“Hop up, pal,” said the centurion, pointing to the raised platform on which stood a wooden block. A large, double-headed axe rested against the splintered block, its blades shining in the Roman springtime sun.
“I beg your pardon but please address me more politely, or I will report you to the Consul. And I’ll have you know that my uncle, Julius, is his favourite soothsayer.”
“Well your contacts in high places haven’t done much good for you,” said the executioner. “There must have been a lot of black bile in the chicken he cut open the day you were sentenced. But have it your own way, how would you like to be addressed?”
“My mother calls me Valentine.”
“Okay Val, up you come. It will all be over before the sundial changes its shadow.”
Valentine pulled up his toga and began to mount the steps. Suddenly a woman’s voice rang out from the crowd.
“Don’t you dare call him Val: his name is Valentine Cicero Aenaes.”
“Mother, I thought you had missed my big moment. Come and give me a hug,” said Valentine.
“Hold on there,” said the centurion, “only principals are allowed on the execution platform. But what did you say his name was?”
“Valentine Cicero Aenaes,” said his mother as she tossed her raven curls.
The centurion frowned and looked at his scroll.
“This says Valentine Augustus Lupercullis, Bishop of Termi, are you not he?”
The woman erupted in laughter. “You miserable excuse for an officer. It’s not my handsome Valentine that you want but his second cousin in Ostium, a fat pompous oaf of a man.”
“Watch your manners, woman, when addressing a Roman soldier,” scolded the centurion. “Sorry, pretty boy Valentine. Mistaken identity. You can go now but, maybe I’ll see you later,” said the centurion with a wink.
Valentine scowled at his mother.
“Why did you have to ruin it for me? I was looking forward to becoming a martyr.”
Blushing he addressed the centurion. “Can’t you just go ahead with it anyway? Nobody will know the difference.”
“Strictly no can do. It’s more than my job is worth to execute the wrong man.”
“Well I’m dashed,” said Valentine. “Here I am, all hyped up and ready to go and now, it’s cancelled. How embarrassing is that?”
“Down you get, Valentine but don’t fret, your day may yet come.”
And it did, on 14 February the following year.