded building, eight grand columns reaching up towards a carved frieze: the temple of the goddess Diana, oldest and grandest of the temples on the Aventine hill. He stares, dumbstruck in a way he very rarely is, at the magnificent edifice and takes a step forward. Behind him, someone screams, and voices shout, and he turns to look behind him, but he's stopped by a hand on his arm and a voice.

"We must go!"

"Licinius?"

But his friend and relation isn't there when he looks back, nor is the temple.

Nor are the screams.

Gaius turns on the spot, around and again, grasping for the vanished man, the temple, the moment. He'd been there, in Rome, and the sounds he'd heard and the urgency in his kinsman's voice had spoken of that last terrible day.

He's left standing there in the middle of the path, wide-eyed, his breath suddenly racing to match his heartbeat as Licinius' fear grips him and only slowly subsides.

Comments

[lastofthekellys]

Mr Gracchus has not spoken much of his home, and Kate hasn't pried. Some may want to reminisce, but she doesn't and generally, she extends this to the others in the village. It is simpler, this way. It keeps people from asking her questions in return, and it also seems less cruel. So while she'd known that Mr Gracchus was married, she hasn't asked him much about his wife, or her family. Or the rest of his family. Or his friends. Anything much, really, apart from what skills he had and where he'd received them.

This, then, is something of a piece of him. Something that seems more private than it'd otherwise have been, if she'd asked him more. It adds to the vulnerability of the man.

"Maybe he was," she says, simply. "Why don't you come inside now, Mr Gracchus? If nothin' else, it'll be a bit more comfortable and secure with some walls around ya than standin' out here in the open."

[ad_dicendum]

He has little to hide about his life before he came here. He'd been in the public eye his entire life, the son of a censor and dual consul, brother in law of the hero who'd destroyed Carthage, grandson of the savior of Rome from Hannibal. There had been few secrets in his life, and he didn't intentionally keep them here, but he's far from Rome, or so he'd thought, far from his wife and family, and disgraced in a way that would bring shame to them, a shame that he'd already seen play out for his brother's widow and son. From a pragmatic perspective, Licinia was better without him than with him now, if their enemies were going to treat her as Claudia had been treated.

He's aware that Kate Kelly is trying for something reassuring, but Gaius finds himself unwilling, for a moment, to leave the spot where he'd seen the great city. What could the vision mean? Was it truly a warning, and if it was, was it a warning against Rome, or against here?

But there is a clear reason in Kate Kelly's suggestion that being within the Inn's walls would be an easier place than here, somewhere not in the open where he could speak to her. Once, that would have been scandalous, although less so now that he's aware that she is, essentially, married.

"It seems a wise suggestion," he agrees, and starts towards the Inn. He falters after a few steps, and glances back, but there's no sign of the Aventine, and nothing to show that the vision had taken place. It had clearly been in his mind, and only there.

He's not certain if that is a reassurance or not, knowing as he does how unusual some of the things that happen in this place are.