Metrius opened his eyes and awoke into a world of pain.

Agony seared through his head, thumping away as last night’s drink struck blow after blow into the anvil within his skull. Waiting for the hurt to subside, he rolled over. The light of the Mediterranean morning shone down on him and he quickly closed his eyes, as a second wave of pain flooded over him.

“Sir?”

The voice made him pry back one eyelid to look up into the face of a boy, shoulder length blond hair exaggerating his youth.

Metrius did not recognize him.

“Who?” He managed, confused by the situation. Everything seemed a muddled blur; there was a battle, King Tatius and Romulus talking…

“Are you well, Sir?” The boy looked down at him and smiled, “Too much drink last night.”

Feeling woolen cloth beneath him, draped over a hard rough floor, Metrius rolled over and rose to his feet.

The healing air filled his lungs as his head momentarily spun, making him feel as if the to world’s were battling over his mind; the one bright and fresh; the other dull and nauseating. But the sight before him was enough to let the former win. The green fields doted with rich olive trees blooming in the sun; a sparkling river winding its way to the sea; and the blue sea shimmering with light that made hit seem alive.

Breathing in the freshness, he concentrated to try and remember last night. His wife had been there. The sudden thought brought deep sadness to his mind and the sudden remembrance of their conversation caused a new type of hurt to fill him. She had left him, left him for a Roman.

“Your water, Sir.”

The young boy hand walked up to stand next to him on the small hill crest, where Metrius looked out. In his hands, smooth and untouched by roughness of heavy labor, he carried a decorative bowl filled with fresh water. Bowing his head slightly, he lowered the water to place to put it on a small stone before stepping back.

“Who are you?” Asked Metrius, his mind confused as he knelt before the bowl to clean his face. He splashed the water up onto his skin and it washed some of the hangover away.

The youngster looked down at him, now seemingly just as confused, “Agathon Sir, your slave and servant.” He shook his head and chuckled, “You really did drink heavily last night.”

Taking a small cloth the Agathon passed to him, Metrius dried off his face. Suddenly he stopped.

He pushed back the towel and stared downwards into the water.

“Who am I?”

The words were barely whispered but Agathon heard them, “I’m sorry Sir?”

“Who am I?” He looked up at the servant with question in his face, totally lost in the mystery that was shrouding him in the Mediterranean morning.

Resigning himself to the fact that Metrius had to be still partially drunk, he answered.

“You are Metrius of Sabine, hero of the Roman army.”

Looking back down, Metrius gazed into the waters. The face that stared back was not his.

For my other stories/parts go to:

http://www.xomba.com/short_story_list_metrius_and_others