To all readers: I have done a slight re-working of the earlier chapters. The storyline hasn't changed, but I thought I'd just let you all know that I am currently working on a tiny improvement thing. If you are reading this and see a (!) at the top of the page, it means I have edited it.

To first time readers: The story is currently in two parts. All chapters with a "1" are in the POV of Porcia and all chapters with a "2" are third person with Porcia just as the main character.

This story is written through the eyes of one of the character omitted from Rome HBO, Porcia, who was the daughter of Cato. Porcia is stuck with not only with the trail of looking after her useless husband's children (who are her own age) and her drunken brother (whom she calls little despite that fact he is older) but with life both unsatisfying and boring. Although a stoic herself, Porcia is a woman and therefore weak--according to her father--therefore she is ready to bend the rules the stoic laws state. With Cato as the only role model you have, wouldn't you go looking for other friends?

I don't own HBO: Rome, HBO/BBC do. The characters, although dramatised by HBO: Rome and/or myself, are based on actual persons and cannot be owned; they are people, but their names are out of copyright. They've been dead for more then 100 years, some 2000 in fact. Anyway, enjoy!

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I will write this down despite my weariness—I don't know how long I'll be stuck out here. Father says we'll only be here a few months, but I know it'll be more. It's always more. My brother Marcus says I think too much, and I think maybe he's right—the fact that I have thought about that proves his point. I do think an awful lot; more than my dear drunken brother at least. The fact that I think too much is a pain and a curse. It is why I am here now, writing this. I believe Cicero writes down his many thoughts in letters, but I have no one worth writing to. So I have decided to write them in these old, un-stained scrolls. It was my Aunt Porcia's idea.

My name is Porcia Catonis of the Porcii Salonii, daughter of Cato and his first wife, Atilia. I know not many people are willing to read the words of a woman, thinking them dull and stupid. My father always said I was smarter and braver than my brother. There are only the two of us in my family. I am the younger sibling and he is the elder. Many people think that we are twins or that I am the elder child, but, no, I am three years younger then him. I was born during the year of the consulships of Quintus Marcius Rex and Lucius Caecilius Metellus. It was the same year that Lucius Lucullus, the husband of my Aunt Servililla (or Lilla as we called her), defeated Tigranes II of Armenia in the Battle of Artaxata.

I remember little of my childhood. The only thing I do remember is that I spent a great deal of it with my cousins Prima, Secunda, and Tertia. We were normally under the watchful eyes of my darling tutor, that annoying Greek Statyllius, or my eldest cousin Brutus. My cousin Brutus was the only person who was kind to me in my youth. His mother, my auntie Servilia, hated me as she hated all our side of the family, and her daughters behaved like spoilt brats towards me as well.

There are only three occasions that I recall in my childhood. The first was the time when I was six and my brother Marcus found some of the horrible, cheap wine that my father only ever took out on special days (and even then he never drank from it). My brother became drunk and Father locked him in his room for it. The next day I noticed that my mother was gone and when I asked Father where she was he told me I would never see her again. She had committed adultery, he said, and she was a whore and not worthy to look after us. Marcus wept but I didn't cry. I was so scared by what my father told me—he said that if I was ever to be unfaithful to my husband, he would give my husband full permission to kill me.

The second occasion I can recall took place not long after this. I was weaving one day and made a mess of my work. My Aunt Servilia saw and was furious with me. She grabbed me by the elbow and dragged me to her wardrobe. She threw me into the wardrobe and locked the door, telling me that I had to learn to behave myself. She let me out some hours later, saying that she had forgotten about me. I did indeed learn my lesson that day—I have never since done a poor piece of weaving.

The third thing I can remember is the talks about Caesar that I overheard during my childhood. When Caesar went to Gaul it was at the head of the Legio XIII, lent to him by Pompey. If I recall correctly, in return for this legion, Pompey received Caesar's daughter Julia in marriage. She was supposed to marry Faustus Cornelius Sulla, the son of the dictator. I also heard rumours, however, that she was supposed to marry my cousin Caepio—no doubt some part of an amazing scheme that Aunt Servilia and Caesar cooked up together. I was only nine or ten at the time that all this was going on.

I can only remember a little of my childhood, but I can see my teenage years clear as glass.

Pater forced me to marry Marcus Calpurnius Bibulus when I was just nearly thirteen. He simply brought me into his presence one day and told me about the marriage, saying that it was an honour that was being bestowed upon me. Marriage to a man some thirty years older then me certainly didn't feel like an honour. My husband's sons Gnaeus and Marcus were older then me—one of them was already twenty-five! Bibulus' previous wife had given him many children, including a daughter, Calpurnia (who I call Calpurnilla), that was just my age. She constantly looked down on me. The youngest child, Lucius, is my favourite, though my love for Calpurnilla has grown since the early days of my marriage to her father. As for my husband, he developed a worrying amor for me and I found myself feeling deathly guilty that I didn't return his diligo. I admit that Bibulus was a great man; he opposed the so-called great Caesar and even had the veneratio of sharing a consulship with him. Of course, it cost Caesar a fortune and he intended to use all the power he could to get the most out of it. He publicly humiliated my father and Bibulus, assaulting them in the street with his goons. I still didn't understand the problems of politics.

Around this time, Bibulus' power was shrinking. My father had other men asking for my hand in marriage, one of which was Pompey, who asking for me to marry one of his sons. In fact, after Julia's death, even Pompey sought me out for himself. There was also the great orator Quintus Hortensius, an extremely influential figure in Rome and rival of Marcus Tullius Cicero, another friend of the family. I was on talking terms with Cicero's daughter Hortensia; she was married to my father's elder brother, my uncle Quintus Servilius Caepio. My father was naturally tempted by these offers, but his loyalty to Bibulus was too strong. Moreover, Bibulus refused to part with me, and that was one of the reasons why my father was forced to refuse the other men. My father, however, still needed Hortensius. So in the end, he divorced my stepmother, Marcia, and gave her to Hortensius in marriage!

Presently, Caesar has crossed the Rubicon. I am seventeen-years-old, and I will be eighteen in June. My husband woke me in the middle of the night and ordered me to prepare. He told me that everyone in our family, including the women and children, was fleeing the city. I don't have any children of my own. I spend the majority of my time caring for Bibulus' children by his second wife; the ones by his first are grown up and older then me. I woke Lucius and Calpurnilla in the night, helped them dress and sent them out to the courtyard where their brothers, Gnaeus and Marcus were waiting. I had my personal slave, Sylvia, pack my things and then I went out to meet the children.

We made our way through the streets as hundreds of civilians threw their rubbish at us, cursing us for leaving them at the mercy of Caesar. They fled to their homes and boarded up their houses, terrified of what would happen. Many others were fleeing along with my family; there was Metellus Scipio and his beloved son Salvito, who brought along his wife Scribonia and her son Marcellinus, a boy who was Calpurnilla's age. Scribonia's father came also, and Scribonilla too (She was the wife of one of Pompey's sons.) Father naturally ran along side us, talking to Bibulus the whole time. There was also Cicero, who I always thought of as too soft to take up the harsh conditions of the Italian countryside if it were not in his country villa.

I walked alongside my husband's carriage most of the way. Even when the sun began to rise, the grey clouds that hung in the air obscured any light that would have beat down. Up ahead, I saw Claudia, the wife of my cousin Brutus. Seeing as my own husband was asleep (and snoring somewhat loudly) I rushed up towards Claudia, calling her name. I was breathless from all the walking but I preferred it to being cooped up in a litter, and my father had always adored modesty—that's why he preferred me over my drunken brother Marcus. I also thought the walking would help keep up my energy, being that I normally go for long walks around the forum.

Claudia was obviously not used to all the walking—she was flushed and gasping for breath when I came up to her. She gave me a harsh look and walked on. "Oh, it's you."

"It's me," I said catching my own breath. I must have looked quite comical. "It's a pity Caesar moved too quickly for Pompey to gather his legions. I don't know how he did it—the Alps are deathly this time of year."

"All you ever do is talk!" Claudia snapped. I was taken aback but tried to remember that she was tired.

"So, Brutus decided to side with Pompey did he, how very odd…" I mused loudly.

"Why is it odd?" Claudia panted.

"Well, you know why—republic or not, Pompey had his father killed," I replied. "Together with the fact that Caesar is as a father to him, I would have expected him to remain in Rome. One would think that Aunt Servilia would have made him stay—"

Claudia looked at me, "Why are you talking to me?"

"You looked as if you needed something to take your mind off the walking and the cold," I said pulling my coat around me.

"Well I don't!" Claudia snapped before then touching her head with her hand and shaking it, "I'm sorry, Porcia. I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm just so tired—I know you mean well. Things just aren't going well for me, Porcia. You wouldn't imagine how bad things are."

I laughed and placed my hand on her shoulder, "Is it something you can share?"

She shook her head, "It's so shameful!"

"In my father's opinion, as long as it isn't adultery, it's not shameful for a woman," I told her, quoting what my father had told me the day I married my husband. It was probably to scare me into my virtue. "It isn't a lover, is it?"

Claudia laughed hysterically, "As if! My role as a wife is a failure in other areas. I dare not say them, if that is all right with you."

I nodded, "Of course, it's your secret to tell and it's best to keep it to yourself if you fear it'll get out."

Suddenly, someone behind us began singing a cheerful song, trying to keep up the spirits of his sons who were getting bored with the harsh traveling conditions. Very soon everyone began singing the song, some in tune and some out of tune. My brother Marcus held his hands over his ears; a night without drink must have been going to his head. Claudia and I laughed.

I heard the feeble voice of my father summon me to the front of the procession of nobles and knights where our general and leader Pompey was. I turned to face Claudia, "Are you coming?"

She shook her head and smiled, "I'll die if I have to run up there—besides, Pompey, Cato, Cicero, Scipio, not to mention my husband Brutus—will all talk politics. I find myself wondering why the sky is so grey when men talk of politics. Excuse me."

I gave her a girlish hug before I sped off to the front. I rushed as fast as I could past the families, the slaves, and dear Cornelia and her children, up to where my father was walking alongside Pompey. Behind us the singing was still going on, and other people had now joined in. Cassius turned his head and yelled back at them, "Shut up back there!"

"You're just jealous because you can't sing" I teased. He raised his eyebrows and I gave a fake smile.

"Porcia," my father said holding out his arm and guiding me to his side, "Tell me—you know the politics of Caesar, what do you think he'll do when he gets to Rome?"

"He'll be declared dictator in the same manner that Sulla was when he took his armies into Rome. The senate, or what's left of it, are all Caesar's supporters and cowards who feared leaving their houses for fear they'd be looted. They're not going to oppose Caesar and certainly not when he has the Legio XIII at his hand," I explained, "Naturally, he will declare martial law—not to keep control but to keep the peace. Finally, he will gather what is left of the patrician families in Rome and bribe some of them into aiding him in maintaining control."

"You seem very sure," commented Cassius.

"I am sure," I replied. "Caesar won't kill our friends, he wants to be looked on as a merciful ruler, so killing off our friends would make him appear as a tyrant and make us look like the injured party. That's the last thing he wants."

"How do you know all this?" Cassius snapped annoyingly.

"It's not a hard thing, Cassius. It's called logic," I retorted, "You should try it some time—they might just start listening to you in the senate."

Cicero, who had been listening, rolled his eyes. The only one who dared to smirk was Brutus. It made me remember Claudia, and wonder what could possibly be wrong with her. She said she'd failed as a wife, but she wasn't the type to be unfaithful, she could sew and weave and do various other things, and she wasn't ugly—so what could it be, I wondered? I walked to my cousin's side and smiled. He was always a laugh to be around, and he was my favourite cousin. I suppose I love him in my own way.

"I thought you would have stayed in Rome, cousin," I said, not really looking at him as I said it. It always angered father how close Brutus and Caesar were. "I heard that Atia was going down and ready to take you and Aunt Servilia with her."

"You know very well that the mob turned their anger on the senate once they saw you all leaving," Brutus replied. He was walking fast and it was hard to keep up with him.

"Brutus, did your mother come?" I asked shyly. I feared Servilia above all others. When other little girls were scared of monsters hiding under their bed or in their wardrobe, I was scared of my aunt Servilia and the closet which she used to lock me in. "I haven't seen her yet."

"No" he replied plainly, with a tang of annoyance in his voice, "She decided to stay in Rome—no doubt because Caesar."

"Weak!" my father spat, overhearing our conversation, "Weak—all women! Weak!"

"So why did you come?" I asked Brutus, ignoring my father's outburst, "I thought Caesar was like a father to you."

"The republic is more important," he said simply.

"If you say so..." I replied, wondering how my funny cousin Brutus who hated politics could suddenly want to fight for the republic. He hated politics and made any excuse not to join the senate. Funny cousin Brutus—first time for everything I suppose.

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Some of the characters have been created for the purposes of this story. All of the characters, with the exception of Porcia's stepdaughter Calpurnilla, are based an historical characters.