A short fan fiction based on the HBO Series, "Rome."

Rome, 44 B.C.

Word Count: 1401



“Atia of the Julii, give me justice.”

Atia’s head snapped up. Her eyes narrowed as they slowly drifted toward the sound of the voice. It felt familiar, high-pitched, yet authoritative. A noblewoman?

She put her quill aside, not quite sure of what was going on. The voice kept chanting the same phrase over and over, making her unable to finish the letter she was writing.

Atia pushed the chair back from her mahogany desk and stood up. She loved her villa’s atrium, full of exotic plants and fine flowers. It was the only place were she could find peace in her world, even if it was only for a second, and now even its sanctuary had been violated.

The sky above her grew gray. A cool breeze sent shivers through her. How quickly the air was changing. Even the palm trees seemed to protest the abrupt shift in the weather, their leaves flapping awkwardly about.

“Mother, it’s Servilia,” Atia’s daughter, Octavia announced. She waltzed into the uncovered atrium, stopping directly before Atia, thrusting her hands on her hips. Her daughter was the spitting image of Atia when she was Octavia’s age, slender, long curly hair, and a sweet smile. It was hard to believe her little girl was now a woman of twenty.

“Well, Servilia should know better,” said Atia finally. “What does she want?”

“Atia, of the Julii, give me justice.”

“Justice, Mother,” said Octavia sarcastically. She glared at Atia, her cerulean eyes full of disapproval.

“That’s obvious, Octavia. Where is she?”

“Right outside our front
door,” replied Octavia.

Atia groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. What was Servilia up to? Was this her nemesis’s way of humiliating her? How could she? She was the great Julius Caesar’s niece! The Julii were an ancient and respected Roman family.

A drop of rain fell onto Atia’s cheek, then another. The gray storm clouds overhead finally broke open. Atia tightened the sash on her white, sleeveless dress and grabbed Octavia’s arm, escorting her daughter inside the villa.

“Atia of the Julii, give me justice.”

“Mother, her chanting is annoying. It’s attracting a crowd. Do something about it. Open the door,” Octavia said. She wiped a wet strand of her long, curly hair from her face.

“And let Servilia in? I think not!” Atia protested.

“You don’t have to let her in. Just listen to her from the doorway,” Octavia replied.

“So she can curse me?” Atia replied.

Octavia threw her hands up in frustration.

A servant approached and presented Atia with a dry towel on a pillow. She wiped her face as her eyes cut in the direction of Servilia’s petulant chanting. What did Servilia want to prove? Didn’t she have enough sense to go home and get out of the rainstorm?

“Follow me,” said Atia. She grabbed Octavia’s arm and dragged her daughter through the main hall to the front door. The scent of jasmine lingered in the hall. Jasmine was her favorite. It made her feel younger than her thirty-nine years.

“Atia of the Julii, give me justice.”

Atia came to an abrupt stop right before the door. Servilia’s voice was so loud, Atia thought she might get sick. How could a noblewoman do this? Out of the corner of her eye, she spied her own servants lingering in the back of the hall, curious as to what was happening. Nosey slaves. She looked at Hayman.

“Domina, do you want me to go outside and throw her in a mud puddle?” asked Hayman.

“No, not yet,” said Atia.

“Not yet? What else can we do, Mother? She’s outside of our door in the pouring rain chanting ‘give me justice.’ It’s embarrassing! Just what did you do to Servilia that made her act like this?” Octavia asked, crossing her arms.

“Me? What did I do?” Atia questioned defensively.

“You must have done something,” Octavia replied.

Atia frowned. “I didn’t do it – Hayman did.”

Hayman shuffled his feet.

“What did he do?” questioned Octavia.

“He gave Servilia a whipping,” said Atia nonchalantly.

Octavia glared at her mother’s slave. “Go on, Mother. I know he did it on your orders, Mother.”

“Well, Servilia tried to poison me last month so I had Hayman whip her.”

“Mother!”

“The old hag deserved it, Octavia. I wanted to send her a message,” Atia defended.

“You are both despicable! Now she wants to curse you,” Octavia said disapprovingly.

Atia frowned at her daughter before turning around to face the main door. She walked up to the peek through and peered outside. Fat, wet drops of rain stung her cheeks. Old Servilia was a horrible sight. She knelt on the uneven cobblestones of the street, her thready arms raised skyward, as huge blotches of rain pelted her face. Servilia’s servant stood behind her and dropped wet anise dust on Servilia’s hair. A crowd had gathered around Servilia.

“Atia of the Julii, give me justice.”

Atia slammed the peek through shut and shivered. She wrapped her arms around herself, shaken for the first time in her life. The old crone really meant to curse her!

“Mother,” said Octavia crossly, “Be a woman and go outside. She won’t stop until she sees you.”

“So she can curse me? Oh, no, I won’t,” Atia protested. She tightened the sash of her dress and rubbed her bare arms with her hands.

“Well, if she keeps it up, think of how embarrassing it will be for us – we’re the Julii!”

Atia frowned. Her daughter had a point. The situation would get worse if she didn’t go outside and the last thing she wanted was a crowd around her house. The next thing they’d want was to be fed and dried off.

“Atia of the Julii, give me justice.”

“Go, Mother. Don’t be such a coward,” said Octavia. She stood next to the door wearing a look of disapproval that gave Atia goose bumps.

Octavia really knew what to say to rankle her. The Julii were no cowards. Julius Caesar embodied bravery. What was a little curse after all? Who took Servilia seriously these days? Servilia was a loon coming to her house in the rain. After Servilia had her fun and cursed her, Atia would just go to the temple, offer up a dove, or a heifer, if she had to depending on the severity of the curse, and wash Servilia’s words away.

“Wish me the best,” said Atia.

“May Juno shine on you, Mother,” said Octavia, smiling.

Atia twisted the doorknob and walked out into the pouring rain. “Well, here I am, Servilia.”

Servilia sneered. Rain stained her opaque teeth. Atia pursed her lips as she watched Servilia reach into her bag and pulled out a stuffed doll, lying it on the cobblestones before her. The crowd stared at Atia. Servilia’s slave mixed in some anise dust into the mud and handed it to Servilia. The old hag rubbed the mud on the doll. Atia winced.

“May you know my pain, Atia. It cuts through to my heart, bleeding the life out of me. I feel empty. I have no one. My family is gone. Caesar is gone. My son is dead. May you never know happiness again, this I pray to Janus!” Servilia shouted.

Atia was speechless as she wiggled her toes inside her sandals. Mud and grime began to cover her feet, as it ran off from higher ground. She felt as foul as Servilia looked.

Servilia took a knife from her servant. Thunder clapped. Lightening flashed just over the glided roof of Atia’s house. Servilia stabbed herself in the heart, her blood spurting onto the doll, and her lifeless body slumped over the cobblestones.

Atia jumped back, disgusted by Servilia’s gruesome display. She stood there, hollow and empty in that moment. She was drenched, mad, and miserable. Damn the foul weather and damn Servilia. Atia spit on her enemy as Servilia’s blood mingled with the water pooling in the cracks of the cobblestones. She turned around and went inside her villa. It would take more than a dove to lift Servilia’s blood curse. Now she’d have to have Hayman go out and fetch her a heifer.

Octavia smiled at Atia as she walked past her daughter, her head held high. At least her daughter was proud of her. She walked into her bedroom, took off her clothes, and dried off, finally glad to be rid of Servilia.