Mistakes Were Made

Marcus Augustus rode through the forum, his mind lost in a fog conjured by Venus.

Herminia, daughter of Otho, her hair black as onyx, her cheeks flushed from the heat of the ovens, smiled sometimes at customers as she rubbed honey on the boars her father served.

Fortunate customers.

Fortunate boars.

Marcus sighed. He’d seen war. He’d amassed riches enough to make a legate look twice. He was a centurion - soon to be Primus Pilus. Why was this so difficult?

He shook his head. This wouldn’t do. He was Almost Primus Pilus Marcus Augustus. He sucked in a deep breath. He would go forth to victory. At the gate, he would tell Otho that he wanted the roast boar. Then he would ride forward to the tabernae window, and when Herminia passed him the food, he would caress her hand. Just an innocent, accidental touch engineered by Venus.

He could almost feel Herminia’s start as he pictured himself brushing his thumb across her soft skin. She would look up shyly at him through her lashes. And from up on his horse, he - Nearly Primus Pilus Marcus Augustus - would smile down upon her.

A frisson went through his body at this vision. Had his heart fluttered so when he fought Thracius ‘Two Spears’ at the Battle of Actium? He thought not. Herminia, daughter of Otho, maiden of the tabernae kitchens, was a more fearsome opponent than he had expected.

He stopped suddenly. She wasn’t at the tabernae window, Otho was.

Why was she at the gate? And with all her sisters! Merda! What would Venus have him do now? Oh Venus, oh Mars, help a poor soldier! What to do now? He was More Or Less Primus Pilus Marcus Augustus! Why was this so difficult! What to say? What to do? He moved forward as though in a fog.

“One roast boar, no vinum,” he heard himself mumble to Herminia at the gate. In a daze, he noted as she turned to her sisters, all of them clearly suppressing smiles. Oh Venus, what was happening? Were they laughing at him? His horse moved to the window and he found himself looking into Otho’s genial face. His mind was a muddle, his grand plan in tatters. Oh Venus, you wicked, capricious goddess - what had you done?

Practically Primus Pilus Marcus Augustus found himself clutching a bundle of meats as his horse moved on.

And back at the tabernae window, a very confused Otho stood, staring down at his hairy knuckles.