After two millennia, it was not in Gaius' habit to observe his birthday. Another year added to eternity was so much sand in an ever-empty hourglass to rush into a void that would not fill. He found it amusing how the day had caught the popular consciousness through the centuries. Suetonius, writing long after Julius Caesar, had laid the grains of inspiration for figures such as Shakespeare to immortalise it further. It was likely a legacy Gaius Julius Caesar would not be best pleased with–being known for his stabbing was a sour prospect at best–but his other writings existed for those who cared to find them. An acceptable form of immortality for the dead, Gaius thought. It had been all the rage in Egypt, after all, the final death was to have one's name erased off the face of the earth.
The less said about Brutus, the better. However, his legacy as the greatest betrayer and the greatest enemy of tyranny was undoubtedly an amusing end for the man who traced his lineage to the last Roman king.
Regardless of the interplay of famous men long gone, such a death was unlikely to wait for Gaius. Assassinations were out of vogue, for one, and one would have to try very hard to end an undead permanently. He was secure in his position, and as such, he felt somewhat smug as he regarded the milling crowd down in the library courtyard. All there because of him, if not necessarily for him. He doubted he had their love and might dare to assume loyalty when things were going well. At best, perhaps, a sense of satisfaction over a job well done by their elected official.
Turning away from the wide windows, Gaius cast his eyes to the room he was standing in. In its day-to-day, it was a spacious library section offering books on the natural sciences, but today it was the main hosting room for the VIPs. Draped with curtains and dotted with tables and seating, it offered enough luxury to satisfy most VIPs, if not Gaius himself. The tables were laden with a better fare than down in the courtyard but still humble compared to fine Roman feasts. For a fee, even alcoholic drinks were on offer, and Gaius had secured himself a glass of their more expensive wine on offer. Donated by himself, of course, so it was excellent red wine. So wonderful he lingered to draw in its scent, allowing his nose to register the nuances of the grape, the cask used, and the ageing process. It did not sustain him, but it appealed to his tastes.
“Bonum vinum laetificat cor hominis,” the Roman murmured to himself, lingering on memories of times long past, to a point where his birthdate had mattered to more than himself.
Trans. Good wine gladdens a person's heart.
