“Two hundred slaves with sponges would clean up,” answered Quintus, sighing slightly. “It’s the Palace. They have maintenance teams. Besides, if it did happen, and if they couldn’t get the stains out, the palace surveyor would just lay a new, more fashionable floor right on top. Nice opportunity to buy in something fancier. Domitian loves remodelling projects. His planning is so deliberate, he’s probably chosen tonight’s dining hall specifically because it’s the one he is hankering to change; thinks it is due for a refit, never liked that décor anyway because his brother Titus chose it.”

  “Let them bleed!” continued Aulus, with rather too much relish. “Cover the tired old black-and-white geometrics with gore, then install gorgeous polychrome micromosaic, dressed up with twinkly gold bits.”

  “You two are just larking about!” Gaius reproved them grumpily. The brothers did not dispute it, though they fell silent as if tired by their own joking. “I am supposed to look up to you—a pair of idiots!” the boy complained. As one, Aulus and Quintus slowly nodded.

  Gaius relaxed a little, aware that other boys thought he was lucky to be growing up in this environment. Increasingly these days, he was allowed to share in the humour.

  Nevertheless, his father and uncle could be serious; he understood that and when they were, he did admire them. They were well-read, clever men who worked hard, cared about the law and gave good advice to clients, some of whom were grateful to obtain their services. One or two, Quintus had told him, even followed the advice.

  “So,” he challenged the brothers. “I have another question for you. Uncle Marcus would say, in his cheery manner, if you are going out to dinner in Rome, you should write your wills before you go. Have you done it?”

  Aulus and Quintus both guffawed. “No, of course not; we are lawyers!” chortled Aulus.

  “It doesn’t apply? You tell other people to do it, but you never get around to it?”

  “Exactly. Ever seen a doctor who never drinks and goes for healthy walks?”

  “A banker who puts all his money in time-honoured, risk-free investments?”

  “Or a slave at a public latrine who leaves the seat as he would wish to find it?” Gaius himself got in a rude one before they started lowering the tone. That stopped them.

  His father went particularly quiet. That was because one evening a few weeks before, Quintus had been attacked on his way home from dinner with his niece. He was seriously beaten up, so badly hurt that Aulus (who had sewn up the worst gashes) afterwards made loud demands for a Senate edict against gangster behaviour.

  Aulus, who rarely spoke in the Curia, was now regretting that; he hoped Domitian had been so busy arranging his return to Rome that he had not read the Daily Gazette, with its notes on the Senate’s business. Aulus preferred not to draw attention to himself from the dark throne room.

  Quintus found himself under intense scrutiny from Gaius. “Don’t worry. There is a will. I was teasing. You will get your inheritance—bearing in mind that I must provide well for Mother, I shall have to supply a dowry for Aelia, and after that there are five more of you who must share.”

  Now that he had dared to raise the question, Gaius thought he might as well press on. “I am glad to hear it is done, but I would like to know, please, whom you have named as our guardian?”

  Aulus was the more shocked: “Back off, young man! Your patriarch isn’t fifty yet; don’t be too hasty killing him off. He is only going out for a Chicken Vardana and some flute music.”

  “If anything ever happens to me,” Quintus broke in, somewhat stiffly, “your mother will look after all of you.”

  “You cannot name a woman,” Gaius reminded him. “She does not have legal capacity.”

  “Quite right. Uncle Aulus would be your formal guardian.” Aulus gave his brother a quick glance, as if this came as news to him. Having no children himself, the prospect of acquiring six all at once made him blanch. Besides, living next door, he knew what a handful these were.

  Gaius retorted, “That won’t be much use. You’re both dining with the Emperor; what if something bad happens to both of you? Who is the deputy after Uncle Aulus?”

  “Uncle Marcus,” confirmed Quintus weakly.

  Gaius cheered up. The substitute guardian was Didius Falco, their aunt’s husband, a man who had mentored both Camilli in their time, and the very person who always said make your will before you go out into Rome’s dangerous streets. It was safe to assume Falco would never be asked to a banquet at the Palace. He was an informer, a despised low calling, and an auctioneer, which earned him a lot of money so it was viewed as an even worse profession because money was dirty—unless it happened to be your own. He had been an imperial agent too, though acting for Domitian’s father, which made Domitian suspicious of him.

  Falco kept his head down, so if he managed to survive, he might be a gruff but amiable guardian. Jovial Uncle Marcus. He would expect them to work in his auction house, probably for nothing, and if Quintus did manage to leave them an inheritance, it might mysteriously vanish—but they would grow up sane, healthy, competent members of society who could hold their drink or dodge a fight, a new generation who revered women, despised corruption and loathed meanness of spirit. The best thing about him was that he had married Helena Justina, the strong-minded sister of Aulus and Quintus. Falco had known what he was doing. With Aunt Helena taking ultimate charge, Gaius reckoned everything would be all right.

  “So you are definitely going?” he asked. “Don’t eat the mushrooms, then!”

  This was a time-honoured joke about the Emperor Claudius, who supposedly died at the palace from poison in his dinner. There tended to be fewer jokes about emperors who might themselves poison other people. It could be you next.

  5

  Back in the Aelianus house, the master confirmed to the mistress that he would be out for the evening as the Emperor asked, so he would not require dinner at home.

  These two were a curious pair, recently living together again after some years apart. There had been no ceremony, no announcement. Aulus being Aulus, he had barely mentioned their decision to anyone—assuming they did take a deliberate decision, rather than simply drifting back into the same house.

  The first time they married had been twelve years before in Athens, a union contrived by her father, Minas, he who so famously loved wine. He had achieved his object by giving Aulus quantities of drink; after months of this process, Minas reduced his hapless, homesick, headaching student to a limp blob, incapable of argument. Being lawyers, they should both have said Aulus lacked capacity to enter into a contract; neither did.

  Typical lawyers, his brother-in-law would have said. Falco would have got him out of it, but they were in different countries at the time. Even Falco was not that clever. So Aulus was on his own.

  Too late, though recollection was blurred, Aulus supposed Minas must have wooed him with promises, or at least a general suggestion that this was a good idea. For sure, Minas had wheedled out of him an admission that he was nervous about a young female relative who seemed rather too keen on him. The logic of Minas was: Marry someone else then! Aulus blearily thought he had added: You would be well advised to do it quick. “Well advised” was a legal term that Minas always said meant you could charge twice the fee for saying it. Or pay double the bride-price if he made you get married.

  Perhaps Minas had offered as a lure that Meline was a shy, well-brought-up Greek homegirl, traditionally confined to the women’s quarters, who would be no trouble. If so, he overlooked how generations of Greek women had decided that if they were to be penned up at home while their men went out to party with scantily clad flute girls, then the home was their domain so they would rule it. To be fair, Aulus thought this was reasonable. (His mother was an influential woman, who had given him this attitude Partly because of this, Meline had taken to her new mother-in-law. Towards Aulus, she then almost had the submissiveness he had been promised in a well brought up Greek woman. Almost.

  Aulus and Meline had not known each other well; they had not even spoken much because she was such a sheltered young girl who only mingled with her father’s students when Minas had some scheme in hand. At first sight it seemed surprising that her own mother, left back on Karystos, had ever allowed her to come to Athens, though behind a vague mention of keeping house for her father, the intention was perfectly obvious: Minas was to marry her off. Linking his island-born daughter to the son of a Roman senator was beyond the dreams of Minas, even in his wildest post-symposium delirium. But then Aulus had turned up, literally fresh off the boat, innocently seeking to be taught law in the home of democracy—well, that was his fad that year; there had been others. Once he dropped into the clutches of Minas, his tutor saw himself as a made man. Aulus was doomed.

  Nobody pretended theirs was a love match. It was never a disaster, simply awkward. The couple rubbed along until, soon after they arrived in Rome as newlyweds, towing the ambitious, unshakeable Minas, Minas discovered that the Camillus family barely registered on the social scale. Though senatorial (for one generation), they had little money and no influence. He would never make it to the top of the pile through any connection with these people. As soon as he could, he had his daughter divorced—which, in Roman law meant simply that he removed her. Being a good Greek girl (who had always known that Aulus was sorry he married her), Meline did as Father said. Minas made unsuccessful feints among the snobbish Roman aristocracy, then married her off to a cousin, a banker, who was Greek too, but at least filthy rich. Meline never got on with him, yet could not escape because he was family. This time, Minas would lose face by ending her marriage. It mattered. The mutterings back in Karystos would have been intolerable. Minas refused to allow it.

  In the intervening years Aulus married twice more. Neither coupling worked; two more wives divorced him, each expensively. One was scornful, one quite bitter. Though he had been brought up to be polite, clean around the house, witty when he was in the mood, still nothing could change his core personality: He was a gruff loner. Women found him hard work. Having a brother who was effortlessly charming made them feel it more. His one consolation was that, oddly enough, he remained on good terms with Hosidia Meline. Even after she remarried he took a strange responsibility for her ex, consoling Aulus during his various troubles. Her new husband thought it was safe—for one thing, if he ever found out it wasn’t, he would have a good excuse to beat her, which would suit his Hellenic manliness. It did cause more hostility from the other two wives of Aulus as they battled to leave him. He, being Aulus, didn’t care. Being him, he showed it.

  Eventually, Minas of Karystas died. It was an accident. He fell off a ladder. Nobody even bothered to ask if he was sober at the time.

  Hosidia Meline struggled to cope with all that must be done when someone whose personal affairs are very disorganised dies suddenly, in a foreign country. As the Greek husband left her to it, she wished even more to escape her unhappy marriage. So it seemed natural to seek help from Aulus.

  Professionally, he was good. People were surprised that Minas had taught him well. Faced with a tangle of family problems, Aulus had a calm, thorough approach. The personal stubbornness that people shied away from made him an excellent organiser.

  He found a will—or so he said; certainly one turned up in a liquor closet used by Minas. Aulus. “My dear trusted student,” was named as executor—how lucky was that?—and Aulus executed it speedily. He reassured Meline that she had no need to return to Karystos, where relatives would despise her failed marriage and her unhappiness with their kinsman. Aulus found her a small apartment to rent while deciding what to do next. He somehow persuaded the husband that he was anxious to marry a more attractive woman, then even convinced him to be generous in a settlement. Meline had never known the man could be so decent. Nor had she realised Aulus had such wily skills. He had been trained by her father until she could have passed him off as Greek.

  One evening, after they had been to his niece’s wedding, Meline returned with Aulus to his house, in order to discuss the events of the day. They had seen more excitement than usual: The bridegroom had been struck by lightning. Aulus, grinning for once, said his relations were a tribe where an event like that seemed normal. The bride was the same young woman who had once hankered after Aulus, despite the fact he was her uncle. Meline was interested to know whether this wedding had affected him.

  Apparently not, for he kept telling Meline how grateful he was for her support that day among his rather tiring family.

  She kept telling him how grateful she was for his help with the Minas will and her divorce.

  He said ah well, they would always be special friends, wouldn’t they? She said yes of course they would. Very dear ones.

  Then, staying safely with Aulus seemed an obvious solution to a stormy night where she would be at risk in Rome’s dangerous streets. After all, Meline had lived at the Capena Gate in the past. If the bedroom that had once been hers as a bride was now tainted by two subsequent wives, women she frankly regarded as stupid predators on her old friend, perhaps that made Aulus offer the comfort of his own; perhaps Meline accepted. Slaves in the house must know. Slaves always did. Otherwise, it was never mentioned.

  That was a month ago. Meline had remained with Aulus ever since. Nobody knew on what terms they were now living. Both were people who liked keeping things to themselves. If Aulus was seen as sombre and imponderable, so was Meline. They were reticent, yet they were a mature couple, who had known each a long time. They seemed content, possibly even happy. So everyone just let them get on with it.

  * * *

  A month of amicable living was too short, Meline thought sadly. So much of her life felt wasted, and now her unexpected hopes of better were dashed. They sat together in wintry sunlight in the colonnade of a peristyle garden. If they wanted anything they could call, then slaves would appear, but as a couple they were not demanding. This interior garden was their place—out of reach of visitors, sheltered even from the gaze of their own household.

  A fountain would have been of benefit to cover any private conversation, but the tap on the connection from the aqueduct was sited in the house next door. It dated from when Aulus’s father Decimus lived there, a senator while his brother was only middle-rank. Uncle Publius, and now Aulus, shared access to the water but had to send slaves with buckets to fetch every drop. Aulus had been known to joke dryly that this leaky old tap could explain the entire motivation behind his black sheep uncle’s political scheming, as if jealousy over the water connection was what had plunged the family into disgrace.… Don’t mention the plot!

  So there was no fountain here. Quintus had one. Aulus did not. Sharing a property, with a never-locked connecting door, is bound to bring moments when one or other party will be seething with irritation. Aulus Camillus was a high-class brooder; one of the tasks Meline was now taking on was to be a soothing influence. In fairness to him, he acknowledged it and did not object.

  Their routine was to sit here, almost in silence, each busy with something of their own. Aulus would be working, with a scroll or more likely a waxed tablet. He might be at rest, thinking, then perhaps he would make a quick burst of a notes. At the same time, Meline occupied herself with her hobby: looping wool on a small gadget with pegs around the top, which she plied with a little pointed stick. As her fingers flew, a cord of knitted wool slowly emerged at the bottom. One day if she ever had enough, she could sew it together into … what? A mat, a cushion, a round hat, possibly a sock. Aulus thought she looked as if she were contriving a spell; he had once commented that he hoped not, for magic would be unlawful, so he would have to prosecute. Meline smiled. Generations of women in Karystos had shown her that a wife’s role was to let her husband make pronouncements, which she should serenely ignore.

  Today, they both simply sat.

  At last, taking the initiative for once, Meline spoke: “I thought that everything was now all right.”

  “It will be,” he answered quietly. Her heart was full of fear for them, and he saw it.

  Whenever they were alone together, they spoke in Greek. Every educated Roman could, in order to read ancient literature or attend religious drama—while thinking that their own literature or drama was better. Most Romans saw Greek as a secretarial language. Aulus Camillus had used Meline’s native language to make his young wife feel comfortable when she first came to Rome; he continued the practice now, even though her Latin had become more fluent, because he liked to be different. He had studied in Athens. So, in his home Greek was his chosen way to feel civilised. Mind you, nothing would make him grow a Greek beard. There were limits.

  He too had let himself believe his domestic life was settled now, at last.

  “I don’t want anything to happen to you,” said Meline, acknowledging her anxiety.

  “I hope nothing will.” They never spoke of love, but after a moment he added unexpectedly, “Your caring means a great deal to me.”

  He was sincere. That might be all she ever got from him, but it was all she wanted.

  She braced herself. “What shall I do, Aulus Camillus—if you never come back from this dinner?”

  “Go to my sister.”

  It was the answer Meline expected. Yes, Helena Justina and Marcus Didius her husband were the right people—wise, capable, kind people; besides, if anything happened to Aulus, it was to be presumed the same fate would befall Quintus, so he would not be available.

  It was the obvious answer, though he had given it too quickly. She knew, therefore: Aulus had been thinking about this. So, although all day they tried to avoid the darkness, the Emperor’s invitation threw terrible dread upon their household, chilling their hopes for their new future together.