Anyway, you know the drill, I don't own HBO: Rome (PS: Yes, I use this as a heading)

You know how difficult it is to write a romantic scene which could be leading on to a possibly risqué scene? It is very hard to write it well! You won't imagine how many times I've had to chance some of the things in this chapter. Thankfully, I'm getting used to it now so I'm up for any ideas you throw at me, my darling reviewers, I love you all.

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Marcus Porcius Cato, the son of Marcus Porcius Cato, had been a completely different man since he came off the drink. He had been sober for over a year now; he hadn't touched a drop of red or white for over 400 days. At first it was easy, pleasant, and he felt so alive and clean headed. But then he started to come down, and it felt awful, and he had craved wine—lots of it. He didn't touch it though. Not once did he give in to the demons. Some wished he would, coming off the wine was just as bad as coming down after an opium binge. But being down was good; it meant he could find his own pleasure. Marcus never seemed to get bored.

As he followed Posca through the backstreets of the Aventine, he tried his best the blend into the crowds. This wasn't difficult as his father Cato had always taught him to dress modestly. He hadn't always followed his father's orders but in a drunken state he used to always look like a true red-blooded plebeian.

There were many people buzzing about on the poorest hill in Rome and made it hard for Marcus to see Posca. Still, the Greek had a very visible walk. Marcus hung on to a shop sign and looked over the crowds; the old bald head was straight ahead. Marcus smiled as he jumped back onto the muddy cobles and made his was through the crowds. Once off the main street, he saw in the distance Posca, making his way towards the collegium.

This was good; this meant that Caesar might have business in the collegium. Marcus followed on, tailing the slave carefully. He past a temple of Diana on the way and took a moment to stop. Not only to fool Posca had the man noticed him, but to pay respects to a goddess who meant the world to his beloved sister Porcia; she adored the strong and virtuous goddess Artemis.

Posca walked down a narrow stair way towards the docks; ships carrying grain for Egypt and various other things from the Eastern provinces. Marcus stopped to admire them. To think this extra grain came because the Egyptian slut queen had opened her legs for Caesar which resulted in an illegitimate brat. Marcus, now in open space and crowds again, hurried down the stairs only after he saw the building the old man went into.

Bounding down the stairs, he made his way past men with bowls and money, paying for the daily allowance of grain. He excused himself as he pushed his way past these plebeians, out of his new found politeness, and made his way to the brightly coloured building. On the sign outside it read; " E FVLMEN", this was the infamous Erastes Fulmen's place.

Marcus scowled as he looked inside; what would Caesar want with this common criminal?

He peered inside. He could faintly see what was going on: Posca was handing a rather decorated and typical Roman gangster (Fulmen) a wax tablet. Naturally Marcus couldn't see what was on it but the first thing that came to mind, once he saw Posca talking about what was on it, is that it could be one of two things. One, he could be talking about the grain supply, or two, this was a hit man's list. Marcus decided to go for the latter—he was looking for an excuse to make his allies realised what a tyrant Caesar is.

After a while, Posca took a cup of water, said one last thing to Fulmen, before making his way out. Marcus pressed his back against the wall, watching Posca go on into the crowds. Marcus didn't follow him this time; he'd seen enough. The only thought he had now was to tell his sister.

-

As Marcus told her about his afternoon of tailing-the-Posca, Porcia sat at her desk, looking down at a book but not reading a word on the page. She couldn't even remember what the scroll was about. When Marcus finished his story by knocking on the table, her head shot up in shock as she snapped out of her daze. He smiled brightly and she returned the gesture with a sheepish smile.

"Hello" she said dizzily, very un-Porcia like.

"Are you alright?" he asked, placing his hand to cup her chin. When she continued her sheepish smile he let her chin go and sat down next to her; "Sister dear, who has upset you? Is it me?"

Porcia shook her head, trying to come to her sense; "No, no! Don't worry, it's me; I feel a little funny today."

"Do you even know what I just said?"

Porcia blinked, "What did you just say?"

Marcus sighed in the most frustrated way possible and went on to explain it again: "I followed Posca from Caesar's house to the leader of Aventine Collegium and Posca handed a list to him. I think he hiring them as hit men—the question is who…"

Porcia waved her hand dismissively. "You don't know it was an enemy list and I seriously doubt that Caesar would hire a common thug to sort out the people he doesn't like. The idiotic bastard does that himself."

"But innocent republican plebs could die…"

"You need more proof before you can go running around calling Caesar a thug hirer."

Marcus pouted childishly and was about to go on arguing with his strangely 'off' sister when he noticed that she had regained her unbothered, day-dreamer face. He raised his eyebrows and looked down at her: "Aren't you supposed to be moving in with Aunt Porcia?"

"Hmm"

"Have you told Brutus yet?"

"No" Porcia quickly admitted. "I don't want to tell him—do you think I could just leave a message?"

Marcus fell into a great bout of laughter, "Listen to yourself; what are you and what have you done with my sister?"

Porcia didn't know how to answer. To be honest, she didn't know where his sister was either. She knew she couldn't be Porcia; she would have been confident; would have enjoyed the thought of a thug-hiring Caesar; would have marched straight up to Brutus and told him straight that she was going to live with their Aunt Porcia. But then the pre-war Porcia, pre-kidnapped Porcia, pre-in-love Porcia had no reason not to face up to him. Now all this girl could do was to sneak quietly off and leave someone else to do the dirty work.

"Brother, what am I going to do with myself?" she asked sorrowfully, "I feel so unsatisfied with life and I don't know why. Actually I do know why but I'm not telling you. I know it's foolish to even conceive that leaving will make it go away but I just can't find it in myself to face my problem and be honest about it."

Marcus scowled not entirely knowing what his sister was talking on about. Still, the running away gave him a general idea. "What do you mean? Has Brutus done something to upset you? Because if he has you can tell me; I'll knock him into next week if you wanted me to!"

Porcia laughed. "Don't be so stupid, brother!"

"I'm not being stupid," he replied in a serious voice. He pointed to the ground like a man giving an order, rather like the 'bring him to me order' and 'tell me now order'. He spoke critically and yet honestly: "Now you tell me what he's done and I'll sort him out."

"He hasn't done anything," she replied calmly; she could feel her cheeks flush and she placed her cold palms on them. "It was my mistake; it's my fault I can't stay here any more…"

Marcus leaned over wondering what crime his sister could have committed: "Why, what did you do?"

Porcia decided not to beat about the bush and give her brother the full details. Marcus was always lost in details: "I kissed him."

"Kissed who?"

Porcia rolled her eyes, how typical that was of him: "Brutus of course! Who the hell did you think I meant? Mark Antony? Julius Caesar? Cicero?"

"Brutus!" Marcus questioned in childish shock, like how a child reacts when they stick their hand in a pond and grab hold of the green sea plant. "You snogged Brutus; as in our cousin Brutus?"

"Yes!"

"But it's Brutus…"

"Yes" Porcia replied stopping herself from being cruelly sarcastic. "What's wrong with that?"

"Ye gods, sister" he went on, scratching the job of his head and rubbing his eyes. "Gods, isn't there a law against that sort of thing? Incest and everything…"

"It's not incest for crying out loud" she said firmly. "Anyway, we're only cousins."

"First cousins; he's our first cousin."

"First cousins, and there are other cousin marriages in Rome today. Kissing Brutus isn't the same as kissing you."

"Yeah, but even with a cousin…"

"There is nothing wrong with it!"

"He played with us when we were children," he finally finished. "I suppose I just can't see how you could look at him that way."

"It feels natural to me," Porcia replied honestly for the first time in a while. Suddenly the deep rush of feelings flowed into her blood again, pulsed throughout her body and she felt that gust of love that made her sigh with unique bliss. "It felt right, like I was supposed to do it. I craved that connection with him…" she looked to her brother and blushed. She pointed to the door, "Goodbye, brother. I almost forgot that it was you I was talking to. I have no intentions of telling you about my personal life."

Marcus had been sitting in disbelief. Seeing the exit, he took it with haste, picking up on his sister's hints. He was still shocked at her overwhelming love and desire for their cousin. He found himself laughing hysterically as he left: "Believe me, sister. I don't want to know."

-

As the youthful young Cato past through the streets of the Aventine in his daze the next day, Titus Pullo carried yet another carcass to the butcher's stand. It wasn't work that he or Vorenus were used to but the smell of death was well known to them. Pullo thought that pig's blood didn't smell much different a man's blood. The stink didn't bother him. The meat assured the Vorenus family (and Pullo) at least one scrap of meat a week—a rare treat for their low class status. One thing neither Pullo nor Vorenus could appreciate was the silly aprons and hats. Lyde said that knights and patricians didn't appreciate hair or rough wool in their food—but Pullo had hardly any hair and didn't see the point of the girlish cap.

"Fine work for a prefect, eh?" Vorenus asked as Pullo brought over another pig and hung it on the shop hooks.

"It's not that bad!"Pullo replied, putting a cheery side on as always. "Just like old times."

"That it is."

"You won't learn the trade sitting on your pugas," Lyde called, feeling a great power at ordering her brother-in-law to do something. "There are plenty more carcasses to be hung."

Vorenus sighed, and shaking his head he returned to his work; cutting up the meat for small sale—not everyone could afford whole pigs. There seemed to be so many swine and so many of them got sold. Pullo wondered where all the meat came from—Lyde kindly explained that she and Niobe had a cousin who had their own farm with pigs and goats and gooses, sheep too—they came from that farm. So Vorneus and Pullo could work happily knowing they'd never run out of meat to hang and dice. Sarcasm was part of Lyde's personality, Vorenus later learnt.

Suddenly, something in the crowd caught Marcus Cato's attention, as well as Vorenus, Pullo and everyone else in the street. A couple of thugs, no doubt henchmen, were beating a young man on the street. He must have been in his teens and very poor. These two thugs, while unknown to some were faint in the memory of Vorenus and Pullo, as well as Marcus. The poor little mouse of a man was thrown to the floor; he cried in anguish:

"Tomorrow, you'll have the money tomorrow!"

The bald one turned to his fellow beaters: "Let's take his nose off!"

"No! Not my nose!"

Marcus felt compelled to do something; this may only be a meaningless plebeian but he thought that the money-lending trade was disgusting and could only imagine the horror that poor men must go through every day if they had to borrow money from a lender. Just as he was about to speak up, a sullen and stoic voice boomed from the meat stand.

"Oi, stop that!" commanded Vorenus.

"Hey" said one of the thugs, "What's it to you?"

"Bad for business" replied the red man.

"And who the fuck are you, little man?"

"I'm Lucius Vorenus."

Marcus remembered that name—he knew he had heard it but he couldn't remember how or where. Now he would know forever that he was the man who jumped in to rescue a meaningless bug that many would have ignored.

"Yeah I know you" said the bald one. "Soldier boy, isn't it? Up at the dye works; tasty wife…"

Vorenus glared angrily, eyes filled with rage: "Do not speak off my wife. Now be off with you and don't let me see you on this street again."

As the red dog turned away when the thug spat at the back of his head; he laughed: "Orders? Orders! No, no because you're no longer a prefect; you're a shopkeeper!" In a flash, Vorenus had spun around with his fist flying, hitting the goon in his smug face. The crowds gasped, and Marcus noticed a dead silence spread over them all; even he was silent for loss of words. He caught sight of Vorenus' partner Pullo, taking hold of a carving axe. The goon looked up: rather then angered he was pleased: "Oh, you're dead, you are!"

"Walk away now" Vorenus ordered again "And don't let me catch you in this street again."

The goon looked from Vorenus to Pullo and back again: "Both of you; dead!"

As this shady party marched off into the crowds all eyes remained on Vorenus. He held himself like a true prefect, looking to all the puzzled faces. For a moment Marcus' eyes met his but it was only briefly and wouldn't have registered in the man's mind.

"Get back to your business" he said with authority.

As if the command had been sent by Jove, the street went on with their business and the crowd broke up. Vorenus returned to a troubled Lyde; her face full of anxiety.

"You shouldn't have done that" she told him. "They were Erastes Fulmen's people; he won't take disrespect like that…"

Marcus' ears burnt as he remembered that name… E FVLMEN… Erastes Fulmen! It had to be the same man; after all, not many men would go around with a name like Erastes Fulmen. Remembering what he saw, he decided tell his sister next time he saw her. Hopefully she would be past her love struck twilight dreams and come to her senses.

-

After failing to tell Brutus that she was leaving on nearly five occasions in one day, Porcia decided to pack loudly and make it be known to the house that she was leaving… then maybe he'd see and ask her. That way she wouldn't have to actually say it. Oddly enough, though Servilia and Octavia were given quite an interesting view before they went out into the garden for some fresh air, and Claudia caught sight of Porcia, placing old scrolls into book buckets (which literally gutted her room), on her way out to visit some friends neither of them said anything nor did Brutus emerge. This annoyed Porcia to the point where, realising she was all alone in the house, she threw herself into a chair and stewed in rage.

It was coming up for Spring; her father had been dead for over a month, she had been living in her cousin's house for over a month and realised just how much time she had wasted. It wasn't just her childish choice to pack up and leave like a mistreated wife; she had wasted a whole month avoiding him when she could have explained herself to him. Never did Porcia imagine that love would make her behave so unreasonably; that was a great crime for a stoic. Porcia smiled as she could hear her father's old nagging voice, scolding her from beyond the grave.

She gave way to the rush of emotion again. They burnt her soul everyday since she had made that connection with her darling. It was odd; she had expected to feel guilty that she wanted him so much, but she wasn't. At times she felt embarrassed but only if her feelings were making her look stupid like the other day.

"Porcia," called a voice.

She sat up straight away seeing, finally, that Brutus had appeared from hiding and was making his way through the piles of book buckets laid outside Porcia's bedroom door. Folding her arms, she wondered what he would say about it… if he bothered to notice. It was just as well she had used books and book buckets, otherwise Brutus wouldn't have noticed at all. Clever he might be; he was still gullible. Just like Porcia was gullible at time… and just as their children would be, no doubt.

"What on earth are you doing making a library outside your room?" he asked, approaching her carefully.

This had been the first time he had managed to talk to her with her running away or claming up, and he wanted to keep hold of it. He loved the sound of Porcia's voice, even if it was indifferent or angry, as long as she was speaking to him.

"It looked so much nicer on your shelves."

"I'm moving them" she replied neutrally, though her emotions were bursting under her skin, begging her to make another foolish move.

"To where?" he asked, walking closer.

"To Aunt Porcia's house," she replied, finally admitting it. She thought that her emotions would settle and she'd feel relived. But she felt the opposite; telling him that she was leaving was heartbreaking. She could feel her heart in her throat; every pulse in her body throbbed in agony, and she wanted to vent these blazing emotions by embracing him.

Brutus looked at her. It hit him like a ton of bricks. All of a sudden his mind couldn't focus and the room seemed to blur. The only thing he could see clearly was Porcia, staring back at him with her rich greyish-amber eyes, full of he didn't know what. They seemed to be drinking him, waiting for an answer; he had to have one.

"Why?" the only word he could muster.

Porcia scowled; he was clearly troubled but he didn't say about that! He asked her why when he should know, that was so typical of Brutus, typical!

"Why?" she repeated gaping back at him. "Why! Isn't it obvious why I'm leaving? You and I can't talk to each other anymore and how can I live in a house with someone who I want to talk to but can't because he made me feel like an idiot?"

"When did I ever make you look like an idiot?" Brutus asked, and trying to be humorous he added: "I always look like an idiot, so you're no idiot, and what's stopping me from talking to you?"

Porcia shook her head; now they were talking she couldn't cope with her emotions, her head and heart saying two different things, the two voices in her head whispering again; she didn't even know what her mouth would end up saying. She forced out simply: "I'm leaving. I just can't deal with this. I can't deal with the rejection…"

"What rejection?"

"Your rejection"

Brutus worked himself up into anger fuelled with emotion, passion and frustration, not only with Porcia's bad mood but with fighting back to desire to silence her, not violently but lovingly. That wasn't appropriate while she was angry about the last time he kissed her. Or rather, she kissed him. Porcia grabbed her veil from the side and made her way to the door; Brutus stood in her path.

"For goodness sake, Porcia" he finally snapped. "Why don't you just say what you want to say? Scream, cry and call me every name under the sun if you wish; anything as long as you're talking to me."

"Fine," she snapped throwing her veil to the floor in furry. It was so strange, not only was he able to make her blood burn with love but it boil with anger. She knew she had to tell him now, he'd asked to an explanation and she had no reason not to give him one. Not anymore. She turned on her toes and faced him, staring at him from the other side of the room.

She marched towards him, arms folded and eyes glued on him. There were inches between them. "I happen to be in love with you."

He blinked in disbelief. Had he been hearing correctly?

"Sorry?"

"You heard what I said," she went on. "I don't why or how but I do; I love you. Sometimes just thinking of you makes me relieve the burning emotions experienced by that kiss. You are terribly faulted but Gods know I love your personality. You are a good person and always try to be cheerful; I adore that about you. Regardless of what others make think of you, I know you always mean well, that your heart is good…" she then stopped and took a step away. He said nothing and she gave up spilling her heart to him. Porcia backed away from him, keeping his eye contact as she worked her way towards the door, "That's all I wanted to tell you."

She turned her head and disappeared through the door leaving her head of family standing without a word on his lips. He stepped forwards, trying to place what was said in his head. She said she loved him… and didn't he love her too? He knew he did, so what could be done about it?

He picked her veil up from the floor and lifted it to his nose, able to resist it; it had a natural fragrance of warmth, sweetness and milk. She never dosed herself with the strong-scented perfumes that hurt men's noses when they got too close. She was just natural: natural perfection.

Footsteps returned him. He looked up. She had returned. Her hair was still loose and her face still glazed with evidence of tears. She marched up to him, noticing the veil in his hands. "I forgot my veil…"

Without realising what they were doing, the veil fell to the ground as their hands met again, their arms embraced each other and their lips re-lived the experience of their previous meeting. Their emotions overtook their guilt and restraints and they held each other tightly, passionately. It felt as if two lost and lonely people had finally found company. It was an experience that they never wanted to forget, and they never wanted to let go of each other.

Porcia was literally swept off her feet as her toes barely touched the ground. In fact they didn't; it was the leather of her sandals that faintly tapped the titled floor. Her arms were wrapped about his neck—when she could no longer touch the ground with her feet, they both and to tighten their hold on each other. It felt all the better. In this embrace they could feel a great satisfaction and yet a great longing. And that was an odd longing, a feeling which she never experienced, and for that reason, he discovered that she was easily provoked.

Needing to take in breath, they broke away from each other, gasping, saying nothing. They just stared at each other, their hearts wrenching with love for each other. Porcia was almost shaking her emotions felt so powerful. She ought to remain virtuous and strong, not to give-in to her emotions, but it was impossible. The part of her mind that told her to behave rationally was lost for words. The only voice that spoke was the one that acknowledged love, her heart.

Keeping hold around his neck she closed her eyes and brushed her cheek against his jaw. He leaned his head against hers; if only he could explain in words how lonely he had felt before now. To find someone looking for his company was a great relief, and great delight, a great satisfaction. Neither had yet spoken, yet it was Porcia who broke the silence in her trance. She found herself finding words she never thought she'd say, not to anyone, and mean it in the way she did now. As if from fear someone would hear her words, she held herself close to him and whispered very simply "I love you."

For a moment he said nothing, from the shock of it all, and just held her close, unwilling to let her go, and stroking flanks of her long hair that had come loose.

Once he had settled into his emotion he finally replied: "I love you, and that is why I cannot let you leave like this. I need you here with me. Please, don't leave, I ask you as a lover; not your cousin or a Pater familias, or whatever it is I am in the eyes of the law."

"How could I go now" Porcia asked, laughing faintly "when my returning for that damned veil was just an excuse to come back to a room I knew you were in?"

"So you will stay?"

"I'll stay" she replied, laughing louder, jokily and more openly now. "I'll stay but I don't know what to do with myself now… you've thrown me off course, damn you!"

"I can think a few things you can do."

She looked behind her seeing that her books were still mounted up to the side of her door; sighing, she realised that she'd have to sort it out. "I suppose I should put that lot back on the appropriate shelves in my room; someone might trip and hurt themselves."

"So let them" he replied, leaning his head against her hand and stroking the length of her arm.

"Don't be wicked" she replied with a smile; she ran her fingers lightly across the side of his neck. "It's the only decent thing to do."

"I think it's a little too late speak of decency, my dear" he joked.

"Not quite yet" she replied in a surprisingly suggestive tone, it almost came as a shock to both of them. In the end, she obliged to leave re-cataloguing her books for another time. After all, since her philosophy was to think logically, she thought it was understandable to abandon the knowledge of books she had already studied to experience to knowledge of human emotion. It was the one thing a teacher never told her about. Nor could they have taught her about it.

-

Niobe nervously counted the sums of this mouth's income from the butcher shop. Vorena could see her mother was worried; she hadn't seen her like that since her father first came home. When Vorenus returned from Gaul every day seemed to drag; the fear of Niobe and Lucius' secret being discovered was too great. Vorena wasn't sure what to think ad had always been angry at her mother who insisted on her daughter lying that she had given birth to him. Crito almost died of shock when he heard of it—oh poor Crito!

The pair glanced up to see their slave girl, Eirene, bathing her master Pullo in oil. It was a good thing they could afford the oil now, before it was all just water. It was like the new curtains, the properly painted walls, the clean bed sheets on the real beds, and the four slaves they owned. The facts were plain: the Vorenii family had come a long way in only two years and truth be known, it was really all thanks to Lyde's forgiveness and quick thinking.

Suddenly there was a rising of noise from outside the courtyard. Niobe looked up, wondering if there was a scuffle going on near the cloth dyers' stand. She had half a mind to hurry little Vorena and little Lucius inside just in case it carried on towards their threshold. Then Pullo would have to sort it out.

Then a sharp call "Centurion!"

Niobe nearly leapt out of her skin, her heard jolted and skipped a beat. She turned to Vorena and between them they began to gather their papers away. Then another bellowing call: "Centurion!"

Through the small doorway came the man of the Aventine, the former simple crook turned into a great proto-mafia godfather, Erastes Fulmen. He was very cheap-looking for someone of great wealth and was a man of poor taste. He wore many rings on his fingers, a chain necklace and bright coloured tunics. It surprised many that he didn't wear earrings; but now one would dare laugh… it was Erastes Fulmen and no one laughed at him!

"Lucius Vorenus!" he roared. Niobe and Vorenus had tried to escape up the flight of stairs, but there was Fulmen and to flee would be to encourage trouble. From the balcony of their floor, Vorenus looked over to see the mob master staring up for him. "Lucius Vorenus!" As Vorenus made his way past his gawping neighbours, Fulmen turned and offered a two-faced smile to Niobe and Vorenus. "Niobe, looking as lovely as ever; Phyllis sends her best regards."

Now, Phyllis was Fulmen's ideal woman; just as cheap and tacky as he was. Niobe had never liked the woman much but had taken to sucking-up to her a lot more since Erastes won the run of the hill. It was the only was Niobe and Lyde could discourage trouble from her—if anyone insulted that damned woman, even once, Fulmen would make sure it only happened once.

"Very pretty family you have," Fulmen said keeping his smile finding it amusing that Vorenus still have the same stoic glower. "So, back from the wars; must be hard adapting to civilian life, eh? Different rules…" in a flash the smile was lost and the hideous anger came out: what made it worse was that it was steeped in mockery: "Different fucking rules!" He pointed to the bald, tall man that had harassed that poor man earlier before the eyes of Vorenus, Pullo, and Lyde, as well as Marcus and all who had business on the Aventine.

"My man Urbo here says you slapped him in the face," Erastes went on with eyebrows raised. "Did you do that?"

"I did" Vorenus replied.

"See, that's what I mean" the mobster replied, "Different rules; you see I'm allowed to chastises my people," and as if to demonstrate he took hold of an empty oil jar and threw it at Urbo's head. As it smashed against him, he fell to the ground in agony while Fulmen turned back to Vorenus, "Regular citizens, like yourself, are not allowed to touch them; if someone does touch them, they have to be punished: rules!"

"Get to your point" Vorenus demanded.

Erastes scowled and turned to the on-looking, gaping audience, which included Pullo who held a barber's knife carefully between his fingers.

"This is the second time" Fulmen announced, "That Lucius Vorenus has shown me disrespect. Next market day at noon, he will find me in the forum; he will kneel down, he will kiss my feet and he will apologise to me," he paused as he turned back to Vorenus giving him an 'as-matter-of-fact' look, "If he does not to this I will come here and kill him… but before he dies he will see his wife and daughters raped; and then I will burn down this building."

Pullo felt himself bursting with anger, how he wanted to stick that knife through Erastes Fulmen's neck; how he wanted to hear him chock, how he wanted to hear that squelch of his blood as he tumbled to the ground, how much that monster deserved it…

"Hold!" Vorenus said, breaking Pullo's thoughts. In those thoughts he had almost carried out the deed. Fulmen could already feel the pain in the back of his neck and was weary of Pullo's thoughts. Vorenus' frown deepened: "You've said your peace?"

"I have"

"Then leave now"

Fulmen nodded, wondering what the famous Vorenus would do. Either way, the reward would be delicious and satisfying. "Good day to you."

Once Erastes Fulmen left, there was a great sigh over the area, for all except Vorenus' family. Pullo turned to him straight away and the pair exchanged a look—a look that showed a destiny that now the pair was tumbling towards. And for once, Pullo thought he would be resourceful. Unwilling to walk away, just gearing up and preparing for fate, he would seek advice. It probably wouldn't be useful but it might be his last chance at being clever, or attempting to anyway.

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Thank you for reading, sorry it took so long to post but I've serious been having trouble lately. Please write your reviews and tell me if you want anything special to happen because I just love to here your thoughts and opinions.