Ovid

33

Which reminded me of my own filial duties. I hadn't been round to my mother's in over two months, not even during the Floralia. Now might be as good a time as any. At least I looked sober and presentable: I'd put on my sharpest mantle for the visit to Quinctilia's and I still had my best litter out. It was hard luck on the litter-team that Mother happened to live out on the Caelian where we'd just been, but with my eccentric preference for walking the guys could afford to lose a few pounds anyway.

After the divorce Mother had married a widower, Helvius Priscus. Apart from the wedding ceremony itself, when I'd given the bride away, I'd only seen the old guy twice, and I doubted if my mother had seen him much oftener, because his hobby took him away from home a lot. Priscus's bag was tombs and tomb inscriptions. Etruscan and early Republican tombs especially. Try to get him to talk about normal things, like how the Blues are doing these days race-wise or who said what to who at last night's party and all you get is grunts. Ask him about the development of orthography from its primitive beginnings to the modern day tied in with the epigraphic evidence for a vowel shift in the vernacular and you can't shut the guy up. Ah, well. It takes all types.

Mother was looking well: she'd lost a lot of weight after the still-birth and never put it back on. When I came in she was discussing floral arrangements with one of the house slaves.

'Marcus! Lovely to see you!' She came over and kissed me on the cheek, and I smelt the scent she has specially mixed for her by the best perfume maker in Alexandria. 'Where have you been these last few months?'

'Only two, Mother.'

'Then it seems longer.' She stepped back. I saw her eyes go to the bruise beside my ear, where I'd landed when Silanus's porter threw me out. 'You've hurt yourself.'

'Nothing serious. I fell down some steps, that's all.'

'You drink too much, dear.

'It had nothing to do with anything I drank.'

'Nonsense.' The smile in her eyes took the sting from her words. 'Come and sit down.'

I stretched myself out on the guest couch as she gave the house slave his final instructions. Then, sitting down herself, she turned back to me.

'So, Marcus,' she said. 'And what's been happening with you?'

'Nothing particular.' I wasn't going to tell her about the Ovid affair; and with Priscus being strictly the butt end of high society I doubted if she'd have heard from anyone else.

'Have you seen your father recently?'

'Maybe. Why?'

She lifted an elegant shoulder. 'Just curiosity. I saw him myself not too long ago. We had quite a civilised little chat.'

'You spoke to him?' I remembered Dad mentioning that he'd seen Mother, but not that they'd actually talked.

'Of course I spoke to him. Why shouldn't I? We may be divorced, but we aren't enemies.'

I didn't answer.

'He's worried about you, Marcus. He thinks you're wasting yourself.'

'Nice of him.'

'I wish you wouldn't run your father down so much, dear. It isn't fair. We don't get on, of course, but he's well meaning enough in his own dull way. And if you must know in this at least I agree with him.'

I stared at her. I'd never heard Mother say she agreed with Dad in my life. Sure, she'd never actually said she disagreed either; she'd simply, separately and without comment, given her own opinion which happened never to be his. That isn't the same thing at all.

'Oh, I know,' she went on. 'You're of age and can decide things for yourself. I also realise that because my father was misguided enough to leave you a large slice of his estate you're financially independent. But these things are beside the point.'

'I'm not interested in politics, Mother. Not Dad's kind, anyway, and there doesn't seem to be any alternative.'

'I said your father thinks you're wasting yourself and that I agree. I didn't say we wanted to force you into public office.'

'You may not want to, but Dad does. And anyway what else is there?'

'Marcus, I don't know! That's for you to decide. You're twenty-one now, twenty-two next month. Old enough surely to know what you want to do with your life.'

'I do know. I want to enjoy it.'

She sighed. 'Don't be melodramatic, dear. You'll be bored silly before you're thirty. Anyway, I'm not going to lecture you, it's your own business, not mine. I've told you what I think and whether or not you pay attention to it is up to you.'

We were getting onto dangerous ground. I changed the subject. 'How's Stepfather?'

'Oh, Titus is well enough. He's in Veii at the moment on a genealogical binge.' Her brow furrowed. 'At least I think it's Veii. But I'm absolutely sure the binge is genealogical.'

'You don't find the old guy dull?'

'Unlike your father, Titus has hidden depths.' She smiled in a very unmatronly way. I wondered if maybe I hadn't misjudged Helvius Priscus. 'You'd be surprised. At least not you personally but you know what I mean. Speaking of which, why don't you tell me about this girl of yours.'

'What?'

I must've looked as shocked as I felt because she laughed.

'Oh, yes, I know all about young Rufia Perilla, Marcus. You've caused quite a little scandal between the two of you. Not that I mind personally. From all accounts the poor girl needed taking out of herself. That Suillius Rufus is a shit.'

'How did you know about Perilla? Who told you?'

'I don't think I can remember all the names, dear. But I shouldn't worry. Sympathy seems to be on your side. Is she applying for a divorce?'

'Yes.'

'I hope she gets it, then. It may be a little difficult with her husband being so close to the emperor's son, but there's nothing worse, Marcus, than being married to someone you don't like. Let alone love. Wherever the faults lie. Do you understand me, dear?'

I stared back at her, woodenly. 'Yes. I think so.'

'Good.' She settled back into her chair. 'Now tell me about Perilla.'

I did. Not the personal stuff, of course, nor what had brought us together originally: if Mother knew anything about that she had the good sense not to mention it. They'd've got on well together, I thought, although they were completely different characters. Mother was glass to Perilla's marble.

'You must bring her round for dinner some evening,' she said when I'd finished. 'I'm sure Titus would enjoy talking to her too. Rufius is such an unusual family name.' I glanced at her sharply, and sure enough there was laughter in her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. 'No, but I'm serious, Marcus. I'd love to meet her and so would Titus. Don't worry, I'll keep the old bore on a tight leash. Perhaps we should invite your father and his new wife as well.'

'Mother!'

'Just a joke, dear. If you insist we take it as such. It would make for a rather turgid evening, but I'm sure Perilla wouldn't mind.'

No, I had to admit she probably wouldn't. However although I'd promised her I'd try to get along with my father I drew the line at dining with him. I was shocked that Mother had suggested it.

We talked for a bit longer, about this and that. I enjoy talking with my mother. She has a jay's quickness, a brightness and irreverence that is a complete contrast to my father's ponderous dignity. Then I caught the sound of footsteps behind me. A slave had entered the room carrying a tray with a wine jug and cups.

'Thank you, Glaucus. Just pour for us and go, would you?' My mother turned back to me and smiled. 'I got this in specially for you, Marcus. I couldn't resist it.'

Knowing Mother, I should've had my suspicions. However it had been a long hard day. I could feel the nectar bathe my tonsils already. 'Really? What is it?'

The smile broadened. 'Pomegranate juice, dear,' she said. 'With a touch of cassia.'

Yeah, that was Mother. To pretend I'd missed the point (not that that fooled her) I had to drink some of the stuff. When the time came to go back home I still hadn't got the taste out of my mouth.