Orbiliane

In the reign of the Emperor Augustus, that Golden Age of Latin literature, a plethora of great poets were produced: Horace, Ovid, Virgil, Livy, just some of the more stellar sons called by that mother Muse, Calliope, to render her house service.

Yet few are aware that prior to the rule of Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus, there lived a teacher, destined one day to educate the minds and bodies of Rome's future heroes. A man previously immune to the call of the wax tablet and stylus, an ex-army officer who had served his country proudly, and his name was Lucius, of the town near to Naples known as Beneventum.

That gentleman of Sabellian stock was walking alongside the bank of River Calore on a fine summer's afternoon, contemplating nothing more portentous than a lunch soon to be fixed for him by his slave, Aphrodisius, consisting of fresh bread, olives, goat's cheese and dried figs. Lucius was nearing fifty years of age and following a brilliant career spent in the military - not a bad life for an orphan boy from the countryside who wished to see the Empire - was quite contented to spend the remainder of his time on earth walking, eating, perhaps reading and most certainly, on occasion, whoring with pretty women available for hire in the village.

"Master," exclaimed the manservant, who was forever calling small details to Lucius' attention, "behold that fair cloud yonder! Do you not see a beauty in its shape?"

"Idiot," mused the owner to himself, but replied, "Ah, yes, good Aphrodisius, I daresay a true goddess inhabits that billowy form. What say you?"

"A good goddess or an evil temptress?" quizzed the companion who had accompanied his keeper on many a campaign and was too old for such flights of fancy. "Tell me, do you espy her mark?"

"Yes," chuckled Lucius, pointing heavenward, "see? Look there, Aphrodisius, over there I say; do you not view our dear deity's whip? I should say, then, that she is a most violent female, an immortal woman not even a soldier of Rome might subdue."

"I think you mock her," warned the slave, who despite his simple demeanor was most reverent of all things natural, "and I beg of you, Master Lucius, I entreat you to lower your tone 'lest she hear your disdain."

Shaking his head in amusement, Lucius made for a shade tree and pointed to the spot where Aphrodisius was to set-up a makeshift kitchen and prepare him a pleasant repast. Adjusting his white wool toga, the man of means made himself comfortable, resting his back up against massive, gnarled roots, a greying head pillowed by birchbark.

Eyes closed, memory reliving a glorious battle scene in which he had slain one-hundred of the enemy in the name of Juno and the Triumvirate, Lucius was not prepared for the sound of a piercing scream that broke his delicious reverie. Always prepared for the unexpected, the veteran leapt to his feet, only to fall to his knees in wonder as he beheld a tall, dark-haired lady, disarmingly arrayed in the uniform of a centurion, shod with the most amazing, winged sandals and gripping onto his servant's neck with a most passionate fury.

"Who...who are you?" the awestruck warrior gasped. "In the name of Jupiter, speak."

"Do not propose to command me," the copy of lovely Minerva decreed, a pointed finger transforming into a sturdy cane of birch. "Were it not for your confederate, sir, and his pleasing supplication made moments prior to my arrival, you would have been struck down dead, understand?"

While Lucius cried out, weeping genuine tears, Aphrodisius was deposited none-too-gently on his backside, landing next to his trembling master who had not even power over speech.

"Now heed me and heed me well," the lovely apparition of perfected flesh maintained, a reminding rod striking both men's backs, sending them faces down into the dirt. "Your supplicant postures indicate a need for forgiveness, a desire to beg my mercy, am I not correct?"

"Yes, oh yes," the eager pair chimed. "Show us mercy, mistress!"

The rod beat down again on the errant souls, who groaned beneath the force of its blow.

"I am Orbiliane, facet of TriVia's dominant Omnipotence. Through your own ignorance, I appeared today so you might learn to better serve your fellows by worshipping your better."

While Aphrodisius might have been accustomed to such demeaning talk, Lucius most certainly was not and raised his head to protest the harangue.

But as surely as Marc Antony was Cleopatra's slave, the moment the eyes of Lucius began to lift, a heel was atop his crown, driving face back into the muddy hovel his mouth had recently vacated.

"Stubborn, foolish man," Orbiliane admonished, bearing down upon a trembling form yet again, "for that rash act you must be punished. Because your slave showed more common sense than his master," she mocked, "he will follow you to Rome, where a great lady, the daughter of Libo named Scribonia, will take Aphrodisius unto her, freeing him from you and making him Scribonius, her devoted servant for life. This is no small boon, for by that time, Scribonia will have married, subdued and rejected the great Augustus - no man could ask for better mistress, be certain."

"And me, what of me?" whimpered the other, the abject, the former comedian who felt as though the rock of Sisyphus weighed upon his brow.

"You," the divine lady jeered, "you require constant reminding of my might, that much is clear. Henceforth be known as Orbilius in tribute to me. Become a teacher and instruct your own sex as to the worth of the rod and the benefit of praying to my pennoned boots - gift them sage advice, Lucius Orbilius Pupillus, and should you serve your mistress well, you may be granted one day the Secret Name of Rome."

"No!" both men gasped aloud.

"Yes, for in the future a youth will come to you...he will be called Quintus Horatius Flaccus and he will deride you in print as Plagosus, the flogger, and your cane as the Orbilian stick. But in my honour he will dedicate the sweetest verse, the most brilliant poetry, and all because his tutor, old Orbilius, introduced him to the strains of my melodies, those cries of the tormented ones who alone reach a goddess."

As Orbiliane had prophesized, Aphrodisius found his cruel mistress, Scribonia, most deserving of all women, awaiting his purchase in Rome, that Eternal City. The newly made Orbilius likewise found many pupils and became a notoriously stern taskmaster, but most ruthless to one Quintus Horatius, Horace, for with the arrival of that youth in his classroom, the old man smiled with the knowledge that soon Orbiliane would return, bearing with her the Sacred Name, the Secret, known only to the Chief Vestal and to Augustus himself.

The note left in his simple chamber read: The other name of Rome which is held sinful to disclose except during the Rites of the Mysteries, will be yours tonight, Orbilius. Come to your mistress at the Sacred Temple, the one north of the city.

And, at the sight of her command, Orbilius made off with great joy for Mount Soracte, served by the Samnite priests of the wolf goddess, Hirpa.