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Villa Almodóvar del Río - Roman Province of Hispania
A cool wind blew southwards from the Mountains as dark began to descend and Marius Titinius Silvanus mentally blessed the hilltop he had chosen for his home. In the village below lights began to flicker to life and he could hear the final calls of the days vendors even the night watchmen ordered them to be on their way. Dogs barked and children laughed, their tiny shadows flitting along the streets barely visible from his height above the plain.
The marble below his feet was smooth to the touch and his fingers grasped the column that supported the red tiled roof above, his fingers unconsciously rubbing at some imagined imperfection. The green toga he wore shifted slightly as the night air tugged at it, the ends twisting around his ankles. His face was cleanly shaven revealing a long scar that ran from the middle of his forehead down across the bridge of his nose, narrowly missing his right eye, and ending just above the jawbone of his right cheek. One did not serve the Empire as a solider for thirty years and not have a few reminders to take home with him.
Except for a few servants and guards he was quite alone on the hilltop. Despite his best efforts he had been unable to have any children, no matter how many women he took to his bed, and he had concluded that he was sterile. It was no secret anymore and numerous priests of multiple faiths had tried to win his favour with their remedies and prayers, none had succeeded and he had given up. He took no wife as a result and while he enjoyed a steady flow of mistresses he allowed none of them to remain for long. His life was a solitary one.
There was a soft tread upon the marble behind him and he turned to find himself gazing into the eyes of one of six Cane Corso mastiff dogs that he kept in the Villa. The dogs were massive in size and served to keep away even the most determined thieves. He knelt and the dog trotted towards him, lowering its massive head in hopes of some affection and Silvanus smiled as he ruffled the creature’s head, scratching it idly behind the ears. It licked his hand and then sat next to him, ears cocked towards the village below.
He had always marveled at a dog’s ability to sense their masters mood as he sat cross legged next to the beast and continued to stroke its head as they looked out into the gathering darkness.
Neither moved until the last rays of daylight had fully faded from the skyline leaving the plains below in darkness. The village at the foot of the hill gleamed in the darkness and to the east the brighter glow betrayed the location of Córdoba, Capital of Roman Hispania. Silvanus had a townhouse there that he had not visited in nearly a month and reflected on how much his only sister must be enjoying it while he was away.
His elevation in Imperial Command and retirement had ensured substantial wealth for the rest of his days and his sister, being his only living kin, had understandably profited from his generosity as much as any other person did. He had purchased a generous townhome originally intended for his own use but his distaste for the city had driven him to build the Grand Villa, as the locals called it, some twenty miles outside the city. He had left the townhome in her care then, providing a comfortable apartment was reserved fro him. He had allowed her a small, but handsome, income from his estate so that she would want for nothing.
And nothing was just what she did. Well, almost nothing. She had become heavily involved in the Gladiator ring, even buying two Gaul’s who were doing fairly well so that she was making money on their winnings. Silvanus suspected that one or both went to her bed but, after some thought, decided it didn’t matter if they did. She had her life and he his, they had never been close.
He stood at last, balancing on the column next to him. The dog gave a last wag of its tail and then vanished from the room with a final lick of his hand. He heard a surprised curse in the hallway beyond his rooms, a deep throated growl and then a stream of Gallic he barely followed, the gist of it being curses aimed at the dog who had surprised the speaker. At length a tall thin man with the finely cut features of one from the Roman provinces in Gaul appeared in the doorway, a light in one hand.
“Bloody dog…” Muttered the Gaul in Latin as he limped about the room lighting several small side lamps so that a golden glow lit up the sitting room, dancing across the water of the small fountain that gave the space so much serenity.
“Which one?” Teased Silvanus. The Gaul, whose name was Keaghan, had served with Silvanus in North Africa during his final campaign. He had been quartermaster and foot soldier and suffered a disabling wound to his left foot that had him drummed out of the army about the same time Silvanus retired. Silvanus had taken him on as a personal servant, a job the man had taken to very well. When the Grand Villa had been built Keaghan had become head of the household staff and managed the day to day running of things with adept skill.
“All of them!” Snapped the Gaul. “Always lurking around corners, waiting to pounce.” Silvanus laughed and Keaghan continued to mutter as he lit a final light, glancing around to ensure that everything was as it should be and then nodding a goodnight before vanishing from the room.
Silvanus pulled off his toga and laid it on the corner of a nearby bench. His personal spaces were Spartan in their furnishing and always very tidy, he abhorred a mess and as a result the villa was always spotless. He laid down in the large bed, pulling a thin sheet over himself for the night was still warm and closed his eyes, unaware of the events in the east that would change his life once again.
A cool wind blew southwards from the Mountains as dark began to descend and Marius Titinius Silvanus mentally blessed the hilltop he had chosen for his home. In the village below lights began to flicker to life and he could hear the final calls of the days vendors even the night watchmen ordered them to be on their way. Dogs barked and children laughed, their tiny shadows flitting along the streets barely visible from his height above the plain.
The marble below his feet was smooth to the touch and his fingers grasped the column that supported the red tiled roof above, his fingers unconsciously rubbing at some imagined imperfection. The green toga he wore shifted slightly as the night air tugged at it, the ends twisting around his ankles. His face was cleanly shaven revealing a long scar that ran from the middle of his forehead down across the bridge of his nose, narrowly missing his right eye, and ending just above the jawbone of his right cheek. One did not serve the Empire as a solider for thirty years and not have a few reminders to take home with him.
Except for a few servants and guards he was quite alone on the hilltop. Despite his best efforts he had been unable to have any children, no matter how many women he took to his bed, and he had concluded that he was sterile. It was no secret anymore and numerous priests of multiple faiths had tried to win his favour with their remedies and prayers, none had succeeded and he had given up. He took no wife as a result and while he enjoyed a steady flow of mistresses he allowed none of them to remain for long. His life was a solitary one.
There was a soft tread upon the marble behind him and he turned to find himself gazing into the eyes of one of six Cane Corso mastiff dogs that he kept in the Villa. The dogs were massive in size and served to keep away even the most determined thieves. He knelt and the dog trotted towards him, lowering its massive head in hopes of some affection and Silvanus smiled as he ruffled the creature’s head, scratching it idly behind the ears. It licked his hand and then sat next to him, ears cocked towards the village below.
He had always marveled at a dog’s ability to sense their masters mood as he sat cross legged next to the beast and continued to stroke its head as they looked out into the gathering darkness.
Neither moved until the last rays of daylight had fully faded from the skyline leaving the plains below in darkness. The village at the foot of the hill gleamed in the darkness and to the east the brighter glow betrayed the location of Córdoba, Capital of Roman Hispania. Silvanus had a townhouse there that he had not visited in nearly a month and reflected on how much his only sister must be enjoying it while he was away.
His elevation in Imperial Command and retirement had ensured substantial wealth for the rest of his days and his sister, being his only living kin, had understandably profited from his generosity as much as any other person did. He had purchased a generous townhome originally intended for his own use but his distaste for the city had driven him to build the Grand Villa, as the locals called it, some twenty miles outside the city. He had left the townhome in her care then, providing a comfortable apartment was reserved fro him. He had allowed her a small, but handsome, income from his estate so that she would want for nothing.
And nothing was just what she did. Well, almost nothing. She had become heavily involved in the Gladiator ring, even buying two Gaul’s who were doing fairly well so that she was making money on their winnings. Silvanus suspected that one or both went to her bed but, after some thought, decided it didn’t matter if they did. She had her life and he his, they had never been close.
He stood at last, balancing on the column next to him. The dog gave a last wag of its tail and then vanished from the room with a final lick of his hand. He heard a surprised curse in the hallway beyond his rooms, a deep throated growl and then a stream of Gallic he barely followed, the gist of it being curses aimed at the dog who had surprised the speaker. At length a tall thin man with the finely cut features of one from the Roman provinces in Gaul appeared in the doorway, a light in one hand.
“Bloody dog…” Muttered the Gaul in Latin as he limped about the room lighting several small side lamps so that a golden glow lit up the sitting room, dancing across the water of the small fountain that gave the space so much serenity.
“Which one?” Teased Silvanus. The Gaul, whose name was Keaghan, had served with Silvanus in North Africa during his final campaign. He had been quartermaster and foot soldier and suffered a disabling wound to his left foot that had him drummed out of the army about the same time Silvanus retired. Silvanus had taken him on as a personal servant, a job the man had taken to very well. When the Grand Villa had been built Keaghan had become head of the household staff and managed the day to day running of things with adept skill.
“All of them!” Snapped the Gaul. “Always lurking around corners, waiting to pounce.” Silvanus laughed and Keaghan continued to mutter as he lit a final light, glancing around to ensure that everything was as it should be and then nodding a goodnight before vanishing from the room.
Silvanus pulled off his toga and laid it on the corner of a nearby bench. His personal spaces were Spartan in their furnishing and always very tidy, he abhorred a mess and as a result the villa was always spotless. He laid down in the large bed, pulling a thin sheet over himself for the night was still warm and closed his eyes, unaware of the events in the east that would change his life once again.
