Years after I learned of Gaius Aurelius Cotta’s heroic encounter with the mob, my daughter went on a post-college graduation trip to Europe with a few of her friends.  When they visited Rome, she took pains to go to the exact spot where the incident took place, and snapped pictures of it.

Only the temple’s foundation and the bases of its columns were still in existence, but it was clear why the mob had been so easily able to surround it:  two of its sides abutted steep slopes.

She also took photos from the spot from which our ancestor had spoken, looking out at the still largely-intact forum where the mob had been.

When I saw this, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up. It was like I was seeing the scene through our ancestor’s eyes.

I also felt that, although I would still love to see the site for myself, it was enough that at least one of our line had returned to honor him.