Chapter 6 Pompa Funebris

• 20AD, around early January, Palatine Hill..
• It's raining...
• PITTER-PATTER
• 'Is it possible for the sky to mourn?'
• PITTER-PATTER
• Lepidus wondered, tilting his head toward the endless expanse of darkness above.
• Raindrops pelted down, drenching his black hair, tracing cold paths down his pale skin.
• Goosebumps popping up.
• He squinted against the downpour, his eyes swollen and red-rimmed from crying.
• 'The air smells of damp earth…' He sniffled.
• His chest ached, tightening with an invisible force. 'The sky is dark… and it's weeping.'
• Slowly, he pressed a trembling hand to his chest, as if the pressure could dull the pain inside.
• The pitter-pattering of the rain drummed against the cobblestones, each drop a lonely note in the melancholic melody that echoed his sorrow.
• SPLOSH SPLOSH
• Barefoot, shivering, Lepidus stood alone in the rain-soaked streets of Rome.
• Citizens hurried past him—merchants, slaves, nobles—each too absorbed in their own lives to notice the small, trembling figure in the storm.
• His red tunica, dirtied with the city's grime, clung to his thin frame. His brown, tattered cape was useless against the relentless rain.
• Lepidus' teeth chattered. His lips trembled.
• "The sky is crying like me" He whispered.
• And for a while, he simply stood there, welcoming the sky's tears as if they could wash away his own.
• Eventually, he wiped his face with a small, rain-soaked hand, smearing away water, tears, and snot in one motion.
• Then, without another word, he turned and began to walk, sploshing the accumulated rain water on the side of the road.
• Lepidus's thoughts drifted toward his mother.
• Her warm touch. Her gentle voice. The way her eyes sparkled—even in death.
• A fresh wave of tears welled up, blurring his vision. He wiped them away with the back of his hand, but they kept falling.
• "I'll always be with you, my sweet son…"
• He could still hear her voice, soft and comforting, a promise whispered countless times.
• SLOSH SLOSH
• Whenever his father's wives got their hands on him, when his mother wasn't around to shield him…
• He would close his eyes and wait. Wait for the blows to land.
• But his mother always came in time.
• "He's just a child—hurt me instead!" She would plead, desperation lacing her voice.
• And they would.
• Kicks. Slaps. Hair ripped from her scalp.
• Still, she never stopped protecting him.
• Afterward, she would crawl to where he hid, huddled in the corner, sobbing.
• She would cup his face, her own bruised and bloodied, and offer him the same, unwavering smile.
• "It's okay now, my son. It's alright now…"
• Lepidus stopped walking. His breath caught as his vision blurred with tears.
• "Liar," he whispered bitterly.
• He rubbed his eyes with his sleeve, but the pain wouldn't go away.
• "You should have at least wiped the blood off your face before saying that… hic… hic…"
• And now, she was gone.
• She had died last night.
• Leaving him alone. Vulnerable.
• Lepidus shivered, his breath hitching. "Mother is truly gone," he sniffled, his voice barely above a whisper.
• But then, a thought surfaced—one that brought a bittersweet comfort.
• 'No, not really gone… She's in the afterlife. With the gods.'
• A fragile smile flickered across his lips, despite the weight crushing his chest.
• But his knees buckled.
• His body betrayed him.
• He barely caught himself, hands grasping the cold stone wall beside him, fingers trembling. His legs threatened to give out, but he held on.
• And then, he wept.
• The rain wept with him.
• Yet even as grief swallowed him whole, his father's reaction when her mother died, cut just as deep.
• "Take care of it."
• That was all he had said. As if the woman who had died wasn't once the love of his life.
• Lepidus sniffled, his hands clenching into fists. 'Well… he did love her at first.'
• 'Who wouldnt? His mother is so beautiful!'
• She's got a quarter of a nubian descent. An exotic beauty that he always paraded in the city.
• Until his father found out the truth.
• Until he learned how the Cornelii family had deceived him.
• Tricked into marrying a woman of slave descent—just because the family had no suitable daughters to offer but still craved power.
• Greedy people.
• His relatives. The Corneliis.
• When his father learned of the deception, his love curdled into hatred. Overnight, he became a stranger to her.
• "Do you know what you've done?" Lepidus still remembered the rage in his father's voice. "You've made me the laughingstock of Rome!"
• That anger never faded.
• Lepidus's stomach twisted, his father's final, cruel words echoing in his mind:
• "The only son I have is a half-ling! Vae! A son of a dirty slave!"
• The sting of those words seeped into his bones, deeper than the cold of the rain.
• 'Father, why do you hate her so much?'
• The question burned in his mind, though he knew he'd never have the courage to say it aloud.
• 'It's not like she chose to be born a slave.'
• His hands clenched into fists. His father would never listen. Never care.
• But the Cornelii…
• A dark promise bloomed in his chest.
• 'One day… I will return all this pain to you.'
• A new strength surged through him, pushing back the weakness in his limbs. He forced himself to stand.
• The rain still fell, relentless, mirroring the weight in his heart.
• As he walked through the city, something felt... off.
• Rome, always alive with voices, was eerily silent.
• The usual chaos—the shouts of merchants, the chatter of passersby—was muted, swallowed by the steady rhythm of the rain.
• Shadows loomed over empty streets.
• People lingered, standing still. Watching. Waiting.
• Even the thermopolia, the bustling food stalls where the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine usually filled the air, were closed.
• Lepidus frowned. 'Unusual...'
• His chest tightened at the memory of those stalls—of the times he and his mother had walked here together, following the mouthwatering scent of warm meals.
• He stopped in his tracks, eyes drifting shut as he let himself imagine it.
• Her laughter. Her warmth beside him. The way she would buy him something small even when they had little to spare.
• A faint smile flickered on his lips.
• 'Those days… they feel like a lifetime ago.'
• His stomach growled, breaking the moment.
• Lepidus hadn't eaten since last night.
• He had been too busy holding her hand, watching the life slip from her eyes.
• "Be strong, my son. You'll be on your own now... but I will always be watching over you."
• Her final words.
• Her final smile.
• Her body had grown cold in his arms, her fingers limp in his grasp.
• If the vilici—a slave— hadn't come to take her away, he might still be sitting there, lost.
• Lepidus looked down at his hands. Still filthy. His nails caked in mud.
• The same hands that had buried her that morning.
• He flexed his fingers, rain pooling in his open palm.
• But no matter how tightly he held them together—
• The water slipped right through.
• The rain washed away the last remnants of mud from his hands, revealing the raw, torn skin beneath.
• He winced. His palms stung. His nails were jagged, filled with dirt.
• 'Just like me…'
• A broken, ruined mess.
• His expressive green eyes shimmered with fresh tears. It was cold—so cold he could feel it seep into his bones.
• And yet, inside, he burned.
• The contradiction unsettled him, as if his body couldn't decide whether to freeze or burn alive.
• 'Why?'
• 'Why did Mother have to die?'
• 'Why was she born the daughter of a slave?'
• 'And what does that make me? A slave, too?'
• His breath hitched. His thoughts spiraled.
• 'I'm neither patrician nor plebeian. Then what am I? What will happen to me now?'
• The weight of his uncertain future pressed down on him, suffocating.
• He felt like drowning.
• 'Someone…'
• 'Please…'
• 'Save me…'
• But his silent cry was swallowed by the empty streets, lost beneath the lingering whispers of rain.
• His knees buckled.
• This time, he collapsed.
• Pain flared through his scraped skin, but it was nothing compared to the ache twisting inside him.
• People passed by, throwing fleeting glances his way.
• No one stopped.
• No one cared.
• A twelve-year-old boy, kneeling on the wet streets of Rome, shattered and alone.
• The city did not weep for him.
• Then, the distant sound of wheels and hooves cut through the silence.
• Chariots. Horses.
• The rain had begun to slow.
• And fate—whether cruel or kind—was approaching.
• TRUDGE TRUDGE
• The sudden cessation of rain left behind an eerie stillness.
• Heavy with sorrow, the dark sky began to lighten, its deep gray giving way to a muted dawn.
• A strange scent drifted through the damp air—incense and wet stone.
• Low murmurs rippled through the gathered crowd.
• Lepidus, still kneeling, lifted his head.
• For a moment, he had forgotten where he was, lost in his own grief.
• Now, reality pressed in once more.
• He followed the crowd's gaze, eyes scanning the sea of somber faces. The people around him were silent, their heads bowed, dressed in mourning.
• And then—
• A name.
• A single word spoken in hushed reverence.
• "Germanicus."
• Lepidus stiffened.
• He had heard that name many nights ago.
• One of his father's wives had been lashing him, the sting of the whip biting into his back.
• In the next room, his father had spoken in low, serious tones.
• "Germanicus has finally died."
• Lepidus had barely processed the words then. His mother had been too ill to stand, her fevered form curled in bed, unaware of the world around her.
• But now, the weight of that statement settled upon him.
• Germanicus. The beloved general. Adored by nobles and commoners alike.
• A man who had won Rome's heart, only to be sent east—Antioch, they said—to secure diplomacy in the provinces.
• He never returned.
• And today, his family was bringing home his ashes.
• The very air seemed to mourn him.
• The rhythmic sound of hooves against the rain-slicked stones filled the silence.
• TRUDGE TRUDGE
• A luxurious chariot passed, drawn by two black horses.
• Lepidus's gaze locked onto the woman riding it..
• Her face was hollow with grief, her expression bordering on madness as she clutched an ornate urn.
• Her agony was raw, unmistakable.
• TRUDGE TRUDGE
• As the solemn procession moved forward, more people joined, forming a long, winding path toward the Mausoleum of Augustus—where all the imperial family laid to rest.
• Pompa funebris... or a funeral procession.
• Lepidus stood still, watching, the weight of grief—his own and the city's—settling heavily upon his young shoulders.
• The procession's slow, deliberate pace matched the weight in Lepidus's chest.
• The world was unfair.
• When his mother died, there had been no grand mourning, no procession, no weeping crowds.
• It had been just him, his mother, and the man who dug her grave.
• That person is not even mourning, it's only Lepidus. The man just stood there and watched him cry. Why would he?
• Nobody had cared for the daughter of a slave.
• Yes a slave, the one at the bottom of the social hierarchy. They have no rights. No freedom. No nothing.
• A pang of bitterness twisted in his gut as he watched the mourners pass.
• Germanicus, the great general, had the entire city grieving him.
• Yet his mother had been laid to rest in silence, her existence already fading from the world.
• TRUDGE TRUDGE
• Lepidus clenched his fists.
• Why did Germanicus deserve such sorrow while his own mother's death was met with indifference?
• 'We're both the same. We're both people! Why is there even statuses?'
• 'The world is so unfair…'
• His gaze drifted, skimming the people riding in the grand chariots.
• A group of children followed the mourning woman riding a wider and bigger chariot, their presence almost ghostly in its silence.
• One young girl stood out.
• She was about his age—no, maybe younger.
• Her beauty was striking.
• Golden waves of hair framed her delicate face, and her piercing blue eyes seemed almost too bright, too clear, as if they belonged to something beyond this world.
• 'A goddess.'
• A shiver ran down his spine.
• TRUDGE TRUDGE
• She was mesmerizing. Yet, it was not just her beauty that unnerved him. It was the emptiness in her gaze.
• She looked like a statue—perfect, lifeless.
• TRUDGE TRUDGE
• Lepidus scoffed, shaking off the strange feeling.
• 'So what if she's that pretty?' He thought. 'I've seen better—my mother was the most beautiful of them all.'
• With that thought, he turned away, ready to leave the scene behind.
• "Rome has lost its brightest star."
• "A hero… gone too soon."
• "Even the gods weep for him…"
• He heard the people murmured as he step to leave.
• Those words cut deep.
• No one had whispered for his mother. No one had mourned her loss but him.
• When she died, the world did not pause. There were no crowds. No processions. No incense burned in her honor.
• Just a grave. A hole in the earth.
• Just him, kneeling in the dirt, alone.
• His fingers curled into fists.
• 'Why?'
• 'Why did Germanicus receive all of this? The mourning, the love, the reverence?'
• Because he was powerful.
• Because he was important.
• And his mother?
• She had been nothing. A woman of slave descent. A discarded wife. A stain on a noble name.
• So, the world moved on.
• Lepidus' chest burned, a fury unlike anything he had ever known unfurling in his gut.
• 'Power… power decides everything.'
• Who is mourned.
• Who is forgotten.
• Who suffers.
• Who thrives.
• His breath came out shaky, his heart pounding against his ribs.
• "If I had power…" His voice was barely a whisper, but the weight of the words made it feel heavier than any scream.
• If he had power, his mother's death wouldn't have been ignored.
• If he had power, she wouldn't have suffered in the first place.
• If he had power, his father wouldn't have looked at him with disgust.
• Power.
• That was the only thing that mattered in this world.
• Then, a sound stopped him in his tracks. and his thoughts.
• A voice.
• Soft. Melancholic.
• Singing.
• The sound wove through the air like a ghostly wail, wrapping around his heart with invisible fingers.
• His breath caught. 'Who was it?'
• He turned back, scanning the crowd, and his eyes landed on the girl.
• The goddess.
• She was singing.
• It was the loneliest sound he had ever heard. It made his chest ache, as if his very soul wanted to escape his body just to follow that melody.
• TRUDGE TRUDGE
• The voice pulled him in.
• He barely noticed when the chariot passed right by him.
• His heartbeat stuttered.
• THUTHUMP THUMP THUMP
• Up close, she was even more breathtaking.
• 'Why? Why did she sing like that?'
• 'Did she feel it too?'
• 'Like the world had ended?'
• The question hung in the air, unanswered.
• TRUDGE TRUDGE
• THUTHUMP THUMP THUMP
• Without thinking, Lepidus took a step forward.
• Then another.
• Before he knew it, he was following the procession, his exhaustion and heartbreak momentarily forgotten.
• The rhythmic march of the crowd blurred into the steady drum of his own heartbeat.
• THUTHUMP THUMP
• THUMP
• *****************************
• INDEX:
• Vae - damn
• plebeian- commoner (third in the social hierarchy)
• Antioch - city in Roman Syria