There was no shortage of time that rushed Aelis along. Nothing, not even the oppressive embrace of humidity nor the heat of the afternoon sun, could deter him from enjoying the organized chaos that was Nundinae. Market days that marked the end of the week and gave Aelis short reprieve from his duties as a guard to the senators of the Roman Republic.

He never purchased anything. His denarius was too hard-earned and deserving to be handled by the calloused palms of the plebeians whose stalls gave shape to the market. Though Aelis was grateful for the entertainment; so boisterous and unrefined compared to the endless assemblies of senators he was forced to watch over.

He wiped away the sweat that trailed down his neck, eyes scanning the mixed array of goods displayed on the table of your stall. Olives, fish, cheap grains that had certainly been harvested the year prior. All to say, what you sold was nothing more spectacular or outstanding than the vendors to your every side and beyond. Yet the prices you called out for your wares had been what gained Aelis’ attention.

Your greeting went unanswered as Aelis picked up a handful of olives, letting them fall one by one with growing annoyance turning his features. “One would think the poor would be more humble,” he said, finally acknowledging your presence. “If five denarii can secure me a block of salt from traders across the ocean, why does the same amount only fetch me bruised fruit from your stall? At most your goods are worth two denarii collectively. Asking for any more is nothing short of mockery and inflated ego.”