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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Jul 4, 2022 16:39:22 GMT -5
 Urban villa of the ancient Servilii.
Ager Privata of Servilius Ahala: Latium: 2 units (4,000 denarii per annum) 326 BC / Year 1| purse from 327 BCE | 8,000 denarii | | ager privata (7/12/22) | 4,000 | | ager privata (7/18/22) | 4,000 | | other income | -- | | civic expenses | -- | | military expenses | -- | | political expenses | -- | | other expenses | -- | | Purse for 325 BCE | 16,000 denarii |
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Post by Gandalf on Jul 5, 2022 15:10:25 GMT -5
Marcus Claudius Marcellus arrives at the home of the Servilii, accompanied by a small number of slaves. The stern-faced former consul was a greying, hawkish looking man in his forties, and like many of the Plebs who had climbed to high office, he appeared even more Patrician than the Patricians themselves. Though he was selfishly sympathetic to the plight of his own caste, Marcellus found it far more providential to his fortunes to fall into line with his social betters. In this manner had he secured his own Consulship some half a decade before, the first man of his clan to do so. Now his likeness would stand in the halls of his house for all eternity.
But merely once was not enough. Thus, in this fortuitous climate of war and opportunity did he call upon another, much younger candidate for the consulship of a bloodline far more distinguished and ancient than his own.
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Jul 5, 2022 22:11:52 GMT -5
The Ahalae had settled themselves on the very tip of the collis Viminalis over a century ago, and the antiquated nature of the domus could be seen plainly in an architectural style associated with the age of kings and king-slayers; that is, a rustic, aging style. Contrary to the villas and insulae throughout the city that had been built upon the ruins of earlier palaces in the past half century, this wide-squared, wall-enclosed property had only one floor. The outside presentation of the structure wasn't particularly remarkable for a place housing aristocrats, but it was one of the better known patrician fixtures because of a humorous senatorial squabble in the years after the Gallic sack - one Q. Servilius Ahala, perhaps father or grandfather of the living paterfamilias of the same name, attempted to bar his fellow senators and citizens alike from constructing taller and newer structures in the vicinity of his home. Clearly, he'd lost that battle, for the eventual ordinance only gave Servilius a symbolic perimeter of his property in which taller structures could not be built. The next year, though, he was elected consul.
Marcellus' slaves conversed for a moment with what could only be Ahala's slaves through a slat in the door; it almost sounded like a negotiation, until Marcellus' name was repeated a second time. The door opened after that, its heavy wood creaking sending muffled echoes throughout the marbled interior. The barefoot slave stepped into the light, bowed before this man worthy of names and rights, and welcomed him into the threshold, the fauces.
Claudius Marcellus was immediately faced with a wide, long wall that went both left and right, or north and south, covered in clay or wax masks and littered with inscriptions all around them. There was at least thirty of them, several of them holding more than one tituli under their images.
"I welcome you to my home, Claudius," came a smoothed, sallow intonation.
The voice's origin was a former consul as well, though his physical presence in the senate was now considered rare and auspicious. Ahala and Marcellus hadn't formally met or ever conversed, but the old patriarch seemed to know exactly who his guest was.
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Post by Gandalf on Jul 6, 2022 6:58:08 GMT -5
”Salve, Servilius. A fine home it is, indeed..”
Marcellus greeted the older man with a nod, apparently not visibly overawed by the sheer number of consular masks on display. It seemed darkly humorous that his clan had greatly celebrated when they achieved but one - the Servilii had more than he could swiftly count.
”Apologies for the early call. I hoped to catch you before the morning rush.”
Dawn’s light had only just begun to draw back the curtain of darkness that had hung heavy over the sky on that winter’s night. Claudius had, indeed, beaten the early calls of Servilius’ host of clients, and by some margin at that.
”It was my hope to talk business with your esteemed self.”
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Jul 6, 2022 15:49:07 GMT -5
The masks were not all consular - most of them held lower titles or even just epithets, but if visitors thought there had been that many Ahalae consuls, then Servilius wasn't complaining.
"Esteemed individuals such as yourself need not apologize for such prudence,"
Quintus Servilius Ahala - often called Ahala the Elder to distinguish the respected father from the embarrassing son - had much softer features than his guest: a pointed but smooth nose with no bump or hook, sallow cheeks that may have once been cherubic, and wide unbroken chin. Brown eyes matched his tousled hair.
"Any man of note goes about his tasks as soon as the sun is up."
He paused, then turned to walk down the right hallway, gesturing for Claudius to follow him.
"Come, we will have our business in the garden, if you do not mind,"
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Post by Gandalf on Jul 6, 2022 16:23:13 GMT -5
The masks were not all consular - most of them held lower titles or even just epithets, but if visitors thought there had been that many Ahalae consuls, then Servilius wasn't complaining. "Esteemed individuals such as yourself need not apologize for such prudence,"Quintus Servilius Ahala - often called Ahala the Elder to distinguish the respected father from the embarrassing son - had much softer features than his guest: a pointed but smooth nose with no bump or hook, sallow cheeks that may have once been cherubic, and wide unbroken chin. Brown eyes matched his tousled hair. "Any man of note goes about his tasks as soon as the sun is up."He paused, then turned to walk down the right hallway, gesturing for Claudius to follow him. "Come, we will have our business in the garden, if you do not mind," Marcellus offered a deft nod and followed where the elder Ahala led. "Of course."Claudius took great effort not to gawk at the ancestral masks as they made their way past. It would look undignified, and demean his own not inconsiderable pride."I am standing for the Curule chair again this year, and hope to lead a campaign against the Samnites in the new year."He said candidly, as soon as they were both still and in the open air."I am, I shall confess now, hoping to secure the support of yourself in this endeavour."
Marcus believed their goals would align; better him than some populist firebrand. It was not that long ago that the Plebs last left the city."If we could secure some formal pact... Then all the better." He added, finally, after a moment's hesitation.
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Jul 7, 2022 0:44:19 GMT -5
Claudius was led through his host's home at a leisurely pace, Servilius setting a pace one would expect from a man in the comfort of his own home. As one might expect, the interior was quite old, in many places echoing the minority of edifices that had survived the barbarian sack six decades prior. The man's father - a dictator some twenty-odd years ago - had been but a boy when the Gauls came down upon Roma. Despite the age, everything seemed well-maintained, suggesting one of Servilius' maiores instilled in the family an intense taboo against renovation or new construction. A wide arch led out the back, decorated with facades showing the grinning visages of unclear beings; laughing gods, maddened maenads, lares, who could tell..
Ahala stepped through the verdant space towards a small but comfortable stool poised next to where a little excavation had recently occurred in one of the planters. He stopped finally, and turned to face his guest. The garden was quite bare this time of year, but one could imagine the same sunrise in spring or summer... Behind him, the far wall of the complex seemed to look out over the entire city. A view from the tip of the Viminalis all the way to the Arx. One could imagine looking down upon the subura, if they stood up against the balcony-like barrier.
The elder man hummed quietly, audibly considering Claudius' words while his eyes tried to read him.
"The last man I helped into the curule chair was Laenas," over twenty years ago. "I have the means, even still, but I'm curious as to what you've brought to offer in return."
He paused and glanced towards the planter with a pit delving into its soil.
"Would it offend you if I continued my work while we speak?"
A slave approached from his rear, ready to retrieve his toga; a bowl of water, slightly darkened, sat close by. Apparently, the pater himself was the gardener, imitating the past when consuls would return to their farmlands between terms.
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Post by Gandalf on Jul 7, 2022 7:27:22 GMT -5
Marcellus waved a hand to indicate his assent as the older man began to root around in the dirt. Undoubtedly a display of good, old virtue that Marcus found it difficult not to admire.
”A stable pair of hands. Plebeian though they may be, law now dictates that one of my caste must occupy one of the curule seats. A man with experience and of sound mind should surely be preferred over some of the more radical foolishness that has crept into our Republic.”
Claudius was under no illusions that the Patricians would rather not share power at all. But like it or not, the Plebeians had carved out their place, and were largely here to stay. What Marcellus could do, however, is prevent the flood from further battering down the ancient traditions and hierarchy of the republic. He was no demagogue or petty populist.
”We are all Romans, and cannot exist without the other. The greatest Plebeian and Patrician clans working in concert is only to the benefit of the Republic. Long gone are the days that we could not be bound by blood, friendship, or marriage.”
Marcus added an intentional emphasis on the final word.
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Jul 7, 2022 16:24:59 GMT -5
Servilius' back was now turned to Claudius, and he was silent for a moment - and the last word caused him to pause briefly and glance his eyes outward towards the balcony. Just a brief second, easy to miss.
"You are right on many counts," he said, continuing to work as he pulled out a large gnarled root with ease.
"My father's father and his kind thought plebeians a different breed of man. Some of his colleagues still refused to admit they were even Romani."
Servilius sighed lightly and reached for another root, the hole getting larger.
"That is obviously not true. Even some of the kings were plebeian, supposedly."
The long dead generations of patres believed plebeians to be incapable of the skill and intellect to lead the state and people. Some still did. This Servilius had learned first hand that it was really all about poverty.
"I am surprised, though, that you would join the ranks of the fathers, only to shut the door behind you on your old neighbors."
Ahala stopped, turned his back and head to glance at Marcellus, and smiled kindly.
"I suppose the sad truth we all know is that the mob will always be the mob."
The glance passed and he returned to his garden work.
"My errant son has procrastinated his entrance into public life, and has forced me to take matters into my own hands. Jupiter must smile upon this father, for here you are. If you are elected consul, I have two stipulations to this agreement."
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Post by Gandalf on Jul 7, 2022 17:15:53 GMT -5
The Ex-Consul met Servilius' words with a brief smile. The mob was indeed the mob. It always would remain so.
"I would hear them, of course."
Marcellus replied, his interest piqued. The Servilii seemed to cloak themselves in an unintentional shroud of mystery. Ahala had disappeared, almost, from public life, and his son had likewise dithered in the shadows rather than followed the route expected of him. What Marcus would expect, in due course, from his own son.
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Jul 7, 2022 17:56:14 GMT -5
"I planned to bring him into the senate myself," he continued, "but it is a much better to have another man take him under Patronage."
A pile of roots and dirt was on the other side of the old senator, and the slave was sweeping it up.
"Make him a tribune, and take him to fight the Samnites under your command. That will clean him and his reputation up."
The man stopped, stood, and gestured for the slave to bring the bowl of water.
"My second requirement is that you will heed my opinions and advice when it is given to you."
Ahala splashed his hands into bowl for a minute.
"We can have a very powerful friendship, you and I, as long as we stay aligned."
He flicked the water off his hands and approached Marcellus, close enough to nearly whisper.
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Post by Gandalf on Jul 8, 2022 4:41:38 GMT -5
Marcellus gave Ahala a muted nod, recognising the implications of threat behind the old patrician’s words without it even needing to be spoken. But he did not flinch from the patrician’s approach.
”To a long and prosperous friendship then, Servilius.”
Said Marcus stiffly, as an indication of agreement.
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Jul 8, 2022 15:15:43 GMT -5
"Good."
Servilius declared and wiped his hands on a cloth presented by the slave.
"If you haven't eaten your jentaculum yet, you are welcome to sit with me."
The older man smiled.
"Cannot beat bread and honey."
=== (scene end? )===
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Post by sforza on Jul 9, 2022 5:02:28 GMT -5
Only a few days after the elections were confirmed, the newly elected Censor would visit the villa of the Servilians.
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Jul 9, 2022 23:09:34 GMT -5
Camillus was guided past the hall of Servilian ancestors and into the large, wide, and antiquated atrium, where the gracefully-aging Quintus Servilius Ahala waited to greet his visitor.
"Ave, Lucius Furius Camillus,"
It had begun to lightly rain, and the pool in the center of the room was patterned with riplets as droplets fell through the opening above.
"Welcome to my home; to what topic do I owe the honor of hosting a visitor such as yourself?"
[ooc: sorry I'm feeling under the weather tonight, not a lot of effort on my part]
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