Servilia stood still, the morning light streaming through the marble columns of her estate casting long golden shadows at her feet. For a moment—perhaps longer than she dared admit—she couldn't quite trust her own eyes. Or perhaps it was her mind that faltered, unable or unwilling to accept the reality unfolding before her.
A commotion had erupted just after dawn. The murmurs of slaves, the hasty footsteps of messengers, the hurried movements of soldiers—it was as if the very breath of Rome had caught in its throat. Servilia, a woman not easily swayed by idle rumor, knew something grave had happened.
