The Pillars of Rome

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It was a prank, one of those pieces of devilry which Lucius Falerius treasured; one his best friend Aulus Cornelius feared because of his more potent respect for the power of the gods. How could two twelve-year-olds know that what they would experience on this night would have a bearing on the rest of their lives?

Both were dressed in manly gowns, appropriated so they could visit a famous Sybil, an oracle who inhabited a cave in the Alban Hills close to Rome, a privilege forbidden to mere boys. The lifting of those garments had shown that for all his strength and prowess at games, Aulus could easily be bested where deception was required. In his father’s country villa, dealing with his own family slaves, his way would have been to rush in, grab what he wanted, and flee. Lucius, a guest, swept in with a proprietary air and emerged with the garments neatly folded over his forearm, seemingly unconcerned about the whipping both they and the slaves would receive if the boys were caught. Clothes formed only part of the disguise and in this Lucius could again best his friend. Aulus had the nose of his race, prominent and straight, full cheeks and the makings of a noble forehead, but he struggled to get his thick, black hair into anything resembling an adult style. Somehow Lucius, smaller, with features softer in every respect, managed to look older merely by the superior way in which he held himself.

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