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Sample text

He swore at me, a vile stream of words out of his beautiful, feminine mouth. He didn’t seem to be drunk any more. My fingers clenched. He was small, hardly up to my shoulder, it would be dishonorable to knock him down. “Of course I know,” I sneered. “His lictors told me. ” Clodius laughed bitterly; he was cursing me again. “That’s right. He’s the City Praetor. His name is Gaius Julius Caesar. ” “He’s the Pontifex Maximus,” he repeated, blinking his black eyes wearily at my stupidity. “Great gods,” I cried, and dropped the wine-jar.

Into this tranquillity, on the day of my seventh birthday, came my father. He appeared suddenly in the doorway, as tall as a statue, and, it seemed to me, as angry as a god. His voice boomed, his hand reached out for me. I threw myself against my mother’s knee like a soldier clinging to a rampart in a siege, but it did no good. His hand fell on my shoulder, the vast voice boomed again. My mother reached down and said in a voice I did not recognize, “Now, Marcus, don’t shame me in front of your father.

Perhaps two thousand men-four 46 - The Door in the Wall cohorts, now that I think of it-tramped after him with measured steps, singing. I hid in the reeds and watched them. Their weapons were polished so brightly the bronze shone like gold, their leather breastplates gleamed. After they were gone I climbed up on the road. They had left it scattered with their possessions-a buckle, a scrap of fringe, even the rind of a fruit I had never seen before. I gathered them up, all these treasures, and I kept them for years.

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