I warmed his cold blood

The funeral was held at noon the next day.

The musicians hold a flute in their hands and play a sad and dignified tune.The slaves lit incense in the courtyard, poured water on the ground, and swept away the dust.A statue of Pliny stands beneath the dome, a clear beam of sunlight enveloping it.There is a colorful garland on the head of the statue, and several women in black robes are crying at its feet.They were weeping, their facial muscles nearly twitched, and money made them cry for unrelated people.

Pliny had been separated from his family for many years, and most of the guests who came to mourn were strangers.The guests gave a copious and regretful smile, grabbed a glass of wine and left.

Heron sat lazily on the rocking chair, with his legs crossed casually.He was blinded by the sun and dozed off.

"My dear cousin, it's not polite to show such obvious laziness." The hearty voice pierced through the flute like an arrow, waking Heron from his lethargy.

He tilted his head and looked up, his temples suddenly throbbed.

Gattuso arrives with his pregnant wife.

He was wearing a black cloak, and his mouth was grinning openly.He has a fat round face, a round belly that protrudes cutely, his hair and nails are dyed black by him, and he has a kind of rebellious kindness.

His father was Fanny's older brother.Herron grew up with him, and fondly remembers scenes of this guy tricking his young self into eating candles, and him covering his mouth and giggling.

"I know you don't have any feelings for your father," Gattuso took off his cloak, revealing a crow-feather-colored toga, "but you have to cry a few times anyway, and others will say you have no affection."

"Didn't the servant tell you that an ideal nobleman is not suitable to show sadness?" Helen stood up with his head supported, making way for his wife Sura.

Sura is petite and exquisite, even if she is pregnant, it is difficult to see the swollen belly.She smiled gently, as considerate and gentle as hot spring water.

"Thank you, Herron. I baked you a honey cake with feta cheese." She handed the cake to Heron, puffing her stomach and going to sit down.

Gattuso put his arm around his wife's shoulders and grinned at her.He spread the cloak over the rocker and brushed it straight carefully.

Sura grabbed his hand in embarrassment, and sat up while leaning on his lower back.Although it was inconvenient to move, she still kept her knees tightly together, and her white hands were placed neatly on her lap.

Helen lowered his head, sniffed the sweet aroma wafting from the bag, and said with some reproach: "Gattuso, this is an ominous funeral, you shouldn't let a pregnant woman come to this place."

"Oh, look at your stupidity, Helen!" Gattuso spread his hands and laughed teasingly, "It's better not to believe in those illusory bullshit things."

Herron raised an eyebrow and said, "Really? As expected of the youngest elder, he never lacks confidence."

"My lord Pliny has helped me a lot." Gattuso bowed reverently to the lime statue, his occasional seriousness made people laugh, "Without your father, I could not have entered the Senate. Although you You're young, so it's time to make plans for your official career, cousin."

The corner of Heron's mouth twitched. "If I can keep Polio, I will be content."

Gattuso glanced at him strangely, ignoring the grotesque remark.

"There's a funeral procession tonight, and a dinner party. Don't you forget?" he reminded.

Helen's expression froze, and he grabbed the paper bag tightly, "I haven't forgotten." He said in a muffled voice.

He lowered his head, his chin hidden in the shadow of his long hair.

……

At the funeral of nobles, the deceased will be put into the coffin.The funeral procession carried the coffin through the bustling streets and finally reached the square.

The streets of Rome are narrow and winding, and the funeral procession can be described as mighty, pouring into the streets like a tide.Sorrows and music were blown all the way, and the sound of mourning fluctuated loudly and softly.Flower petals were sprinkled on the coffin, attracting countless people to stop and watch.

It was an ornate gathering in funeral garb, a display of the power of the Polio family.

Helen wore black mourning clothes and walked in front of the team.On a hot summer night, he was surrounded by cries, and the noisy flute sounded behind him.He tugged at his neckline anxiously, and his neck was covered with glistening sweat.

The slave girl approached him over the shoulders and handed him a silver jug. "My lord, this is what the master asked me to give you."

Herron took it.The silver side of the jug is reflective and has Fanny's name engraved on it.He glanced up at the slave girl.

The female slave is short and strong, with a dark complexion.Her face is flat, and her triangular eyes are covered by single eyelids, which makes her lack the vitality that young people should have.

This is an unremarkable woman, the only bright spot is a string of bright ruby ​​earrings around her ears.

Heron turned on the kettle and took a sip.He moved so quickly that water dripped down his chin and into his collar.

"The slave girl who came with mother yesterday was you, right?" he asked.

"Yes, my lord." The female slave bowed her head respectfully, her family seal was branded on her exposed back.

"what's your name?"

"Flitina."

Herron returned the jug to her.Felitina bowed her head in salute, her earrings hanging down heavily.Then, like a shadow, she disappeared into the crowd.

The procession arrives at the square.The stone pillars stood tall and surrounded, and the coffin was framed on the high pile of firewood, like a lonely little black boat, which was about to lead to the heaven of the gods.

It was an empty coffin.

The firewood was ignited by the torch, and there was a crackling sound.The flame climbed up the coffin like a big hand, and the tongue of flame quickly licked the night.The funeral directors threw jewels, silk robes and weapons into the fire.

The onlookers thought that Pliny was cremated in a grand manner, but they didn't know that the real dead person had already been put into a sarcophagus and lay quietly in the family tomb outside the city.

Everything went smoothly.The cremated ashes were collected in urns, and the funeral director took it away for burial.

After the funeral was over, Helen sent her mother away, and took a sedan chair to the open-air garden beside the square.

A dinner party is about to be held here, surrounded by a flower wall.The arena was built, and a bonfire was lit in the center, rising from the ground like a beam of light.From a distance, the garden looks like a huge petal lantern, guests come in one after another, and slaves shuttle back and forth with delicious food.The gorgeous woman is sitting on the outside, playing the harp in her arms.

After the funeral, the head of the family will hold a dinner, invite gladiators to fight, and the supply of food and drink will be endless.This is the happiest part of a funeral, and it is only then that one laughs without being blamed.

It is believed that the blood of gladiators can be sacrificed to the dead.The nobles sent the dead away with howls, and then took off their mourning clothes to watch the gladiatorial fights and indulge in pleasure.

None of this mattered to Herron; the important thing was—

We are about to meet that person.

He sat in the position of the Patriarch, facing the arena.

The aristocrats who attended were dressed in expensive silk and their hair was sprinkled with silver powder.They were sweating profusely from eating, chewing the dried bacon, and the residues of the husks were piled up at their feet; they raised their wine glasses from time to time to signal the slaves to add wine to the glasses.The whole garden is hot, and the smell of wine and meat is very strong.

Heron was in no mood to joke with others.He stared at the arena, playing with a few peas in his hand.

Soon, two gladiators came onto the stage with weapons in hand, knelt down and saluted Harun.

The dagger and square shield broke into sight so abruptly.

Helen narrowed his eyes, his movements froze, and all the peas in his hand fell to the ground.

He fell into memory.

……

"You block me to lose, bet all your money on it!" The gladiator held the iron helmet in his arms, his arms were tightly tied with leather gloves, and his feet were drawn up like swords. "You owe a lot of money recently."

In the bloody underground arena, gambling on winning or losing is the norm.The shouts hit the eardrums loudly, and the crowd seemed to overturn the top of the wall, but Helen could still hear every word clearly.

"Are you going to die?" he asked in surprise.

"Yes, to pay my master's debt."

The gladiator patted his stiff shoulder, and snapped his helmet on.The mesh blocked his eyes, revealing the sharp corners of his eyes, which were filled with jumping flames.

Harun grabbed his leather armor, "As your master, it seems unreasonable to bet on you to lose."

"Oh no!" The man smiled and shook his head.His hoarse laughter still pierced through the thick iron.

"Win is not guaranteed, but it is completely possible to lose. You bet on me to lose, there is nothing wrong with it!"

Helen let go of his hand unconsciously, and froze on the spot.

The man seemed to sneer.He corrected his posture, drew out his dagger, and bowed his head to Heron in salute.

"As your slave, I have only one request..."

"Go ahead."

"My name is Lucas, please remember my name."