Текст книги "Empire"

Автор книги: Steven Saylor

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Titus shuddered. “He’s like a monstrous child.”

“Caligula was twenty-four when he was made emperor, only a little older than you are now. His youth seemed quite attractive, after enduring Tiberius’s unseemly d-d-decrepitude. Now it seems a curse. Caligula could rule for the rest of our lifetimes. He could still be emperor when your grandchildren are grown.” Claudius shook his head. “Augustus and Tiberius left us no mechanism for the removal of an emperor. They ruled for life, and we must assume Caligula will do the same. In retrospect, perhaps such a young person should never have been made emperor. For someone so young to be given so much power-”

“You’re not talking about me, are you, my dear?” Messalina stepped into the room. Her pregnancy was now in the eighth month. Her sheer gown, more suitable for the bed chamber than the street, showed off not only her round belly but also her greatly enlarged breasts. Titus tried not to stare at her, but she swayed as she circled the room, seeming deliberately to flaunt herself.

“Messalina, you should be in b-bed.”

She sighed. “I can’t spend every hour of every day lying down. And I’m as hungry as a horse. I thought Caligula was hosting some sort of banquet today.”

Claudius nodded and explained to Titus. “My nephew is hosting a private festival. Here, step onto the balcony with me.” Below them was a colonnaded walkway that led to a nearby courtyard surrounded by a portico and high shrubs. “It’s being held in that courtyard over there. You can see a b-b-bit of the stage that’s been assembled for the occasion. The festivities should commence at any moment. Boys from the best families of Greece and Ionia will be singing a hymn which the emperor composed to his own divinity. You can hear them practising.” He turned to Messalina. “But, darling, you know why we’re not g-g-going. I was told that the emperor is out of sorts, suffering from indigestion, and wants to be attended only by his wife and daughter. A good thing we’re not going, if you ask me. When Augustus had indigestion, we worried for his health; when Caligula suffers, it’s our own lives we have to worry about! The shame of it, that once-proud Romans should quake in fear when another man passes wind!”

“Who told you the emperor didn’t want us to come?” Messalina put her hands on her hips, causing her breasts to project before her.

“Didn’t I say? It was Cassius Chaerea, the Praetorian t-t-tribune.”

Messalina grinned. “That prude whom the emperor teases so mercilessly?” She looked at Titus archly. “Caligula thinks it’s quite hilarious to give Chaerea naughty pet names, as if he were some old man’s spintria – ‘honey-mouth,’ ‘pleasure-bottom,’ that sort of thing.” She laughed. “Well, if you could see iron-jawed, grizzled old Chaerea, you’d understand how absurd it is. And, knowing how Chaerea is so squeamish about words, for the daily password Caligula deliberately comes up with the most obscene phrases he can think of, so Chaerea has to say naughty words over and over, all day long. And funniest of all is when Caligula passes by and offers Chaerea his ring to kiss, and then at the last instant, sticks up his middle finger and makes Chaerea-”

“Messalina, d-d-darling, enough of that!” Claudius shook his head. “The child is so innocent, she has no idea what she’s saying. Now go back to your rooms, my dear, and rest. If you’re hungry, tell Narcissus to send for something.”

Messalina made a show of pouting but did as her husband had told her, flashing a last, lingering look at Titus and brushing her fingertips over her swollen breasts as she departed.

Titus tore his eyes from Messalina and returned his gaze to the view from the balcony. He pricked up his ears and frowned. “Did you hear that, Claudius?”

“My ears are not what they were. I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly. The singing stopped. Someone’s shouting. Are they sacrificing an animal?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I thought I heard the formula that precedes a sacrifice. You know, when one priest says, ‘Shall I do the deed?’ and the other says, ‘Strike now!’ But this sounded odd, somehow, not like priests at all…”

From the distant courtyard they heard a sudden uproar – shouts, the clanging of metal, and then shrill cries. Claudius frowned. “What’s going on over there?”

A servant ran headlong from the courtyard, followed by more servants and then a group of screaming young boys. They rushed past on the walkway beneath the balcony, some of them tripping and falling and getting up again.

Claudius leaned over the balustrade. “What’s g-g-going on?” he shouted.

They all ignored him except a little boy who paused for a moment and looked up. His eyes were wide with terror. Another boy bumped into him, almost knocking him down, and he hurried on.

“What in Hades?” muttered Claudius. He suddenly stiffened.

The servants and boy singers had all vanished. A group of armed men came striding out of the courtyard. Their swords were drawn. Their faces were grim. Leading them was a Praetorian tribune.

“Cassius Chaerea!” whispered Claudius.

Titus sucked in a breath. “Look at his sword.”

The blade was covered with blood. Spatters of blood glistened on Chaerea’s breastplate.

Another tribune appeared, walking quickly to catch up with Chaerea. “Cornelius Sabinus,” whispered Claudius. His voice cracked.

“Carrying another bloody sword,” whispered Titus. He glanced at Claudius, who had gone pale and was gripping the balustrade with white knuckles. Titus’s heart pounded.

Chaerea saw them looking down from the balcony. He came to a halt. Sabinus caught up with him. The tribunes exchanged hushed words, then together looked up at Claudius and raised their bloody swords.

“Today we have a new password!” Chaerea shouted. “The password is Jupiter. God of the thunderbolt! God of sudden death!”

More Praetorians emerged from the courtyard. They were in two groups. Each group carried a makeshift litter. At first, Titus could make no sense of the lumpy, shapeless forms on the litters. Then, with a start, he realized that they were corpses. One of the bodies, from the mass of disarranged hair and the elegant stola covered with bloodstains, appeared to be that of a woman. As the men drew nearer, Titus was able to see her face. Caesonia’s eyes were wide open. Her lips were drawn back and her teeth were clenched.

The other body was much smaller. It was a little girl. Her golden hair was clotted with blood. Her face was unrecognizable; her head had been crushed. Even at such a distance, Titus could smell the gore. The sight made him nauseated.

“Caesonia – and l-l-little Julia!” Claudius swayed and steadied himself against the balustrade, then pushed himself back and staggered from the balcony. “By Hercules, they intend to kill us all! Help me, Titus, I b-b-beg you. Hide me!”

“But they saluted you, Claudius. They gave you the password-”

“They brandished their swords and m-m-mocked me! Didn’t you see the look in their eyes? Cold-blooded assassins! Woman-killers! Child-killers! Once upon a time, men like those murdered the Divine Julius, and now they’ve dared to m-m-murder Caligula. If they mean to restore the Republic, they’ll slaughter my whole family. Not just me, but Messalina and the unborn baby! I’m a dead man, Titus!”

Titus did his best to calm him, but Claudius only became more hysterical. He ran back and forth across the room, unable to decide whether to stay or to leave. His head began to twitch uncontrollably and he made no effort to wipe away the drool that ran from the corner of his mouth. At last he ran to the door, determined to flee, then froze at the sound of stamping feet in the hallway. Claudius grabbed Titus by the arm and pulled him back to the balcony. He huddled behind the drapes at one end, pulling Titus close, trying to conceal them both.

The stamping feet reached the doorway. A group of men entered the room.

“He’s not here, sir,” said a deep voice.

“But the tribunes said they saw him in this room, standing on that balcony.”

“Well, he’s not here now.”

“We didn’t pass him in the hallway…”

“Think he jumped from the balcony? Ha! Shirking his duty!”

“Quiet, you fool! Use our eyes. Do you see what I see?”

Claudius and Titus both looked down. Claudius’s feet were protruding beyond the hem of the drapes. He drew them back, but it was too late.

Footsteps approached. The drapes were pulled aside.

Titus braced himself. Next to him, Claudius dropped, quivering, to his knees. He began to babble, unable to speak because of his stutter, then covered his face with his arms and let out a shriek.

The soldiers drew back. If they were amused or startled, their emotionless faces did not show it. Having served Caligula, thought Titus, there was probably not much that could shock or titillate them.

The small company of Praetorians threw back their shoulders and stiffly saluted. “Hail, Dominus!” they shouted in unison.

Claudius slowly lowered his arms. He blinked and wiped the drool from his chin. “What did you c-c-call me?”

Titus helped him to his feet. Claudius was so shaky that he could barely stand. He gave a start when more Praetorians entered the room, but the men kept their distance, drew to attention, and saluted.

“Hail, Dominus!”

Whispering a prayer of relief, Titus reached up to touch the fascinum, but it was not there. At such a moment – a moment he would never forget, a moment he would talk about to his children and their children – he should have been wearing the fascinum of the Pinarii. What a fool he had been to spurn the amulet and give it to Kaeso! What a fool he had been not to trust in the gods and in his own good fortune! One moment he had been plunged in despair, a humiliated subject at the mercy of a mad emperor, and then, in the blink of an eye, he found himself standing next to his late father’s dear cousin, his own friend and confidant, the new emperor of the world.

Titus backed away from Claudius, leaving the emperor alone on the balcony. He joined the soldiers and bowed his head respectfully.

“Hail, Dominus!” he shouted.

AD 47

“What do you think, father?” whispered Titus Pinarius.

He stood in the vestibule of his house on the Aventine, before the rows of niches that housed the wax effigies of his ancestors. Among them was the death mask of his father, which had been cast in Alexandria. Its placement in the vestibule, along with all the other effigies, had been among their first duties when Titus and Kaeso moved into this house.

Titus was wearing the trabea he had inherited from his father. He held the elegantly carved ivory lituus that had been in the family for generations. At twenty-four – the same young age at which his father had been inducted – Titus had become an augur, thanks to the sponsorship of his cousin, the emperor Claudius. Now, at twenty-nine, Titus was an experienced and highly respected member of the college. Chrysanthe, noting that the saffron-stained wool with its broad purple stripe had begun to fade a bit, had recently suggested that Titus acquire a new trabea, but he would not hear of it. Instead, the best fullers in Roma had thoroughly cleaned it and applied fresh dye so that the garment was as soft and bright as the first day his father wore it.

Titus gazed at the effigy of his father – it was a good likeness, just as Titus remembered him – and he felt that his father approved. “When I wear this trabea, I honour the gods,” Titus said quietly, “but I also honour you, father.”

He felt a twinge of guilt, and it was almost as if his father had spoken aloud: But where is your brother, Kaeso? He should be here, as well

Titus could not remember the last time his brother had stood with him in this vestibule and paid homage to their ancestors. As soon as he could after the incident with Caligula – about which no one ever spoke – Kaeso had moved out of the house. He had taken the fascinum with him, despite Titus’s request that they share it again, but he had been happy to leave the wax effigies with Titus; Kaeso seemed to care nothing at all about their ancestors, not even about their father. Kaeso never sought any favours from Claudius, and spurned Titus’s repeated suggestions that he, too, should become an augur, or secure some other respectable position worthy of his patrician status. Instead, Kaeso sold to Titus his half of their interests in the Alexandrian grain trade, saying he had no desire for possessions. What had become of Kaeso’s share of the family fortune? Apparently he had dispersed it among fellow members of his cult, of whom there were more than Titus would have thought in Roma. Kaeso and Artemisia were living in a squalid apartment in the Subura. Kaeso seemed unconcerned that he had descended into poverty, and his behaviour and beliefs had become more bizarre with each passing year.

“You look splendid!” said Chrysanthe, joining Titus in the vestibule to see him off. In her arms she carried their newborn son, Lucius. The boy had a remarkably full head of hair for an infant and bore a striking resemblance to his grandfather.

To stand before the image of his father, dressed in his father’s trabea, with his wife and new son beside him – this seemed to Titus as fine a moment as a man could hope for. Why had Kaeso turned his back on a proper life? Kaeso and Artemisia did not even enjoy the blessing of a child, and apparently this was not by chance but by choice. “Why bring a new life into such a foul world,” Kaeso had once said to him, “especially when this world is about to come to an end?” That had been another of their conversations that did not go well.

“What sort of augury will you perform today?” asked Chrysanthe. “Some public event with the emperor present?”

“No, nothing like that. It’s a request for a private augury. A family matter, I imagine. The house is over on the Esquiline.”

“Will you take the sedan?” She referred to the newly fashionable conveyance carried by slaves in which the occupant sat upright, rather than reclining as one did in an old-fashioned litter.

“No. It’s a beautiful autumn day. I’ll walk.”

“You should take one of the slaves for a bodyguard.”

“No need. I’ll go alone.”

“Are you sure? Walking down to the Forum is one thing, but through the Subura-”

“No one interferes with an augur going about his official duties,” Titus assured her. He kissed his wife and his son and set out.

In fact, he had chosen to go alone because he wished to pay a call without the risk that his wife would find out about it later from a loose-lipped slave. On his way to his appointment on the Esquiline, he was going to visit Kaeso.

Passing by the Circus Maximus, Titus ducked inside to have a look at the large-scale refurbishments that had been finished just in time for the recent Secular Games. Among many other improvements, the tufa barriers at the starting area had been replaced with marble and the conical, wooden posts at each end of the spine with pillars of gilded bronze. Only a few chariot drivers were practising on this day, putting their horses through easy paces around the huge track. How different it was to see the place empty, instead of filled to capacity with eighty thousand cheering spectators.

Crossing the Forum, he wore his trabea proudly and nodded to acquaintances in their togas, and paused for a moment to watch the Vestal virgins on their way to the temple of the sacred hearthfire.

Beyond the Forum, a neighbourhood of respectable shops and eateries quickly gave way to increasingly less-reputable venues. Dogs and children played in the narrow streets outside gambling dens, taverns, and brothels. Tall tenements shut out the sunlight. The stifled air grew thick with an assortment of unpleasant odours that Titus could not remember ever smelling on the airy slopes of the Aventine.

He found the five-story tenement where Kaeso lived. The place looked as if it might fall down at any moment. A long section of one wall, made of crumbling brick and mortar, was propped up with wooden planks. The wooden stairway inside was rickety and missing some of the steps. Listening to the building creak and groan around him, Titus cautiously ascended to the uppermost floor and tapped on a thin door.

Kaeso opened the door. He was bearded now and wore a tunic so threadbare that Titus could see the fascinum through the cloth. The necklace upon which it hung was make of twine, not gold.

Kaeso greeted Titus politely but without much warmth. “Come in, brother,” he said.

Once inside, Titus shook his head, unable to conceal his dismay at the squalor of Kaeso’s living conditions. Sleeping mats were crowded together on the floor. Gathered in the next room were several disreputable-looking men and women whom he could only assume were sharing the apartment. The members of Kaeso’s cult seemed to celebrate poverty, living communally and indiscriminately sharing what little they possessed.

One of the strangers, a white-bearded man in a tattered robe, joined them. His eyes fixed on Titus’s trabea. “This fellow is a brother? An augur?”

Kaeso smiled. “No, brother, he’s not one of us. This is my twin, Titus Pinarius.”

The stranger gave Titus another look and laughed. “Well, I should have known! Yes, I see the resemblance now. Shall we give you some time alone, then? The brothers and sisters will leave you for a while.”

The men and women shambled out of the apartment. To Titus, each one looked shabbier and more disheveled than the last. The stairway creaked under their weight.

“Do we look that different now?” said Kaeso, when they were alone. Certainly, to a casual observer, the twins no longer resembled each other as closely as they once had. Kaeso had long hair and an unkempt beard and did nothing to make himself presentable, while Titus, conscious of the public nature of his work and fastidious by nature, was shaved by his barber daily and was regularly groomed by his slaves at the public baths. When was the last time Kaeso had visited the baths? Titus wrinkled his nose.

Kaeso sensed his disapproval. His tone was sharp. “So, brother, why have you come to see me?”

Titus was equally sharp. “‘Brother,’ you call me? It seems you’ve found others more worthy of being called your brother.” When Kaeso made no answer, Titus regretted his harsh tone. “Does there have to be a reason for me to visit you?”

“Brother, we see each other so seldom, I suspect you must have some cause to be here.”

Titus sighed. “In fact, I do have a reason. I suppose it’s too much to ask that you keep this to yourself. The decree will become public soon enough, but I’d rather it didn’t get out that I gave anyone advance notice.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you still call yourself a follower of Christ?”

“It’s not what I call myself. It is what I am.”

Titus shook his head. “You must know how much trouble your people have been causing in the city. Last month there was a riot in one of the Jewish neighborhoods-”

“Caused by the intolerance of certain Jews who do not approve of those among them who follow Christ.”

“All this squabbling among the Jews! Can Jews do nothing else? In Jerusalem, people say there are stonings every day, because these Jews slaughter each other over the least religious disagreement. If indeed any of them can be called religious, since they refuse to acknowledge the gods-”

“The Jews worship the one and only god, as do I and the other followers of Christ.”

“But if you are not a Jew, Kaeso, how can you be a Christian?”

“Brother, I have explained all this to you before. While there are some who argue to the contrary, it is my belief that a follower of Christ does not need to be a Jew, and therefore does not need to be circumcised.”

Titus winced. “Don’t tell Claudius that. He’s convinced that all this fighting is strictly a matter of internecine squabbling among the Jews, with no Romans involved. That’s why he’s decided to ban the Jews from the city. That’s what I came to tell you.”

“What?” Kaeso was aghast. “Where does he expect them to go?”

“Back to Judaea, I suppose. Let them take with them all this squabbling about one god and circumcision and Christ, and leave the good people of Roma in peace.”

“Why are you telling me this, Titus?”

“Because I would hate to see you and your wife mistakenly rounded up and deported to Judaea, you fool! Which just might happen, if you insist on spouting impious ideas and keeping company with fanatical Jews.”

“But surely if I offer proof of my Roman citizenship-”

“That should be enough to protect you. Or you can always demonstrate that you haven’t been circumcised,” Titus added, with a shudder of disgust. He looked sidelong at his brother. “You aren’t… circumcised… are you, Kaeso?”

Kaeso raised an eyebrow. “No, brother. In that respect, we are still identical.”

Whether it was intended to or not, the remark recalled to Titus their audience with Caligula. He could think of nothing more to say. It was Kaeso who broke the uncomfortable silence.

“Thank you for telling me, Titus. At least I can warn some of my Jewish brothers about the emperor’s intentions and give them time to prepare. It may lessen their hardship.”

“I thought you welcomed hardship.” Titus surveyed the squalid surroundings – the filthy sleeping mats, the threadbare coverlets, the scraps of food on the floor, a cracked clay lamp that smelled of rancid oil.

Kaeso shrugged. “In the kingdom of the wicked, it is inevitable that men must suffer – for a little longer, anyway.”

“Please, Kaeso, don’t start talking about the end of the world again.”

“It’s not too late for you, Titus – if you act quickly. The end is very near. Christ taught that his second coming would be sooner rather than later, and to those who have eyes to see, the signs of the approaching end of days are all around us. The veil of this suffering world will be ripped away. The Heavenly City will be revealed. If your so-called science of augury and that useless stick you carry had any power at all, you would see this yourself.”

“Don’t insult me, Kaeso. And don’t insult the gods. I came here as a favour to you. I may no longer think of you as my brother, but I honour the memory of my father, and you are my father’s son-”

With a high-pitched squeal, a rat scurried out of the bedding and over Titus’s feet, so quickly that he didn’t have time to jump back. His heart leaped to his throat. He had had enough.

“I have to go now, Kaeso.”

“Off to perform an augury? Every time you deceive others by waving that stick and counting birds, you do the work of Satan.”

Titus could barely contain his anger. Why had he bothered to come? He turned his back on Kaeso and left without saying another word.

The house where he had been called to perform an augury was on a quiet street in one of the better parts of the Esquiline Hill. Like many Roman houses, this one presented little more than a blank wall to the street, but the entrance was quite elegant, with white marble steps and an elaborately carved door. Titus had been promised a substantial fee, and it looked as if the occupant could well afford it.

But, from the moment he stepped inside, Titus felt uneasy. The slave who opened the door for him gave him a wolfish leer, which hardly seemed appropriate, then vanished. The vestibule had no niches for the ancestors, but instead displayed a small shrine to Venus with a little statue of the goddess surrounded by smoking incense. Peering into the house from the vestibule, Titus caught a glimpse of a laughing girl as she ran across the atrium. The girl was blond and almost naked, wearing only a sort of loincloth about her hips.

He was left alone in the vestibule for what seemed a long time. At last a female slave arrived, saying she would escort him to her mistress. Titus was almost certain it was the same girl he had seen run across the atrium, now attired in a sleeveless blue tunica that fitted her rather tightly and left most of her legs exposed.

He followed the girl, not sure what to think. They passed through a beautifully furnished room decorated with statues of Eros and Venus. The wall paintings depicted stories of famous lovers, and some of the images were quite explicit. The slave led him down a long hallway, past several closed doors. From the rooms beyond, Titus heard what could only be the sounds of people making love – sighs, groans, whispers, a slap, and a high-pitched giggle.

He had been told that this was a private residence. Could he possibly have arrived by mistake at a brothel?

“This is the house of Lycisca, is it not?” he asked the girl.

“It certainly is,” she said, leading him into a dimly lit room decorated in shades of orange and red. “That is my mistress’s name. And here she is.”

Amid the deep shadows and the amber glow of lamps, reclining on an elegant couch, dressed in a gown so sheer that it appeared to be made of gossamer, was the emperor’s wife.

Titus was speechless. He had seen Messalina occasionally over the years, but always in the presence of her husband and usually at some official event. Claudius’s sudden elevation had been followed a month later by the birth of their son, Britannicus, and since then Messalina had presented herself as a model Roman wife and mother, doting on her child, wearing modest stolas, presiding at the religious rites that celebrated motherhood, and comporting herself at the games and in the circus in a manner above reproach. So restrained was her demeanour that people had ceased to gossip about the difference in age between Claudius and Messalina. Though still in her twenties, she was the exemplar of a staid Roman matron.

The woman who lounged on the couch before Titus seemed to be a very different person. Her face had been made even more beautiful by the application of subtle cosmetics. Her hair was swept into a vortex atop her head, baring completely her long white neck, which was adorned with a silver necklace hung with tiny pearls. Larger pearls hung from the silver clasps on her earlobes, and the silver bangles at her wrists made a kind of music when she picked up a wine cup. Her gown covered her body with a silvery sheen, concealing nothing.

Sharing the couch with Messalina was someone else Titus recognized – indeed, almost anyone in Roma would have recognized Mnester, who had been Caligula’s favourite actor and had continued to enjoy imperial favour under Claudius. The fair-haired Greek was a ubiquitous figure at banquets and public ceremonies. With his bright blue eyes and Apollo-like features, his chiselled torso and long, elegant limbs, Mnester was probably more famous for his good looks than for his theatrical skills, though Titus had once seen him perform a memorable Ajax. On this occasion the actor wore nothing but a loincloth that appeared to be made of the same sheer fabric as Messalina’s gown. The two of them reclined head to head and passed the wine cup back and forth. They both appeared to have drunk quite a bit of wine already.

Unnerved by the way the two of them openly stared at him without speaking, Titus felt obliged to say something. “Domina,” he began, addressing the empress formally, but she cut him off at once.

“Lycisca. That’s my name in this house.”

“Lycisca?”

“I was inspired to take the name when I saw Mnester perform in a play about Actaeon. Did you see that performance, Titus?”

“I don’t think so.”

“But you must know the story. Actaeon the hunter with his pack of hounds came upon Diana bathing in a pool in the woods. The virgin goddess didn’t like having a mortal see her naked, and didn’t want him bragging about it. So, to keep Actaeon quiet, she turned him into stag. She didn’t intend what happened next. In the blink of an eye, the hunter became the hunted. The dogs fell upon Actaeon in a frenzy and tore him to pieces. I always thought that was a bit harsh, that a fellow should be destroyed just because he saw a goddess naked. You’d think Diana might have invited him to bathe with her instead, especially if Actaeon was as young and handsome as all the statues show him to be – or as handsome as Mnester, who drew tears from the audience with his performance. Even my husband wept.”

“And the name Lycisca?” said Titus, trying not to stare at the way Messalina’s breasts rose and fell while she spoke, causing the sheer fabric to appear transparent one moment, opaque the next.

“Lycisca was the leader of Actaeon’s hunting pack, a half-wolf, half-canine bitch. Under this roof, you must call me nothing else.”

“Buy why would you call yourself such a thing?”

“Let’s hope you never find out, Titus Pinarius! Now come here and join us on the couch,” she said, patting a spot between them, “and share some of this fine Falernian wine.”

“I came here to perform an augury.”

Messalina shrugged. “It seemed the best way to get you here. Sorry, but we have no use for your lituus today. Perhaps you possess some other staff that might be of use to me?”

Her intention was all too clear. Titus felt an impulse to turn and leave the room at once. He felt another impulse, equally strong, to pause and consider the opportunity that was being offered to him, curious to see where it might lead. He was not opposed to enjoying a bit of sexual pleasure when it came his way; every man succumbed to temptation now and then, though not usually with the emperor’s wife. Titus stalled for time by asking a question.

“There are others in this house; I heard a lot of moaning and groaning through the doors. What sort of place is this?”

“It’s not a brothel, if that’s what you’re thinking!” Messalina laughed. “And the women here are not prostitutes. Some of the most high-born women in Roma come to this house, to enjoy a degree of freedom they cannot exercise elsewhere.”

“And the men who come here?”

“They are the sort of men whose company gives pleasure to those high-born women. Most of them are young, handsome, virile. Men like you, perhaps.”

“You flatter me, Messalina.”

“Lycisca!”

“Very well: Lycisca. But it occurs to me that if I were to stay here much longer, I might commit an act that could be construed as disloyal, not just to my emperor but to my cousin, a man who has been a good friend to me.”