Vipsania Julia Agrippina.
Regal.
Commanding.
A colossus.
Sounds of her footsteps echoing at the mosaic floor.
The air itself seemed to crackle around her as she stopped and stood just a few steps away from the doorway. The scent of her expensive perfume, sharp and floral—filling the tutor's chamber.
Her expression was a carefully crafted mask of fury.
Agrippina's presence overwhelmed the room in an instant, as she surveyed the state of the room's disarray. Her face gradually twisted in displeasure.
Julia sprang up from her seat first.
"Mother!" She rushed towards her mother without hesitation, grasping the hem of her white palla, which covered her black stola, and hid behind Agrippina.
Caligula followed suit.
His steps were slower, more unsure—while his eyes searched for his mother's face.
He can only make out her almost white hair that seems to shine from the brightness of the morning sun that's coming from the wide open window.
Caligula knew she was blond.
But he hasn't seen any colors for awhile now so it looks white to him..
He squinted his eyes, he was staying at the darker corner of the area and the light suddenly assaulted his vision as he walked towards his mother. Making it hard for him to see even more.
Her face looked blurry. He blinked once, twice. Still the same.
I already forgot what she looks like… A lump formed in his throat. He wanted to cry. But he wouldn't.
Agrippina's gaze swept over her children, lingering on Caligula for the briefest moment before turning to the tutor, remembering about her discussion with her mother in law about her son.
"I trust the lessons are progressing well," she said, glancing at the tutor. Her tone was neutral. Deceptively so.
Julia stiffened and hid herself more behind her mother.
This is the first time Theodore met Agrippina in the whole month that he was teaching her children.
Only Antonia had spoken to him, and she always listened to what he had to say—making him feel overly confident.
Who is Antonia? She was the niece of the Emperor Augustus! Her status is more on the upper levels.
Should I give her a piece of my mind while I'm at it? he arrogantly contemplated.
Then, Theodore, the tutor, bowed slightly, resolving to deliver a carefully worded report. He thought, this is my golden opportunity!
"They are, madam. Though young Caligula's attention seems… divided." He threw a glance at the opened scroll on the boy's table, gesturing to the boy's mother of what he had done, then casually peering at the infamous woman.
But Agrippina's eyes narrowed.
For a moment, the silence stretched thin. The tutor, unable to follow through with his initial plan, did not take into account the woman's aura. It's too... imposing. His breathing hitched.
He suddenly felt so small under her scrutiny.
Then—she spoke. Her tone is sharp. "Children often stray in their learning. Make sure he learns only what he must—and nothing more."
A flicker of something crossed the tutor's face. She heard me. A bead of sweat traced his temple.
He bowed lower, nodding quickly, suddenly robbed of words.
But Agrippina had already dismissed him like his opinion did not matter. Her attention returned to her children. "Caligula. Julia." Her voice softened—just slightly. "We have matters of greater importance to attend to."
Then she turned back to Theodore.
Her gaze was full of thorns once more. "The people of Rome are eager to see the children of Germanicus. They remember his valor. His loyalty. And they yearn for a return to the virtues he embodied."
Her chin lifted, her presence suffocating. "They will see his children." A pause. "And they will remember."
And with that—she turned.
She did not wait for a reply. She did not acknowledge the tutor's nervous bow. She simply exited the room, her steps purposeful, her presence lingering like the echo of thunder after a storm.
Her children followed.
As they should. Leaving the tutor speechless and feeling embarrassed...
The household of Antonia bustled with frantic energy as Agrippina prepared for the public procession.
Servants scurried back and forth, adjusting garments, tightening sashes, ensuring every detail was flawless.
Caligula stood beside his brothers, Nero Caesar and Drusus Caesar, clad in a finely woven tunic. His sisters, Julia, Drusilla, and Livilla, flanked their mother, their postures poised, their expressions rehearsed.
The children followed Agrippina like shadows, moving in perfect formation.
Caligula's steps, however, felt heavier than the rest. His face was carefully blank. This is his first time since regaining his consciousness.
Agrippina's will was unyielding, her ambitions undeniably powerful.
And he knew what to expect. He had learned by spectating while he was in his subconscious mind.
So he walked.
He suddenly felt nervous. It will be a large crowd like before. And like before, it will be a sea of blank faces, so he started to sweat.
But back then it was different. He was hiding inside his mind. But now....he was fully present, fully exposed.
The streets of Rome stretched before them, filled with murmuring citizens.
The air was thick with expectation, yet laced with something else—something darker. Agrippina's name had long been on their lips, spoken with both reverence and disdain.
Some called her the last vestige of Germanicus' honor.
Others whispered of manipulation, of arrogance, of a woman too entangled in the games of men.
Caligula braced himself.
His mother said that he should smile. He should wave. So that he'll seem like the perfect son of Germanicus. But inside—he felt like screaming.
So mother is now aware that I've come back to my senses.. he thought, biting his lips.
The procession moved forward, the city's familiar roads passing in a blur as they walked towards the heart of Palatine Hill. He saw the gray, indistinct mass of faces—his world reduced to shades of shadow.
Yet even without color, he could feel it. The shift in the air. The absence of the roaring adoration his father once commanded.
Once they arrived at the forumRomanum, people had already gathered. It was mostly composed of plebeians.
Caligula tried not to look around too much, as he can already feel himself getting suffocated by the lack of oxygen and his anxiety of being surrounded by many people.
The applause was sparse while they walked—their aim was the platform in front of the forum.
Less than thirty hands clapped together, scattered and unenthusiastic. It had been years since Germanicus' death.
Years of processions. Years of speeches.
And the people, it seemed—had finally grown tired.
They moved closer towards the forumRomanum.
But Agrippina halted, seemingly aware of the atmosphere.. She stands tall before the crowd, refusing to acknowledge the lack of response.
Her voice, rich and commanding, rang out through the square.
"Citizens of Rome, behold my children—the future of our great empire!"
The words echoed. The silence that followed felt suffocating. A few murmurs. A few reluctant claps. Nothing more.
Caligula didn't have to see his mother's face to know what she felt.
Anger. Shame.
For all her sacrifices, all her battles fought in their father's name—Rome had turned weary of her.
And for the first time, Caligula wondered just how long his mother could hold onto the power she so desperately clung to. Or how far she would go to keep it.
He closed his eyes and bear it...
****************************************
After the procession, Caligula sat alone, reflecting on the day's events.
From the tutor's insults, the frantic preparations, the stifling march, the tension that hung heavy in the forum.. all of it was too much...
He was tired.
Tired of being paraded like a prize, tired of the whispers and the stares.
He understood, in a way, why his mother did it.
She was fighting for their family, for their legacy. But he was eleven! And he won't even be in the line of heirs!
The problem was, his opinion never seemed to matter. He'd been silent until now.
He exhaled, resting his chin in his hand.
Rome was exhausting. His family's prominence was both a blessing and a curse—offering power but demanding unwavering vigilance.
"I feel like a caged animal," he mused bitterly. "Except even caged animals get to nap."
The city was divided.
Some still worshiped his father, their adoration still remains like incense long after the fire had burned out.
Others, however, watched with wary eyes.
They feared Tiberius, feared the consequences of showing too much loyalty to the children of a fallen hero.
And his mother—she thrived in that uncertainty, weaving through the treacherous game of power like a gladiator in the arena.
Caligula slumped onto a cool marble bench at the Roman forum, his limbs heavy.
He cast a glance at Agrippina, engaged in a conversation with what seems to be a group of senators, her voice trained, her gestures precise.
Still can't see her expressions...
Caligula, on the other hand, was less interested in political maneuvering and more interested in figuring out how to disappear without being noticed like his siblings.
Traitors he thought, as he looked around and tried to find them but they were nowhere to be found.
It was then that a sudden, clumsy disruption broke his thoughts.
A boy—no older than sixteen, maybe?—stumbled into view. His dark, possibly colored tunic, and a saccus full of scrolls, were his only companions.
And judging by the way he tripped over his own sandaled feet, his coordination was as questionable as his sense of urgency.
Caligula raised an eyebrow as the boy nearly crashed into a group of patricians, who recoiled with the same horror one might reserve for a stray dog tracking mud into a villa.
The boy, entirely unbothered, scrambled to his feet.
Muttering half-hearted apologies. Then, as if by fate or sheer bad luck, by how his whole body moved, his attention seems to be locked onto Caligula's.
He narrowed his eyes. He had long learned to ignore the many stares that followed him, but one, in particular, felt… persistent. It pricked at his awareness, a nagging presence just at the edge of his vision.
Caligula dismissed it.
Until the presence suddenly materialized, tumbling face-first into a group of horrified patricians.
The boy seemed like he was happy, or smiling.. to me? What does he want?
He wasn't dense. He'd always seen that dark, messy hair, like it was nested by birds. That build, that aura. He'd seen it in his vision, even when he was lost within his own mind.
The boy, who seems nervous and flushed, slowly approaches Caligula.
Suddenly stopping at the bushes full of flowers and picking one up. He continued to advance while holding a small, wildflower that he plucked.
He extended his hand once he reached him, immediately offering the flower. "Ahemm... for you," he stammers, his voice deep. He can see his adam's apple moving.
Caligula, unable to see the boy's face and overwhelmed by the lasting anxiety from the rally, perceives the gesture as a potential threat.
He tenses, his hand instinctively moving towards his side, as if reaching for a hidden weapon (even though he has none) or a stone..
"What is this?" Caligula asks, his voice sharp and suspicious. "And why are you giving it to me?" His voice still feels foreign to him.
The boy was silent for a moment, then, with a delayed startle, shrank back slightly at Caligula's reaction. "It's just a flower," he said, his voice wavering. "I thought… I thought you might like it."
His brow furrowed. A flower? he thought, his mind racing. Why would he give me a flower? Is this some kind of trick? A test? Or is he simply mocking me? He couldn't see the boy's face, couldn't discern his true intentions.
The lack of visual cues amplified his suspicion, turning a simple gesture into a potential threat. Who is this persson? I can feel his eyes burning into me, but I can't see his face. It's like being blindfolded in a minotaur's nest.
He stared at the flower, a splash of white in his gray world, and then back at the boy.
"Like what?" he pressed, his voice low and demanding. "This insignificant flower?" He needed information, anything to pierce the veil of his blindness.
The boy, flustered and caught off guard, stammered again. "I… I don't know," he admitted, his whole body seems to darken, Caligula observed and looked around. There were no trees or columns nearby. Clouds? He squinted at the sky, the sunlight stinging his eyes. No clouds.. but he is turning darker?
"It's just… pretty." He held the flower out further, his hand trembling slightly. "Please, take it. It's nothing." the boy is actually blushing with his whole body.
Caligula hesitated. He wanted to refuse, to push the boy away, to demand answers. But something in the boy's voice, a flicker of genuine nervousness, held him back.
Perhaps it was just a flower. Perhaps this was just a clumsy attempt at kindness. Or perhaps, it was something else entirely.
He reached out, his fingers brushing against the boy's hands, and took the flower. The touch, however brief, feels strange to Caligula.
As he took the flower, his eyes focused on a worn leather saccus slung over the boy's shoulder, bulging with rolled-up scrolls.
Suddenly, the boy shifted, and one of the scrolls slipped from the saccus, unrolling itself across the cobblestones at Caligula's feet.
He looked at it involuntarily, it's like a habit. Caligula's breath caught in his throat.. It depicted a vivid scene of a flowering meadow, rendered with remarkable detail.
He picked up the scroll with his free hands, while his fingers with the flower, traced the delicate lines of the drawings.
Unlike the blurry figures he saw in the real world, these images were sharp and clear.
He could see the intricate patterns of the petals, the subtle shading of the leaves. It was as if a window had opened in his gray world, revealing a glimpse of vibrant color.
"What is this?" Caligula asked, his voice hushed with wonder.
The boy, flustered and embarrassed, stammered, "They're… they're just drawings. I like to draw." He bent to retrieve the scroll, but Caligula held it firmly.
"They're beautiful," Caligula said, his gaze fixed on the image. "What did you use to make them?"
The boy hesitated, then explained, "Mostly charcoal, sometimes colored earths, and for finer details, a reed pen dipped in ink."
Caligula's fingers traced the lines of a particularly detailed flower. "I've never seen anything like this," he murmured. "They're so… clear."
He looked up at the faceless boy, his expression a mixture of curiosity and something akin to awe. "Can you draw people too?""
The boy seems to turn dark again, his gaze darting away. "Sometimes," he mumbled. "But I'm not very good at it."
Caligula, however, was no longer listening.
His mind was filled with the images on the scroll, the realistic flowers, the lush meadow. It was as if the boy had given him a key, a way to see the world in a way he never thought possible.
"What is your name?"
****************************************
INDEX:
palla - rectangular, draped shawl worn by Roman women, typically over a stola.
stola - garment worn by married Roman women
forum Romanum/Roman forum - central public space in ancient Rome, used for political, legal, and social activities
plebeians- commoners
patricians - nobles
saccus - bag or sack, often used for carrying scrolls or other items