Bloggus Septimius. 1 - Introduction

We find our unlikely hero languidly supine upon damp, hard cobblestones that form the cold floor of a cell, set within walls of impenetrable thickness, isolating the prisoners captive in this Roman jail from their liberty.
Instead of the blossom-fragrant air blown in from the surrounding countryside, laced on many days with just a hint of the not too distant ocean - they breath the putrid, re-cycled odour of the unwashed, the stench of a dozen men and their calls of nature.

A little sunlight casts a long beam from a small iron barred opening, roughly square in proportion, let into one of the stone walls. Too high in position to afford a tempting view of the free citizenry that might hasten remorse, for only slightly more than their unshackled, sandal strapped ankles could be seen shuffling by. But the light streams in like a followspot and paints a tapering, golden streak through the thick atmosphere, heavy with bodily generated steam and lends a glistening to the perspiration soaked faces. All darkened with stubble or obscured by beards - living calendars of their owners' incarceration.

The year, although unbeknown to those that lived at this time, is 30 AD.
Very soon a force of light would spread around the world changing it forever and people will come to associate the Roman Empire in this context.
But as it was then, the Empire was aspiring to heights of glory and a power unsurpassed in history.

The Emperor at this particular time is Tiberius, or Tiberius Caesar Augustus, to give him the honour due.

Our hero - Bloggus Menenia Aggrippa Septimius - the seventh son of Servius Menenia Aggrippa Balba.

Servius owned a bakery, of sufficient quality to earn the patronage of the Emperor himself - such an assured and prosperous business that he was able to build a home for his family on Palatine Hill. With its views, on the one side across to the Forum and on the other - over the vacant valley in which the great Colosseum was to be built in approximately forty or so years, this was good living indeed.

It was amongst these pine clad suburbs where Bloggus enjoyed his youth, his early romances - and where he learned of the curse which would haunt his life. This was where he spent his years of teenage curiosity, before his father had compelled him to accept a short term of enlistment as a Legionari.

Partly as a small favour bestowed upon Servius for his delicious bread and pastries, there came a tacet promise from those close to the Emperor, that Bloggus could soon receive promotion to become a Centurion.
In his father's eyes, Bloggus was a dreamer, a waster - above all then, this was a way to get his lovelorn son and the smell of adolescent testosterone - out from under his feet - and from under his proud, Roman nose.

For the unfortunate curse that afflicted and embarrassed poor Bloggus, from the night of his first adult dreams, was that of premature and often uninvited ejaculation - sometimes, purely at the sight of a pretty young thing.
Poor Bloggus, derision and mockery were his lot in life, alongside the unmistakable odour that would betray his secret and all too often, bring to an abrupt and untimely end, his efforts to find the maiden of his dreams. (Continued in Chapter II)