Gaius Julius Caesar lay in his bed, awake. The candle light dimly shone in his chamber as he looked towards his ceiling, deep in thought. His father was dead a year today, and now he, at 17, was the head of his family. So much had happened in the passing month. He was nominated high priest of Jupiter, but he was not in the least bit happy. He was of patrician blood, which qualified him, but he also had to marry a patrician to attain what he was nominated for. And so today, he broke off his engagement with Cossutia, his betrothed since he was a boy.
His pillow lay next to him, stained with tears. The stress was getting to him. “Why couldn’t I have been born a commoner,” he thought. Lost love was peanuts however, compared to what was coming. His uncle, Gaius Marius, was dead. The great general and reformer of the Roman military, dead. His supporters still retained power, but the young man could not help but feel that trouble lay on the horizon in the form of Sulla. Some days, when he looked in the mirror, he swore he could see his hairline receding. His dark brown eyes were red, but he was done crying. He could no longer afford the tears of a weak little boy. He was a man now.
“At least I have tomorrow,” he thought. Tomorrow, he was set to meet Cornelia, the daughter of Lucius Cornelius Cinna, an ally of his late uncle. She was said to be beautiful, at least. “Time heals all wounds,” he told himself. He extinguished the candle at his bedside, and went to sleep at last.
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