Empire

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.”

Mnester snorted. “That means he’s afraid of being caught.”

That was true, but it was not the entire truth. Certainly, Titus felt a quiver of apprehension, considering the consequences that might arise from betraying the emperor’s trust, but he also felt genuinely grateful to Claudius, and even admired him, despite his flaws. As emperor, the old fellow had proven to be a disappointment to many people; he had ordered numerous executions and often showed poor judgement, and was said to be easily led by those around him, most notably Messalina and his trusted freedman Narcissus. But all in all, most people agreed Claudius, doddering as he might be, was an improvement over the cruelties of Tiberius and the madness of Caligula. Certainly Titus thought so; Claudius had done a great deal to help him and his family, and had never harmed them.

“The consequence you should worry about is the consequence of disappointing me‚” said Messalina. “Does the name Gaius Julius Polybius mean anything to you?”

“The literary scholar and friend of the emperor who was executed for treason?”

“That was the official charge. The fact is, Polybius stood right where you’re standing, and refused to do what I wished. Later, I told my husband he had made unseemly advances and I insisted that he be punished.”

“Surely Polybius protested his innocence?”

“When it comes to a choice between believing me or believing anyone else – including even you, Titus Pinarius – my dear husband will side with me every time. We can put it to the test, if you insist; but do you really want to risk suffering the fate of Actaeon? Think how much more enjoyable it would be to lie beside me on this couch and sip a bit of wine.”

“It’s very good wine,” said Mnester, raising the cup in invitation.

Torn by indecision, Titus continued to hesitate.

Mnester laughed. “I understand your dilemma, friend. I tried to resist her myself, at first – to no avail. Like you, my fear of offending Claudius outweighed my desire for Lycisca, desirable as she is. She made promises; she made threats; she used all her seductive wiles. Still I refused. Then, one day, Claudius summoned me for a private meeting, just the two of us. He told me that his wife was complaining that I had refused to perform for her, and that this had made her very unhappy. He ordered me in no uncertain terms to do whatever she demanded. ‘Must I submit to anything she asks?’ I said. ‘Yes, anything!’ So here I am, merely doing my emperor’s bidding.”

“But Claudius couldn’t have known what you were talking about! He couldn’t approve of this.”

“No? Most husbands give themselves the freedom to seek pleasure outside their marriage, and some husbands are enlightened enough to allow their wives the same freedom, especially if the wife is much younger and possessed of strong appetites, and has already produced a healthy heir.”

Little Britannicus would be close to seven years old now, thought Titus. There was nothing maternal in Messalina’s appearance at this moment. “Are you suggesting that Claudius wouldn’t object if I were to join you? I hardly think he would agree to such a thing if I asked him.”

“Not if you asked him explicitly, and performed the deed under his nose, giving him no way to retain his dignity. That’s not how the game is played. It all happens with a wink and a nod, and out of sight, don’t you see? The important thing is that Messalina should be happy. Don’t you want to make her happy, Titus?” Mnester moved closer to Messalina and slipped his fingers inside the sheer gown, cupping his hand around one breast, squeezing it so that the nipple pressed against the fabric. Messalina sighed. “She’s very responsive,” whispered Mnester. “I’ve never made love to another woman like her. You really owe it yourself to join us, Titus.”

The last of Titus’s resistance faded. They were both young and beautiful and appeared to be completely without inhibitions. The duty would hardly be onerous, as long as Titus could keep his thoughts from leaping to the all the fearsome outcomes that might ensue. He was suddenly extremely aroused. Could it be that the element of danger, even more than Messalina, was exciting to him?

“Well, if I really have no choice,” he muttered, taking a step forward. “And if Claudius does not object,” he added, not believing this lie for a moment. He soon found himself between the two of them, no longer standing but horizontal. The couch was firm, the cushions soft. They took turns refilling the cup with wine and putting it to his lips. They pulled off his shoes and his trabea, and undid the loincloth underneath. Warm hands stroked his flesh. Someone was kissing him – he was not sure which, but the lips were soft and pliant, the tongue eager. It was Messalina who kissed him. Mnester was doing something with his mouth elsewhere. Messalina pulled back so that Titus could see.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” she whispered. “I love him and I hate him for the same reason – because he’s prettier than I am!” From somewhere she produced a thin leather whip with an ivory handle. With a crack that made Titus jump, she wielded it with surprising strength against Mnester’s broad shoulders. He moaned but did not stop what he was doing. If anything, he performed more avidly, making Titus writhe with pleasure.

“Mnester is so pretty, even Claudius has been known to kiss him after a particularly fine performance,” said Messalina. “Do you know, I think he’s the only man my husband has ever kissed. Claudius has no interest in either men or boys, the silly old fool!”

Messalina kissed Titus again, taking his breath away. “And what interests you, Titus Pinarius? No, don’t answer. Between the two of us, Mnester and I will discover everything that gives you pleasure.”

After everyone had been satisfied, and satisfied again, there was a long, languid hour of utter indolence as the three of them lay close together, naked and silent and drained of desire.

It Messalina who finally spoke. “Don’t you have a brother, Titus?”

He was almost dozing. It took him a moment to answer. “Yes.”

“A twin brother?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so. I remember meeting the two of you when you first came to Roma. I could tell you apart, though. I knew you were the playful one.”

“You were certainly right about that!” said Mnester sleepily. Titus smiled, enjoying the praise.

“But one never sees him about. He’s still alive, isn’t he, your twin brother?”

“Yes.”

“And still in the city?”

“Yes.” Titus shifted uneasily. He was wide awake now.

“Then where are you hiding him, Titus? You must bring him to meet me. One of you is delightful; two of you would be divine. Can you imagine, Mnester? Identical twins.”

Mnester made a growling sound.

Titus squirmed a bit, not liking the drift of the conversation. “Actually, we’re not as alike as we used to be. Kaeso… doesn’t look after his appearance. He’s rather unkempt these days.”

“A wild man? All the better!” Messalina purred. “I can catalogue the differences and similarities between the two of you.”

Titus was now acutely uncomfortable, reminded for the second time that day of his long-ago audience with Caligula. That occasion had been a torment, the stuff of nightmares. Today’s tryst, equally unexpected and to some extent coerced, had delivered him to a state of bliss. It was a curious thing, how the same acts, resulting in the same physical release, could bring either misery or joy, depending on the circumstances and the people involved.

Messalina was quiet for the moment, and Titus deliberately tried to think of other things.

“At the Secular Games,” he said, “That’s where it was.”

“What are you talking about?” said Messalina.

“That’s where I saw Mnester play Ajax, at one of the plays put on during the Secular Games last summer. I’ve been trying to remember ever since I stepped into this room and recognized him. I could remember the performance, but not the venue.”

“At least I was memorable,” murmured Mnester.

“More than memorable,” said Titus. “You were brilliant. I believed every moment that you were the world’s greatest warrior, wearing that magnificent armour. When Athena put you under a spell, I really thought you were sleepwalking. And when you woke up covered in blood and realized you’d killed a herd of sheep instead of your enemies, well, I had to laugh and shudder at the same time. And your suicide scene – truly, you had me in tears.”

Mnester made a contented noise.

“Now that I think of it,” Titus went on, “the whole festival was remarkable. Everything about the Secular Games was first-rate – the gladiator matches, the races, the plays, the banquets, the concerts in the temples. The panther-hunt in the Circus Maximus – that was spectacular! Though I think I was even more impressed by the Thessalian horsemen, the way they drove that herd of bulls in a stampede around the track, then dismounted and wrestled them to the ground. Amazing stuff! I think those games were the highlight of Claudius’s reign so far. And why not? They say the Secular Games are held only once in a lifetime, and these marked the eight hundredth anniversary of the founding of the city, quite a grand occasion-”

He stopped abruptly. Mnester was kicking him under the thin coverlet. He turned to see that Mnester was frowning and shaking his head, as if to warn Titus away from the subject.

But it was too late. Messalina sat upright and crossed her arms. Her pretty face was twisted by a vexed expression. “The Secular Games – that was where she made her move!”

“She?” said Titus.

“Agrippina, Claudius’s niece. The bitch!”

Mnester cringed and shifted toward the far side of the couch. “Now you’ve set her off,” he whispered.

“It was during the Troy Pageant,” Messalina said. “Were you there that afternoon in the Circus Maximus, Titus? Did you see?”

“The Troy Pageant? No, I missed that.” Watching patrician boys dressed up as Trojan warriors perform maneuvers on horseback was a pastime he considered more suitable for doting mothers and grandparents.

“Then you missed Agrippina’s triumph. I was there, of course, with Claudius and little Britannicus in the imperial box. Before the pageant commenced I stood with Britannicus and we waved to the crowd. There was hardly any applause at all. What were people thinking, to pay so little honour to the wife, and more especially to the son of the emperor? Eventually I sat down, thoroughly disgusted.

“In the box with us was Agrippina. Claudius invites her to everything. He says it’s his duty as her uncle, since both her parents are dead and Agrippina is a widow again, raising her son alone. After I sat, Claudius called on her to stand, along with that spotty-faced brat of her, little Nero. Numa’s balls! I couldn’t hear myself think over the applause and the cheering. It went on and on. Why? All I could think was that people had been reading that insipid memoir of hers, in which she paints such a puffed-up portrait of herself and all her suffering. Have you read it, Titus?”

“No, I haven’t,” he said. Strictly speaking, this was true, but Titus knew most of the stories in Agrippina’s book because his wife had read it. Chrysanthe had been greatly inspired by the tale of a woman born into privilege but forced by Fate to fend for herself and her young one. At bedtime, after finishing a chapter, she had breathlessly repeated the stirring details for Titus’s edification.

Messalina clearly had a different impression of Agrippina’s story. “You’d think she was Cassandra at the burning of Troy, the way she goes on about her woes. Daughter of the great Germanicus and an irreproachable mother, both struck down in their prime – well, everyone’s parents die sooner or later. Sister of Caligula, who turned against her, confiscated her possessions, and exiled her to the Pontine Islands, where she was forced to dive for sponges to support herself. Of course she doesn’t mention her incest with Caligula, or the fact that she plotted to do away with him. Widowed twice and forced to raise the Divine Augustus’s one and only great-great-grandson all by herself – though the suspicious death of her last husband left her very wealthy indeed. Poor, long-suffering Agrippina! Her campaign to endear herself to the people certainly seems to be working, to judge by their reaction at the Troy Pageant. And once the cheering started, the spotty-faced brat stepped in front of his mother and began turning this way and that, smiling and making gestures to the crowd – what do you actors call it, Mnester, ‘milking’ the audience for applause?”

Mnester grunted, trying to stay out of the conversation.

“Then Agrippina announced that Nero would be participating in the Troy Pageant, despite the fact that he was only nine and the other boys were all older, and down he went to put on his mock armour and take up a wooden sword and mount his pony. More cheering! Though I must admit, for a nine-year-old, he handled himself rather well on horseback.”

“Born to ride,” muttered Mnester.

Messalina snorted. “What a little showman! Precocious, Claudius calls him, as if that were a compliment. Some people find his affectations charming; I think there’s something repulsive about the boy. And about his mother as well. Parading one’s sorrows in public and seeking accolades from the mob is terribly vulgar, don’t you think?”

Her gaze demanded a response. Mnester gave Titus another surreptitious kick, and Titus vigorously nodded his head.

“It’s so obvious what the scheming vixen has in mind,” said Messalina. “She thinks her little Nero should be the next emperor.”

“Surely not,” said Titus.

“Claudius isn’t getting any younger, and Nero will reach his toga day ahead of Britannicus, and the brat is a direct descendant of Augustus. Of course, so was Caligula, and we all know how that ended.”

“Do you really think Agrippina is thinking that far ahead?”

“Of course! The maudlin memoir, the way she grooms Nero and presents him in public, her fawning deference to Claudius, her calculated role as the virtuous widow – oh yes, with Agrippina everything is a means to an end. She and that whelp of hers need to carefully watched.”

Mnester rolled farther away. The coverlet slipped and exposed his meaty buttocks. Messalina abruptly picked up the whip with the ivory handle and gave him a cracking lash across his backside. “What are you smirking at?”

“I wasn’t smirking, Lycisca!” Mnester hid his face in a cushion and his whole body trembled. Titus thought he was quaking with fear until he realized that the actor was trying to hide his laughter.

“You lout!” Messalina gave him another lash.

“Please, Lycisca!” cried Mnester, though to Titus it appeared that he made no effort to avoid the blow, but instead raised his hips and wriggled them a bit. So far, Messalina had spared Titus the whip, and though it was stimulating to see a naked, well-built fellow like Mnester take a thrashing, he did not care to receive one himself, not even from Messalina. Also, he was tired. If this was the prelude to more lovemaking, Titus was not sure he was up for it.

He need not have worried. The conversation had put Messalina in a foul mood, and Mnester’s giggling had cooled her ardour. She told Titus to dress, and when he was again in his trabea, she handed him a little sack of coins.

“What’s this?” he said.

“Your fee. Isn’t it customary to pay an augur for his services?”

“But I performed no augury.”

“Nonetheless, you performed. And your wife will be expecting you to bring home a little something to add to the household coffers, won’t she? Now off with you.”

“Will you want to see me again?” Titus asked.

“Who knows? No, don’t pout! I hate it when men pout. You were a raging stallion, you were an elemental force of nature, you made me melt with ecstasy – honestly. Of course I’ll want to see you again. But now get out!”

Titus left the house on the Esquiline with mixed feelings. An afternoon of debauched lovemaking was the last thing he had expected that day, and to be paid for his services made him feel a bit like a spintria, as people had taken to calling the male prostitutes of the city, adapting the word that Tiberius had coined. Still, his performance must have been superior, for Messalina, who clearly could have any man she wanted, said she would want to see him again.

The autumn day was short. Shadows were gathering; it was the hour for lighting lamps in the streets. Tripping lightly down the slope of the Esquiline and passing through the Subura, Titus passed the alley that led to the shabby tenement where Kaeso lived. What a dreadfully dull existence his brother led, compared to his own eventful life.