Roma.The novel of ancient Rome

THE ARCHITECT OF HIS OWN FORTUNE

312 B.C.

“So, young man, this is your toga day-and what a splendid day for it! Tell me, how have you celebrated so far?”

Surrounded by the magnificent gardens at the center of his magnificent house, wearing his finest toga for the occasion, Quintus Fabius sat with his arms crossed, wrinkled his craggy brow, and appeared to scowl at his visitor. Young Kaeso had been warned about his eminent cousin’s severe expression; Roma’s greatest general was not known for smiling. Kaeso tried not to be intimidated. Even so, he had to clear his throat before he could answer.

“Well, cousin Quintus, I rose very early. My father presented me with a family heirloom, a golden fascinum on a golden chain, which he took from his own neck to place over mine. There’s a story connected with it; it was given to my grandfather long ago by the famous Vestal Pinaria. Then father presented me with my toga, and helped me put it on. I never imagined it would be so complicated, to make the folds hang correctly! We took a long walk around the Forum, where he introduced me to his friends and colleagues. I was allowed to mount the orator’s platform, to see what the Forum looks like from the perspective of the Rostra.”

“Of course, when I was boy,” said Quintus, interrupting, “the speaker’s platform was not yet called the Rostra, because it hadn’t yet been decorated with all those ships’ beaks. Do you know when that happened?”

Kaeso cleared his throat again. “I believe it was during the consulship of Lucius Furius Camillus, the grandson of the great Camillus. The coastal city of Antium was subdued by Roman arms, and the Antiates were made to remove the ramming prows-the so-called rostra, or ‘beaks’-from their warships, and send them as tribute to Roma. The beaks were installed as decorations on the orator’s platform; hence the platform’s name, the Rostra.”

Quintus scowled and nodded. “Go on.”

“After I stood on the Rostra, we ascended the Capitoline. There we observed a Dorso family tradition-retracing the route taken by my great-grandfather, Gaius Fabius Dorso, when he walked from the Capitoline to the Quirinal, defying the Gauls. At the Altar of Quirinus, an augur took the auspices. A single hawk was seen flying from left to right. The augur declared it a favorable omen.”

“Favorable, indeed! The hawk will watch after you in battle. And how does it feel, young man, to be wearing a toga?”

“It feels very good, cousin Quintus.” In fact, the woolen garment was heavier and hotter than Kaeso had expected.

Quintus nodded. He thought the toga looked rather incongruous on young Kaeso, serving only to emphasize his boyish good looks-his blond curls and blushing, beardless cheeks, his full red lips and bright blue eyes. Aloud, Quintus merely said, “You are a man, now. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, cousin Quintus.” Kaeso forced a smile. Of all the day’s events, this visit might the most important of all; in honor of his ascent to manhood, he had been invited to dine, alone, with the most eminent of all the Fabii, the leading member of the many branches of the family, the great statesman and general Quintus Fabius. Nervous and tired, but determined to make a good show of himself, Kaeso sat stiffly in his backless chair and met his cousin’s steely gaze.

“Well, then, let us retire to the dining room,” said Quintus. “You and I shall eat and drink like two men of the world, and talk about your future.”

In fact, the discussion was almost entirely about the past. Over various delicacies-pork liver with celery in a wine sauce, tripe stewed with cinnamon and nutmeg, mutton in fennel cream-Quintus imparted bits of family history. Kaeso had heard almost all of these tales before, but never as told by the great Quintus. Kaeso’s great-grandfather had still been alive when Quintus was young; Quintus had met the illustrious Dorso on several occasions, and had heard the tale of the famous walk from the man himself.

Quintus also related the most famous and tragic exploit of the Fabii, their great sacrifice during a war against Veii, when the family raised a whole army from its own ranks, only to see all but one killed in a terrible ambush. “Out of three hundred and seven warriors, that young man alone survived to carry on the family name,” said Quintus. “Like a forest of noble trees destroyed by fire, from a single seedling the family regenerated itself-proof of the gods’ determination that the Fabii should play a great role in Roma’s history.”

Quintus was no less shy about trumpeting his own accomplishments. Early in his career, as Master of the Horse to the dictator Lucius Papirius Cursor, he had engaged in battle with the Samnites against the dictator’s express orders. Though he won a resounding victory, he had faced death for his disobedience.

“There I stood in the Forum, with my father on his knees before Papirius, pleading for my life. Only a great outcry from the Senate and the people stayed the dictator from ordering his lictors to execute me on the spot with their rods and axes. Though I was stripped of my office, I kept my head-barely! But reversals of fortune can be swift. Just three years later, I became one of the youngest men ever to be elected consul. I soundly defeated the Samnites once again, and was awarded a great triumph. The very next year, the consuls who succeeded me handed the Samnites one of their greatest victories over us. For better or worse, I was not present at the disaster of the Caudine Forks. I suppose you know the shameful story?”

Kaeso quickly lowered the olive that was on its way to his mouth. “Yes, cousin. A Roman army under the consuls Titus Veturius Calvinus and Spurius Postumius, seeking a shortcut, passed through a narrow defile into a gorge that narrowed even more at its far end. When they reached the second narrows, the army found that the passage had been completely blocked with felled trees and other debris. They hastened back to the entrance, only to discovered that it, too, had been made impassable by the enemy. These narrow defiles were the Caudine Forks, between which the whole army was helplessly trapped. Days passed. Rather than allow the men to starve, or attempt an impossible escape that would have resulted in a complete massacre, the consuls submitted to the terms of their Samnite captors.”

“And what did those terms include?” said Quintus. “Go ahead, young man, tell me what you’ve been taught.”

“The Romans were made to lay down their arms and their armor, and to strip off every garment. Naked, they were made to exit through the defile passing under a yoke, as a symbol of their subjugation to the enemy. Even the consuls were forced to do this. The Samnites jeered and laughed at them, and brandished their swords in the Romans’ faces. The soldiers returned home alive but in disgrace. It was a very dark day for Roma.”

“The darkest since the coming of the Gauls!” declared Quintus. “But rather than pretend it never happened, we must acknowledge it, and by perceiving the mistake which the consuls made-failing to scout the path ahead of them-we will make sure that such a thing never happens again. Meanwhile, the war with the Samnites continues, but there can be no doubt as to the eventual outcome. Only by conquest can we continue to prosper. Only conquest can make us secure! It is the duty of every Roman to raise his sword and lay down his life, if he must, to fulfill Roma’s destiny: the domination of all Italy, and after that, expansion to the north, where we shall one day revenge ourselves upon the Gauls and make sure they never menace us again. Will you do your duty to Roma, young man?”

Kaeso took a deep breath. “I should very much like to kill a few Samnites, if I’m able. And perhaps a few Gauls, as well.”

For the first time, Quintus smiled. “Good for you, young man!” His scowl returned as he began to expound on politics. As patricians, he asserted, it was incumbent on the Fabii to assert their hereditary privileges at all times, and to protect those privileges against any further encroachment by the plebeians.

“To be sure, there are some plebeians worthy of attaining high office. It is to Roma’s benefit that the most ambitious and capable of the plebeians have risen to join the ranks of the nobility, intermarrying with us and ruling the city alongside us. Roma rewards merit. The rabble, foreigners, even freed slaves are given a chance to work their way up the ladder, although there are plenty of barriers to slow their advance, which is as it should be!

Democracy as practiced by some of the Greek colonies in southern Italy-giving every man an equal say-has been kept out of Roma, thank the gods! Here, republican principles reign, by which I mean the freedom of the noble elite to compete equally and openly for political honors.”

He leaned back on his couch and ceased his discourse for a few moments to enjoy a plate of sauteed carrots and parsnips. “But I’ve strayed from the subject of family history, a more suitable topic for your toga day. The origin of the Fabii is shrouded in mystery, of course, as are all matters that stretch back to a time before writing was introduced among the Romans. However, our best authorities believe that first Roman families were descended from the gods.”

“My friend Marcus Julius claims that his family is descended from Venus,” said Kaeso.

“Indeed,” said Quintus, raising an eyebrow. “That might explain why the Julii make better lovers than fighters. Our pedigree is a bit more heroic. According to family historians, the very first Fabius was the child of Hercules and a wood nymph, born on the banks of the Tiber at the dawn of time. Thus the blood of Hercules flows in the veins of the Fabii even now.” Quintus begrudged Kaeso a second smile, then abruptly frowned and fell silent.

There was an uncomfortable moment as both men realized they were thinking the same thought-that Kaeso’s immediate branch of the family, springing as it did from an adoption, did not actually carry the ancient Fabian blood. Neither Quintus nor Kaeso had any way of knowing that the truth was considerably more complicated. In fact, the claim of the Fabii to be descended from Hercules was completely spurious, while the blood of the visitor later identified as Hercules did indeed flow in Kaeso’s veins, through his descent from the Potitii, a circumstance unknown to either man.

The uncomfortable moment stretched intolerably. Kaeso’s face grew hot. They had drawn close to a subject that had made Kaeso uneasy ever since the day he first learned, as a child, that his grandfather was not born a Fabius, but was an adopted foundling. The story was told with pride, for it demonstrated the piety of the great Dorso, who from the ruins of Roma brought up a newborn orphan to be his son. It had also been explained to Kaeso that his grandfather was special. Had not the gods themselves determined that the foundling should be made a Fabius? The gods set life in motion; what mattered after that was what a man made of himself. The true test of a Roman-so said Kaeso’s father-lay not in his pedigree, but in bending the world to his will.

Despite these assertions and reassurances, the fact that his actual bloodline was unknown had frequently caused Kaeso to wonder and to worry about his origins. It seemed inevitable that the subject would come up on this particular day, and so it had, even if it remained unspoken.

Kaeso became so flustered that he abruptly changed the subject. “You spoke earlier of your own illustrious career, cousin, but you made no mention of an episode that has always intrigued me.”

“Oh, yes?” said Quintus. “What is that?”

“I believe it happened not too long before I was born, when you were just beginning your political career. It had to do with a famous case of poisoning-or rather, many cases of poisoning.”

Quintus nodded grimly. “You refer to the investigation that took place the year I served as curule aedile. A veritable plague of poison!”

“If you had rather not talk about it-”

“I’m quite willing to discuss it. As with the disaster of the Caudine Forks, there is no sense in hiding such an episode, no matter how distasteful. As you say, I was a young man, and quite thrilled to have been elected curule aedile, a magistracy that automatically admitted me to the ranks of the Senate. To me fell the responsibility of keeping law and order in the city.”

“That sounds like a fascinating job.”

“Does it? For the most part, it consists of tedious administrative duties-fining citizens who’ve damaged public property, investigating accusations of overcharging by moneylenders, that sort of thing. Not a happy post for a man who would rather be fighting! But my complaints paled beside the general gloom that reigned over the city that year. People were fearful and uneasy, for it seemed that a terrible plague of a most peculiar nature had descended on us. Its victims were all men-not a woman among them-and the symptoms varied inexplicably. Some died swiftly. Others recovered for a while and then relapsed and expired. Even odder was the fact that a disproportionate number of those who died were men of high standing. Plagues tend to strike the poor and the lowborn in preference to their betters, not the other way around. The peculiar nature and the mounting toll of this plague were only gradually perceived over a course of months, and by that time the priests and magistrates were greatly alarmed. It seemed that the wrath of the gods must be at work. What had the people of Roma, especially their leading men, done to offend them?

“Eventually, the Senate resorted to an ancient recourse in times of epidemic. As you know, there is a wooden tablet inside the Temple of Jupiter, affixed to the doorway that leads into the sanctuary of Minerva on the right. Since the founding of the temple, every year, on the Ides of September, one of the consuls drives a nail into that tablet, to mark the passage of each year; thus the age of the temple and of the Republic can be calculated. The tablet adorns Minerva’s sanctuary because numbers were one of her gifts to mankind. But the tablet has another, rarer function. In times of epidemic, a special dictator may be named-a religious, not military appointment-to carry out a single duty: He must drive an additional nail into the wooden tablet. How this custom came about, no one knows, but its effect is to lessen the ravages of plague. Thus, also, the years of plague can be recalled, and the frequency of such outbreaks reckoned.

“So it was done in this instance. A special dictator was appointed-Gnaeus Quinctilius, as I recall. With the Vestals and the priests and all the magistrates in attendance, Quinctilius drove a nail into the tablet, and then, his duty done, he resigned his office. But the ritual brought no relief. The plague continued and the number of victims increased. The people grew more frightened and their leaders more uneasy. I was as concerned as anyone, of course, but as curule aedile it hardly fell to me to devise a proper means of propitiating the gods and dispelling the plague.

“Then, one day, going about my business in my chambers in the Forum, a young woman came to see me. She refused to tell me her name, but from her dress and manner, I could see she was a freeborn servant from a respectable household. She said she had something terrible to tell me, but only if I would promise to shield her from punishment by the state or retribution by those whose crimes she would reveal. Well, I thought this was going to be nothing more dire than a case of a contractor embezzling bricks from the city, or some pipe-layer charging twice for repairing the public sewer. I gave her my assurances, and she proceeded to tell me that the plague that was afflicting the city was of human origin-and perpetrated not by men, but by women. She accused her own mistress, along with some of the most highborn women in Roma.

“On its face, her story seemed preposterous. For what possible reason would so many women resort to poisoning their husbands and other male relatives? One woman might resort to poison, yes; but scores of women, repeatedly, all in the same year? And yet, by that time, hundreds of men had died, and no cause had yet been discovered. I asked for proof. She offered to take me to a house where the poisons were made. If we were lucky, she said, we might catch some of the women in the act of brewing them.

“I had to act and quickly. In that moment, the job I had considered trifling and humdrum suddenly weighed upon me as the world must weigh upon the shoulders of Atlas.” Quintus sighed, but his eyes glittered; relating the grim story clearly gave him great satisfaction.

“And then what happened, cousin Quintus?”

“Speed was essential, yet proper forms had to be observed, or otherwise any evidence might be compromised. I alerted the consuls at once-how old Gaius Valerius blustered when I woke him from a nap in the middle of the day! With the consuls as witnesses, along with their lictors, I went to the house in question, the home of a patrician named Cornelius, one of the first victims of the plague. His widow’s name was Sergia. Her door slave, seeing such a company, blanched and tried to shut us out. I pushed my way inside.

“At the back of the house, we found a room, which must have been a kitchen at one time, but that had been given over entirely to the brewing of potions. Herbs were hung by bits of string from the rafters. Pots were bubbling and steaming. One pot had been set on a wooden rack to cool; lined up beside it was a row of little clay bottles. Sergia was clearly in charge; the other women were merely servants. When she saw us and realized what had happened, she grabbed one of the bottles and raised it to her lips. I knocked the bottle from her hand. It shattered on the floor and spattered my tunic with a green liquid. The lictors restrained her. There was a rage in her eyes that chilled my blood.

“Sergia refused to answer questions, but, with a little persuasion, her slaves spoke readily enough. They led us to more than twenty houses where the products of Sergia’s kitchen might be found. What a day that was, bursting into house after house, witnessing the outrage of the women, the disbelief of their husbands, the fear and confusion of the children. The implicated women were made to appear before the consuls in the Forum, along with the potions that had been seized.

“Before that day, there had never been a public inquest into charges of poisoning. Such matters were rare enough, and when they did occur, they had always been handled entirely within the affected household, with justice dispensed by the paterfamilias. ‘It began beneath his roof, let it end beneath his roof,’ as the saying goes. If a head of household’s wife or daughter, or his son, for that matter, dared to commit such a crime, it was the prerogative of the paterfamilias to determine guilt and exact punishment.

“But this was clearly beyond the scope of any one paterfamilias. There was simply no precedent for such a thing-a vast web of crimes spun by a conspiracy of women! The consuls were fearful of repercussions from the powerful families involved. They were only too happy to allow me, as curule aedile, to conduct the questioning.

“Sergia at last broke her silence. She claimed that her potions were remedies for various ailments, none of them poisonous. If that were so, I said, then let every woman present swallow the potion that was found in her possession. This caused a great stir among the women. There was much weeping, shrieking, tearing of hair. Gradually, the women quieted one another. At last, they agreed to the test. In unison, following the lead of Sergia, the women swallowed their so-called remedies.

Quintus shook his head. “What a sight! What a sound! The death throes of more than twenty women, there before our eyes! Not all the potions were the same, and their effects differed. Some of the women were seized by violent convulsions. Others stiffened and died with a hideous grimace. I was a young man, but I had already fought in several battles-I had killed men and seen men killed-yet I had never witnessed anything as strange and terrifying as the death of those women by their own hands!”

Kaeso gazed at his cousin wide-eyed. The details of the mass poisonings were completely new to him. Kaeso found the tale at once thrilling and repulsive. “Was that the end of it, cousin Quintus?”

“Far from it! The friends and servants of those dead women had much more to tell us. As more women were implicated, we realized that the scale of the conspiracy was larger than anyone could have imagined. In the end, more than one hundred and seventy women were found guilty, and all were put to death. The murder of so many upstanding citizens, the shocking investigation, the executions-all cast a shadow of despair across the city. The truth was too appalling for some to accept. There were those who said I went too far, that my judgment was faulty, that I allowed wicked people to falsely accuse the wives and daughters of their enemies. Well, even the gods are not infallible! I believe my investigation was thorough and impartial, and that no other man could have done better. In any event, the poisonings stopped, and the citizens of Roma rewarded me with election to higher office in the years that followed.”

Kaeso shook his head. “I had no idea the crimes were so widespread, and so bizarre. I’d heard only vague rumors before.”

“I’m not surprised. When the wretched affair was over, people did their best to forget it.”

“But why did those women commit such crimes?”

“The reasons they gave were as varied as the poisons they used: greed, revenge, spite, jealousy. Having committed murder once, many of the women seemed unable to resist doing so again. It was as if a kind of madness spread among them, a homicidal contagion, a compulsion to kill. The root cause of that madness, no one could determine. The only certain cure was death. I put an end to the plague of poisonings, and since that time, it has never recurred.”

“What a fascinating story!”

“Do you really think so?”

“Absolutely! I should like to know even more. Who were those women? What were their names? Whom did they kill, and why, and when, and-”

Amused and a little flattered by his young cousin’s enthusiasm, Quintus emitted a good-natured grunt that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Well, young man, as it happens, I kept a very thorough dossier of materials relating to my investigation-for my own protection, if nothing else, so that if called upon later I could show exactly what evidence I had obtained and the circumstances under which I obtained it. All the details are there-names, dates, even the recipes the women used to concoct their various poisons. Quite a few of them were able to read and write, and some of them kept copious notes about the poisons and their effects.”

“Would you allow me to see that dossier, cousin?”

“Certainly. Do you know, no one has ever asked to see it before. And yet, that investigation is now a part of the family’s history, a part of Roma’s history.”

“It shouldn’t be forgotten,” said Kaeso.

Quintus nodded. “Very well. Those materials must be somewhere among my memorabilia. When I have time, I shall locate them, and let you have a look.”

Later that night, alone in his room in his father’s house, Kaeso prepared for bed. By the flickering light of a single lamp, he removed his toga without assistance; getting out of the garment was much easier than putting it on. He carefully folded the toga and placed it on a chair. He stripped off his undertunic and loincloth, and stood naked except for the gift his father had given him that morning, the fascinum which hung from the chain around his neck.

Among the other gifts Kaeso had received that day was a small mirror. A slave had already hung it on the wall. The mirror was round, made of polished silver, and decorated around its border with images engraved in the metal. The images depicted the exploits of Hercules. No doubt the giver, a colleague of Kaeso’s father, had thought the mirror would make a particularly appropriate coming-of-age gift for a young Fabius, as the Fabii considered themselves to be descended from Hercules; but the reflection of his own face, surrounded by images of the demigod, only reminded Kaeso that he was not really a Fabius by blood, only by adoption.

Kaeso stood naked before the mirror and gazed at his shadowy reflection. “Today you are a man, Kaeso Fabius Dorso,” he whispered. “But who are you? Where did you come from? Your grandfather was a foundling among the rubble; was he begotten by a god, or a Gaul? Will you live and die and never know the secret of your origin-or is there an oracle who can answer your question?”

He touched the amulet at his chest. The gold of the fascinum caught the lamp’s flickering light, and Kaeso was dazzled by its reflection in the mirror.

The next morning, Kaeso donned his toga again to pay a formal call upon a man he had never met.

Appius Claudius-the seventh of that name in the line descended from Attus Clausus-blinked in disbelief when his secretary announced his first visitor of the day. “The young Fabius?” he said. “Are you sure you heard the name correctly?”

The slave nodded.

Claudius pursed his lips and stroked his beard, which was still more black than silver. “Very well, show him in. I’ll meet him here in the garden. Turn away all other visitors until we’re done.”

If anything, the garden of Appius Claudius, with its splashing fountain surrounding a statue of three Muses and its terraces of roses, was even more magnificent than the garden of Quintus Fabius. Kaeso was duly impressed, but not surprised. If any man was as powerful and respected in Roma as his cousin Quintus, that man was Quintus’s longtime rival, Appius Claudius.

“I believe that congratulations are in order, young man,” said Claudius, standing to greet him. “Your toga suits you well.”

In fact, Kaeso had dressed himself that morning without the help of a slave, and had not quite succeeded in making the garment hang correctly. He was glad to take the chair which Claudius offered. Sitting disguised the awkward folds of his toga.

“Thank you for receiving me, Censor.” Kaeso addressed his host by the title of the prestigious office he held. In many ways, the censorship was an even higher magistracy than the consulship, and its exalted rank was signified by the purple toga that the censor alone could wear. The censor had the power to fill vacancies in the Senate. He also kept the rolls of citizenship. He could add men to the list, or, with just cause, strike them from it. The censor’s list determined the division of citizens into voting units, a tool the patricians had long used to their advantage. By manipulating the list, the censor could influence the course of elections.

Appius Claudius had also used the powers of his office to gain complete control over two public works projects of unprecedented vastness. This was the reason Kaeso had come to see him.

“If I look a bit surprised, you must understand that it’s been a very long time since any man named Fabius has cast a shadow in this garden,” said Claudius, who smiled as readily as Quintus scowled. Kaeso had heard that the man’s charm was his most notable quality; when the Fabii said this, it was not a compliment. “Whenever a political question arises, it seems that your cousin Quintus leans in one direction and I lean in the other. The two of us can never seem to meet, either on policy or in the flesh.”

Kaeso spoke carefully. “No one holds Quintus Fabius in higher esteem than I do, but I am my own man.”

“Well spoken! I myself am only too well acquainted with the burden of having famous-and infamous-relatives. Fortunately, the worst of them are long dead. But like you, Kaeso, I am my own man. I am no more responsible for the criminal behavior of my great-great-grandfather, the Decemvir, than you are responsible for the dunderheaded, backward-looking politics of your esteemed cousin. We are each his own man, and each man is the architect of his own fortune. Shall we drink to that?”

A slave had appeared with two cups of wine. Kaeso, feeling a bit disloyal to Quintus but eager to ingratiate himself with his host, took a sip. The wine was unwatered and stronger than he was used to. Almost at once he felt warm and a little fuzzy-headed.

Claudius signaled that both their cups should be refilled. “Given the chilly relations between your cousin Quintus and myself, I assume you must have a very good reason for coming to see me.”

Kaeso could feel that the wine was beginning to loosen his tongue; perhaps it would not be so difficult to state his desire, after all. He was just opening his mouth to speak when his host interrupted him.

“But, no-I can tell that you’ve come here on business of some sort, and it’s still too early in the day for me to discuss serious business. Let’s get to know one another a little. Perhaps we have interests in common. Do you read Latin?”

“Of course I do, Censor.”

“And Greek?”

“Well…a little,” said Kaeso.

“By which you mean not at all. A pity! I thought I might show you my library, which is the best in Roma, but since almost all the books are in Greek, it would mean nothing to you. Every Roman should learn at least enough Greek to read the great playwrights-Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides. And of course, the great philosophers-Plato and Aristotle. But your face remains a blank, Kaeso. Do these names mean anything to you?”

“I’m afraid not, Censor.”

“Alas!” Claudius shook his head. “And do you know where that word, ‘alas,’ comes from?”

Kaeso frowned. “No.”

“And you a Fabius, with family ties to Hercules! ‘Alas’ is a Latinization of a Greek name, Hylas. And who was Hylas?”

Kaeso furrowed his brow and shrugged.

Claudius sighed. “Hylas was a beautiful boy, the beloved of Hercules. The two of them together accompanied Jason and the Argonauts on their quest for the Golden Fleece. When the Argo dropped anchor at the mouth of the river Ascanius, Hylas was sent to fetch fresh water from the springs. But the nymphs were jealous of his beauty, and Hylas was pulled into the water, never to be seen again. Hercules was distraught beyond comforting. For a long time-long after hope of finding the boy was gone-he wandered up and down the riverbank, crying out, ‘Hylas! Hylas!’ And thus we still cry, ‘Alas! Alas!’ when confronted by great sorrow.”

Kaeso raised his eyebrows. Hylas was not among the characters engraved on the mirror he had been given. “I never heard that story before. It’s quite beautiful.”

“There are several versions of the tale of Hercules and Hylas among my books, but you must know Greek to read any of them.”

“I’ve never claimed to be a scholar, Censor. A Roman’s primary duty is to serve the state as a soldier-”

“Indeed! And as a warrior you could surely benefit from reading Homer’s Iliad-or, even better, The Life of Alexander by Cleon of Corinth. I received a copy only yesterday, by courier all the way from a book vendor in Athens. You have heard of Alexander?”

“Alexander the Great of Macedonia? Who hasn’t heard of him? First he conquered Greece, and then the whole of the world to the south and east-Egypt, Persia, and faraway lands that lie beyond any map. My father says we’re lucky he didn’t turn his attention to the west, or else we’d have had to fight him on the banks of the Tiber. But Alexander won’t conquer anyone else. He’s been dead for ten years now.”

“Eleven years, actually-but you do indeed seem to know who Alexander was. Very good!” Claudius laughed and shrugged. “One never knows what a young man is likely to know, or not know, given the dreadful state of Roman education. Many a Roman can name his own ancestors going back ten generations-not a hard feat, since they tend to all have the same name-but how many can name the reigning tyrant of Syracuse, or find Carthage on a map?”

Kaeso smiled. “My father says you’re obsessed with Syracuse and Carthage.”

“Indeed I am, because the future of Roma resides in the sea lanes of the Mediterranean, and those sea lanes will be controlled either by Syracuse or by Carthage-or by us.”

“My cousin Quintus says our future lies to the north, not to the south. First we conquer all of Italy, then we look to Gaul-”

“Nonsense! The Gauls have nothing to offer us, not even a god worth worshiping, or a language worth learning. The wealth of the world will belong to whoever controls trade in the Mediterranean. To do that, we shall have to become a sea power, or else make subjects of those who already have a navy-such as the Syracusans and Carthaginians. Your cousin Fabius’s misreading of Roma’s destiny lies at the very heart of the disagreement between us. Ah, but here I am, talking politics, when I was hoping to find common ground between us.” Claudius pensively tapped his forefinger against his lips. “Since you are a Kaeso, I suppose I might ask your position regarding the controversy over the letter ‘K’?”

“Controversy?”

“My own opinion is that it should eliminated altogether from the Roman alphabet. What need is there for ‘K’ when ‘C’ will do just as well? Thus your name would be spelled C-A-E-S-O, and pronounced the same.”

“But-I’m rather fond of the ‘K’ in my name…”

“And what about ‘Z’? I say it is abhorrent and must be gotten rid of!”

“Abhorrent?”

“The sound it represents is uncouth and has no place in a civilized language. ‘Z’ grates on the ear and offends the eye.”

“The eye?”

“Here, observe my face as pronounce it.” Claudius parted his lips, clenched his teeth, and made a prolonged buzzing noise. “There, do you see? A man who makes the sound of ‘Z’ resembles a grinning skull. Hideous! The sound and the letter must be ruthlessly eliminated from the Latin language.”

Kaeso laughed. “You seem very passionate about it!”

“Passion is life, young man. And yes, language is my passion. What is your passion?”

Kaeso abruptly felt quite sober. The conversation had arrived at his reason for coming. “I want to be a builder, Censor.”

Claudius raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“Yes. More than anything! I’m eager to fight for Roma, of course. And if I must enter politics and learn something about the law, I will. I’ll even learn some Greek, if the Greeks can teach me something about architecture and engineering-because what I really want to do is build. It’s been so, ever since I was a child. When I was little, my favorite toys were building blocks. When I grew old enough to go about on my own, instead of watching athletes or chariot races or soldiers drilling on the Field of Mars, for hours I would stand at the site of a new temple or monument, or even at a place where the city walls were being repaired, watching the workmen and the equipment, seeing how the hoists and levers and pulleys were used, observing how mortar was mixed and bricks laid out to make arches and doorways. I admit that I have no special training, but I can draw-I know that a builder must be able to draw-and I’m very good with numbers, much better than I am with letters.”

“I see. And so you’ve come to me.”

“Yes! Men say that the road you’re building, running south to Capua, is like no road ever built before-straight as a ruler, flat as a table, hard as bedrock. And everyone is talking about your brilliant idea for bringing fresh water to the city-tapping the springs near Gabii, ten miles from Roma, running the water underground, then delivering it to the city atop an elevated channel supported by arches. An aqueduct, I think you call it? Amazing! These projects are the most exciting things that have happened in my lifetime-more exciting than battles, or elections, or even stories about conquerors at the far end of the world. I want to be part of them. I know there’s much I’ll need to learn, but I’m willing to work very hard. I want to do whatever I can to help you build your new road and your aqueduct.”

Claudius smiled. “You enthusiasm is flattering.”

“I speak from the heart, Censor.”

“I can see that. Strange! The Fabii have always been warriors, and a few have allegedly been statesmen, but never builders. I wonder how you came by such a trait?”

Kaeso did not care for the question, as it reminded him of his unknown origins, but he tried not to let his vexation show.

“Does your father know that you’ve come to me?”

“Yes, Censor. Although he disapproves of your politics-he calls you a radical populist-”

“Radical? Because I give common citizens well-paid work on public projects that benefit all of Roma? I suppose he calls me a demagogue, as well.”

Kaeso cheeks turned hot. His father had indeed used that despised word, imported from the Greek, for an unscrupulous leader who exploited the unruly passions of the mob. “Despite our political differences, Censor, my father understands how greatly I desire to work for you. He will do nothing to prevent me.”

“And your cousin Quintus?”

“I haven’t discussed it with him. But I don’t need his approval. I am-”

“Yes, I know: You are your own man.” Claudius drummed his fingers on his knees for a while, then nodded and smiled. “Very well, Kaeso Fabius Dorso. I shall find a suitable place for you on one of my projects.”

“Thank you, Censor!”

“And in the meantime, to please me, perhaps you will consider changing the ‘K’ in your name to a ‘C’.”

“Well-if you really think it’s necessary…”

“Kaeso, I’m only joking-alas!”

At dawn the next day, following the instructions of Appius Claudius, Kaeso set out from his home on the Palatine. He walked past the ancient Hut of Romulus and the fig tree called the ruminalis, a descendent of the tree which shaded Acca Larentia when she suckled Romulus and Remus. He descended the winding walkway known as the Stairs of Cacus.

He walked through the Forum Boarium (originally Bovarium, as Appius Claudius had informed him, but the letter ‘V’ had long ago been dropped by common usage). The workers in the shops and markets were just beginning their day. He passed the ancient Ara Maxima, where long ago his ancestors the Pinarii and the Potitii had inaugurated the worship of Hercules. The Potitii still made a sacrifice at the altar each year, but a long decline in the family’s fortunes had reduced their annual feast to a paltry affair. Even with his supposed connection to Hercules through the Fabii, Kaeso was only vaguely aware of the Feast of Hercules that took place at the Ara Maxima each summer, and had no idea that it was the oldest such observance in the city. Of his descent from the Pinarii and the Potitii, he knew nothing.

His destination was a work site at the foot of the Aventine Hill, between the Temple of Ceres and the north end of the Circus Maximus. He knew he had reached the place when he saw the great piles of earth and the network of ramparts that had been built around the excavation. A small army of workers, made up of freedmen and freeborn citizens, had gathered. They milled about, joking and complaining about having to wake up so early.

The sky, growing lighter every moment, was dotted with small clouds, and there was a breeze from the east. “Looks to be an excellent day for working outdoors,” said one of the men. “Too bad we’ll be stuck underground!”

A foremen appeared. The men formed a queue. One by one they were issued shovels and spades, then disappeared into a cave-like hole at the base of the hill.

Kaeso waited until the foreman had a spare moment, then approached him and introduced himself, as Claudius had instructed him to do.

The man was tall and slender, but wiry with muscle. His tunic was spotless, but there was dirt under his fingernails. “So you’re the young Fabius, here to learn about the aqueduct. My name is Albinius. I’m in charge of all aqueduct operations within the city walls, the most interesting part of the project from an engineering standpoint. Do you know where the city gets its water, currently?”

“From the Tiber, I suppose, and from springs here and there inside the city. And some people collect rainwater.”

“That’s right. And so it’s been from the beginning. But the water from the Tiber’s not always as clean as you might like, and some of the springs have dried up, and you can’t always depend on rain. And the bigger Roma grows, the more water her people need. Water for drinking and cooking, of course, and for irrigating crops outside the city, but also for bathing. Most people like to wash a bit of themselves every day, and a lot of people want to wash from head to foot every few days. That requires a lot of water! The demand has grown so great, we’ve reached a point where the city can’t accommodate more people unless we can somehow get more water.

“What to do? ‘We’ll simply bring the water we need from elsewhere,’ said Appius Claudius. ‘What, carry it by the wagonload?’ said the skeptics. ‘No, you fools!’ said Claudius. ‘We shall make the water flow here of its own accord, through the channel I shall build.’ And thus, thanks to the genius of the censor, the aqueduct was born-first of its kind anywhere on earth, and soon to be the envy of every thirsty city on earth. Right here is where the aqueduct will end, with the water pouring into a big public fountain. Do you know where the aqueduct begins?”

“Ten miles west of the city, at the springs near Gabii,” said Kaeso.

“That’s right. The fresh water from those springs will pour into an underground channel lined with stones and mortar. Because it’s downhill from there to here, that channel will carry the water all the way to the city walls, to a point near the Capena Gate. The underground channel is impressive in itself, if only for the amount of labor involved. Ten miles requires a lot of digging! And it’s hardly a straight line; it twists and turns to follow the contours of the landscape and keep the water flowing downhill. But what happens when the water reaches the city will be even more impressive.

“Claudius wants the water to come here, to the place where we’re standing. The natural way to do it-to let the water follow the lay of the land and run downhill-would mean digging a channel straight down the spine of the horseracing track in the Circus Maximus. That would be too disruptive. Instead, Claudius wants the water to make a detour around the Circus Maximus. To accomplish that, we’re tunneling through the Aventine. The channel disappears into one side of the hill and will come out the other, right here. Amazing, no? But that’s still not the most impressive part. Follow me.”

They walked along the foot of the Aventine, crossing the open area to the south of the racing track. As they approached the city wall and the Capena Gate, Claudius’s novel solution for transporting the water loomed before them. To bridge the space between the high ground to the left of the gate and the high ground to the right, a channel was being built atop a series of arches constructed of brick and mortar. The road leading to the gate ran directly under one of these arches.

“To bring the water to Roma, Claudius will not only make it run underground-he’ll make it flow above our heads!” said Albinius. “This elevated part of the aqueduct runs for only a few hundred feet, out of a total distance of many miles. But it’s a brilliant solution-a river in the sky! There’s no reason this kind of construction can’t be repeated elsewhere, and no reason that such an elevated aqueduct can’t be built on an even larger scale, running mile after mile. Water can now be carried from any high point to any low point. All that’s required is to dig and tunnel and, where necessary, to run the channel over a series of arches, as we’ve done here. Since the beginning of the world, men have had to build cities where there was adequate water. Now a city can be built anywhere men wish, and the water can be brought to them. Such a possibility never existed before. The aqueduct will change not just Roma, but the whole world!”

The foreman’s enthusiasm was contagious, and Kaeso was impressed. He would have liked to spend the rest of the day at the man’s side, but, following Claudius’s instructions, he took his leave of Albinius.

Walking under the immense arch of the aqueduct, Kaeso passed though the Capena Gate and beyond the city walls. A brisk walk brought him to the censor’s other great construction project.

The site swarmed with workers busily digging, mixing mortar, and pushing barrows filled with gravel. Kaeso asked for the foreman, a man named Decius, and was taken to the biggest, brawniest man in sight.

“So, you’re here to learn about road building, are you?” said Decius. “Well, I’ve been at it all my life. Learned a thing or two in my forty-odd years. But, thanks to Appius Claudius, this is the first time I’ve ever seen a road planned ahead of time with so much care and precision. The whole course has been laid out, all the proper materials have been acquired, and the best team of workers in Roma has been assembled-never mind that the boys working on the aqueduct might wish to dispute that claim! This is going to be a job we can all be proud of. Your descendents a thousand years from now will walk on this road and say, ‘By Jupiter, what an outstanding job old Appius Claudius and his boys did when they laid down this road!’”

“This road will still be here a thousand years from now?”

“It most certainly will!”

Kaeso assumed the big man was exaggerating, but as Decius took him through the steps of laying down the road, he began to think the claim might have some merit.

“Your first roads were hardly more than footpaths,” said Decius, “beaten into the ground by so many men passing by-or by animals, since they make trails, too, and can usually figure out the best way to get over a pass or around a rough spot. When men started using wagons, the wheels wore ruts in the ground, and that made wider roads. Finally, some unknown genius decided it was time to make a road to fit the purpose, instead of just letting it come about on its own, and so the art of road building was born.

“The road we’re building follows a very old trail that’s been here for centuries; Appius Claudius says it dates back to the days of the old salt traders and metal traders, before Roma existed. Here you see some workers performing the first step in the process. See how they’re digging two shallow trenches parallel to each other? The trenches mark the breadth of the road. This road is fifteen feet wide, the sum of three men lying head to toe. Roman men, that is; it takes only two and a half Gauls to cover that width. They say a Gaul cut in half is the best kind, especially if it’s the half without a head!”

Decius laughed heartily at his own joke, and slapped Kaeso on the back as if he could jar him into doing the same. “Now, if you’ll follow me, up ahead you can see that they’ve moved on to the second stage. They’ve dug out the loose earth between the trenches, and excavated down until they’ve reached a solid foundation for the materials to rest on. How far down you have to dig depends on the terrain. Sometimes, if the ground’s swampy or the soil’s peculiar, you have to drive piles into the earth. Fortunately, that’s not the case here. A strong digger can reach solid roadbed without breaking his back. These fellows hardly even break a sweat. Isn’t that right, men?”

The diggers looked up at Decius and grinned. Kaeso could see that they liked the foreman.

“Keep walking. I’ll show you the next stage. See there, up ahead, those big piles of stones? Those are for laying the first course of the road. These stones have been sorted for size; these are what we call hand-sized, no larger and no smaller than will fit in a man’s hand. They make up the first stratum. On top of those, we lay down a mass of broken stones about nine inches deep, rammed down hard and cemented with lime-that’s called rubble-work. Above that, we lay the road-core, about half a foot deep, which is made up of bits and pieces of bricks and pottery, smaller bits than the stones in the rubble-work, and cemented with lime. You can see a section where the core’s been finished, up ahead.”

“It’s a bit higher in the middle than at the edges, isn’t it?” said Kaeso.

“Very observant. We do that on purpose, to let the water run off. For now, to finish the road, we’re laying down a layer of gravel. That’s usually the end of the job. But on this project, the gravel layer is to be only temporary. As time and money permit, the plan is to scrape away the gravel and lay down blocks of the hardest stone we can find. Around Roma, that usually means basaltic lava. The stones aren’t uniform, like bricks; they’re broken and cut into all sorts of random shapes-polygonal, we call them-but skilled workmen can pick and choose among those stones and fit them together until the surface is so perfectly even and smooth, you’d be hard-pressed to find the tiniest gap, even with your fingertip. I’ve seen walls built that way, and there’s no reason it can’t be done on a road, as well. Up ahead, we’ve completed a small section of the road with a finished stone layer, just as a showpiece for now. Here it is. Have a look. Walk on it. Jump on it! Stoop down and run your hands over it. So flat and smooth and perfect, wouldn’t you swear it was made of one solid stone that just happens to have a few seams running through it?”

“It’s amazing!” said Kaeso. “And beautiful.”

“And likely to last for more lifetimes than those of all your ancestors put together.”

“Do you really think the entire road can be finished this finely, all the way to Capua?”

“I believe that roads this fine will some day run all up and down Italy, and far beyond-as far as any Roman dares to travel. From the Pillars of Hercules to the banks of the Euxine Sea, people will say, ‘Here runs a Roman road!’” Decius laughed. “You know what Appius Claudius once said to me? ‘Alexander conquered half the world with his army, but can you imagine what he might have done, if only the Greeks knew how to build a Roman road?’”

“And just how long has this been going on?” demanded Quintus Fabius, scowling.

“A month or so. Since the day after my toga day,” said Kaeso.

“Just as I thought. This relationship with Appius Claudius won’t do, young man. It simply won’t do!”

Quintus had asked his younger cousin to pay him a visit, but he did not receive him in the garden; instead, he met him in the vestibule. Not only was Kaeso being kept from the heart of the house, like a merchant paying an unwelcome call, and being made to stand rather than sit, but here in the vestibule, following patrician custom, the wax busts of Quintus’s ancestors were placed in niches in the walls, from which they stared unblinking at all who came and went. It seemed that not only Quintus was scowling at Kaeso and judging him; so were several generations of dour-looking Fabii.

“Cousin, I am aware of your disagreements with Appius Claudius-”

“The man is degenerate! He’s polluted his mind with so-called Greek learning. Given half a chance, he’ll pollute your mind as well.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” said Kaeso. So far, Claudius’s efforts to teach him Greek had been fruitless. Happily, Kaeso’s aptitude for engineering exceeded even his own hopes, and Claudius had been quite impressed with his new protege’s intelligence and enthusiasm. “I sought out Appius Claudius only because of his construction projects. I’m learning a great deal about road-building, and also about the new aqueduct-”

“All you need to know about those wasteful and inefficient projects, you could have found out by asking me, young man. They are the result of a gross abuse of the censor’s office. Somehow, Claudius managed to circumvent the Senate and plunder the treasury to finance his illegal schemes.”

“But those schemes, as you call them, are surely for the benefit of all Roma.”

“They are for the benefit of Claudius, a means to extend his political patronage! By giving them jobs, he buys the loyalty of the thousands of citizens he employs. No doubt he is also enriching himself!”

Kaeso frowned. “Are you accusing him of embezzling public funds?”

Quintus grunted. “I wouldn’t put it past him! You’re young, Kaeso. You haven’t yet seen enough of the world to judge a man’s character. Believe me, Claudius is not the sort of man with whom our sort should associate.”

“But surely he’s as patrician as you or I,” said Kaeso.

Did Quintus hesitate before replying? Was he thinking of Kaeso’s origin by adoption, and his uncertain bloodline? He shook his head. “The Claudii have always been vain and self-important, but at least in the old days they were rock solid in their support of patrician privilege. Appius Claudius has done an about-face and made himself a champion of the lower classes. Oh, he pays lip service to patrician ideals-the glory of the ancestors and the founders of the Republic-but at heart the man is a demagogue. He panders to the rabble. He flirts with dangerous democratic ideas, which he probably picked up from reading those wretched Greek philosophers he admires. He should never have been given control of the citizen rolls.”

“But as censor, that’s his duty.”

“To update the rolls, yes, but not to tinker with them, and in a most irresponsible fashion. Oh, he’ll tell you he’s simply reorganizing the voting blocks to make them more efficient, but his scheme is to make elections more democratic and less weighted to the blocks dominated by patricians-a very dangerous idea! The founders, in their wisdom, designed the electoral process deliberately to give more influence to those families whose achievements long ago earned them a special place in the state. Nothing must be done to erode that system. It has served Roma well since the birth of the Republic. It will serve us just as well for another two hundred years.

“Even worse, young man, is Claudius’s abuse of the censor’s right to fill vacancies in the Senate. Every vacancy is filled with a man loyal to Claudius-and some of those new senators are the sons of freedmen! Such a degradation of the Senate would have been unthinkable in my grandfather’s day. What have we come to?”

“Times change, cousin,” said Kaeso.

“And seldom for the better! Once a radical idea takes root, no one can predict how fast or how far it will spread. Consider the consulship. For a very long time, only patricians were able to get themselves elected to the highest office, shutting out the plebeians. The patricians’ exclusive claim on the consulship became a tradition, which eventually took on the force of law. But the so-called reformers objected, and fifty-five years ago, they managed to pass a law that allowed one of the two consuls to be a plebeian. A matter of fairness, said the reformers; if a plebeian is clever enough to get himself elected consul, then why not? But that was only the beginning. Thirty years ago, the reformers passed another law, and this one mandated that one of the consuls must be a plebeian! Where will it end? Such changes are always due to rabble-rousers like Appius Claudius, traitors to their patrician blood. Claudius is a dangerous man. You should steer clear of him.”

Kaeso sighed. “Cousin Quintus, please understand. I share your political views. How could I not? They’re the ideas my father imparted to me while I was growing up. But just as I convinced my father to allow me to work under Claudius, so I hope that I can convince you to lift your objections. I have no intention of aiding or abetting Appius Claudius in any rabble-rousing schemes. But the aqueduct and the new road are being built, no matter what objections you may have, and I want to have a hand in them. If such projects yield political benefits, then why should Claudius be the sole beneficiary? Why should there not be a Fabius involved in the projects, learning how the process works? In years to come, more roads and aqueducts will be built, and when that happens, I want it to be a Fabius who takes the credit and reaps the benefits.”

Quintus shook his head. “You walk a dangerous path, Kaeso. To learn a bit about building and engineering is not a bad thing. But Claudius is a devious man, and charming. He may yet seduce you to his way of thinking.”

“I assure you, cousin, he will not. Would it set your mind at rest if I were to promise you that I will not learn a word of Greek? It would be an easy promise, as I seem incapable of doing so, anyway.”

Quintus begrudged him a faint smile. “Kaeso, Kaeso! Very well. Since you’ve convinced your father to acquiesce to this arrangement, then I shall not object, at least not publicly. I’ll keep my mouth shut, and hope that you know what you’re doing.” He glanced at the rows of wax effigies in their niches. “Always remember your ancestry, Kaeso, and preserve the dignity of your name!” Did he once again hesitate and blink, as he looked from the faces of the deceased Fabii to the face of Kaeso, which bore no family resemblance?

“But I asked you here for another reason,” said Quintus. “I have something for you-that is, if you’re still interested. Come with me.”

Kaeso followed him to a room where the walls were lined with pigeonhole bookcases stuffed with scrolls. On tables here and there, unfurled documents were laid flat for perusal with paperweights to hold down the corners. The library of Quintus Fabius was smaller than that of Appius Claudius, and its contents were quite different. Here there was not a Greek text to be found or any volumes pertaining to the history of foreign peoples. All the documents in the library of Quintus Fabius had to do with legal matters, property claims, monetary transactions, family history, or genealogy.

“You expressed an interest in seeing the various documents regarding the investigation I conducted many years ago, as curule aedile, into the mass poisonings in the city. They were a bit scattered, but I believe I’ve managed to gather them in one place.” Quintus indicated a tube made of leather, into which a great many scrolls, rolled together, had been inserted. “This is the dossier pertaining to the case. Of course, I realize that your studies under Appius Claudius may be claiming all of your time and attention-”

“Not at all, cousin Quintus! I’m very grateful that you remembered my interest in the matter, and that you went to so much trouble to make these available to me.” In fact, in the excitement of his work for Claudius, Kaeso had completely forgotten the discussion about the poisonings, but it would hardly do for him to say so. Did his cousin intend for him to sit here in the library, examining the documents? Kaeso did not have time; he was eager to get home so that he could perform a task which Claudius had assigned to him, recalculating the measurements for a section of the aqueduct. “Would it be possible for me to take this with me, so that I can peruse the contents at my leisure?”

Quintus frowned. “Usually, I would never allow any of these documents to leave my possession. Some contain sensitive information. Many are irreplaceable. But…why not? I ask only that you be very careful with them, and return them in due course. Hopefully, they’ll give you some insight into the challenges and responsibilities of holding a magistracy. A life of public service can be very demanding, but also very rewarding. You must think of your future, Kaeso, beyond this work you’re doing for the censor.”

“This is very kind of you, cousin. I shall look at them tonight.”

As it turned out, laboring under the flickering light of a hydra-headed lamp that hung from the ceiling of his room, Kaeso worked much too late that night to bother looking at the documents from Quintus. He finally fell into bed, exhausted.

But he did not sleep well. Perhaps his head was too full of numbers. Perhaps the disapproval of his cousin weighed on him more heavily than he realized.

In his dream, Kaeso was back in the vestibule of his cousin’s house, alone except for the wax busts of the ancestors in the niches. Suddenly, each of the effigies blinked at once. The disembodied heads turned to stare a him, scowling, then began to speak. Their voices were sarcastic and hateful.

“He’s not one of us.”

“Who is he?”

“Where did he come from?”

“Who knows what sort of blood flows in his veins?”

“He might be the offspring of a Gaul!”

“The foul product of a rape!”

“Pollution!”

“Corruption!”

“Filth!”

“The blood of the noble Fabii can be traced back for centuries, but this creature comes from nothing!”

“He’s like a fly that rises from a dung heap!”

In his dream, Kaeso ran from the room. He found himself in the Forum. His father was leading him onto the Rostra. A great multitude had gathered before the platform to hear him speak, but when he opened his mouth, only nonsense came out. The crowd began to laugh and jeer at him. Their heads were made of wax, like the effigies of the Fabii.

He ran from the Rostra, to the house of Appius Claudius. The censor greeted him warmly, oblivious to Kaeso’s distress. He unrolled a map which showed the course of the aqueduct. The line to Gabii ran off the map, into a gray nothingness.

“But where are the springs?” said Kaeso.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” said Claudius. “I know where the water will come from. What I don’t know, young man, is where you come from!” Suddenly the censor was glowering at Kaeso, looking as stern and disapproving as the effigies in Quintus’s vestibule.

Kaeso woke. His body was covered with cold sweat.

His reading lamp was still lit. In his exhaustion, he had forgotten to extinguish the tiny flames that danced upon the projecting tongues of each of the hydra’s heads. Desperate for any distraction, he reached for the dossier his cousin Quintus had given him. He pulled out the documents, rubbed his eyes, and began to read.

The tale of the poisonings and the ensuing investigation was told in bits and pieces. The fragmentary nature of the material only made it more fascinating, like a puzzle with many pieces. Grateful for anything to make him forget his nightmare, Kaeso perused the documents far into the night.

In the months that followed, Kaeso’s life settled into a comfortable pattern. He worked very hard under the tutelage of Appius Claudius, learning everything he could about every aspect of the great road, which men were calling the Appian Way, and about the water channel, which men had dubbed the Appian Aqueduct. There was no task, high or low, in which he did not take part, from digging trenches to calculating the volume of water that could pass through a given section of the aqueduct in a given amount of time.

He even managed to learn the Greek alphabet and a few rudiments of the language, but whenever Claudius set him the task of translating a passage in Greek about hydraulics or engineering, the complexity of the language continued to stymie him. “One thing is clear,” said Claudius in exasperation one day, “there cannot be a drop of Greek blood in you!” The comment was entirely innocent, but set off a fresh cycle of nightmares that haunted Kaeso’s sleep.

At night, after a long day of working hard with his body and his mind, Kaeso looked forward to eating a hearty dinner with his parents, relaxing for a while in the garden, and then spending an hour or so reading the documents that Quintus had loaned to him. He found it strangely relaxing to sift through the confessions of the poisoners, the lists and memoranda scribbled in Quintus’s hand, the official decrees of the Senate and the consuls, and the various other pieces of evidence. An obscure reference in one document would lead him to search out another, and then another which he might already have read, but had not fully understood without the later knowledge that came from further research. The puzzle-like nature of the material amused and engaged him. From seemingly unrelated bits and pieces, an increasingly coherent picture of events began to emerge, like the creation of a mosaic from odd bits of stone.

Over and over, and utterly fascinated, he read the statements given by the women.

“I did it because my husband slept with another woman,” said one.

“I did it because the shopkeeper looked at me the wrong way,” said another.

“My brother and I had always quarreled,” said one. “I was tired of quarreling.”

And another: “I did it because my two sisters had done it to their husbands, and I did not want to feel left out.”

The notorious Sergia had performed a great deal of experimentation with various plants and other substances, making notes on how the poisons could be extracted, which of them were more or less reliable, the symptoms they caused, the time they required to take effect, and how they worked in combination. Sergia had also made detailed sketches of numerous plants, to serve as guides for her servants when she dispatched them to find specimens growing in the wild.

Typical of Sergia’s notes was her entry about aconitum, illustrated by a drawing of the flowering plant:

Aconitum. A white powder derived from the plant called Pluto’s helmet, because the purple flower, which grows in upright clusters, is shaped like a warrior’s helmet with a high crest and cheek plates. The plant is knee-high to hip-high and grows in the shade of trees, in moist soil. A Greek merchant tells me that his people call it the Queen of Poisons. Legend says the plant first sprang from the saliva of the three-headed dog Cerberus, guardian of the underworld. All parts of the plant appear to be toxic, but most especially the roots, from which the white powder is derived. Ingestion causes death. The powder may also kill a woman if it comes into contact with her genitals. Very quick to act-death may occur within ten minutes, and almost certainly within four hours. The victim quickly experiences numbness and tingling in the mouth and throat, both of which feel parched; also there is a severe burning sensation from throat to abdomen. Tingling spreads to the hands and feet and then the whole body. The skin and extremities feel cold and clammy to the touch, yet at the same time the victim may feel as though his limbs are being flayed. Legs become weak. Sight and hearing grow dull, but the victim will be clearheaded until the moment of death. Muscles twitch and convulse. Pulse weakens. Pupils dilate. The slightest exertion results in a fatal swoon.

And so it went, with Kaeso falling asleep with details of long-ago murders in his head. Such reading matter provided an escape from the pressing problems of the day. His last conscious thought was less likely to be about some vexing technical puzzle posed by the aqueduct than about the patrician matron Cornelia, who killed her husband while they were copulating by inserting her middle finger, covered with the white powder aconitum, into his fundament-a method of stimulation he demanded of her and which she found distasteful. The poison killed the victim within minutes, but not, according to Cornelia, before he had attained a peculiarly violent orgasm. The dossier was full of such extraordinary details.

No amount of reading would banish the dreams that arose from Kaeso’s anxieties regarding his origins. These nightmares recurred from time to time, usually set off by some chance remark made to him during the day that had nothing to do with his ancestry but that nonetheless made him feel exposed and vulnerable-an outsider, an interloper, an imposter within one of Roma’s most ancient and distinguished families.

Thus, for a while, Kaeso’s life settled into a comfortable pattern. Then there came a day that he knew was to change his life forever, but not for the reason he thought.

The obvious event of the day was his betrothal to a girl named Galeria. The betrothal was the culmination of intense negotiations between the two patrician families involved. On the Fabius side, it was Quintus who pushed for Kaeso to marry. The young man had shown himself to be bright and ambitious, but also stubborn and contrary; the responsibilities of marriage might be just the thing to tame his reckless energy.

Kaeso had mixed feelings about the prospect of marriage, but Galeria was a pretty girl with the figure of a Venus, and in his chaperoned conversations with her, she was charmingly shy and sweet.

The betrothal was finalized one afternoon at the house of Quintus Fabius. Kaeso, his father, and Galeria’s father drank several toasts with Quintus’s best wine. As soon as he could, Kaeso, feeling a bit tipsy, stole away and headed for the house of Appius Claudius, eager to share the news with his mentor.

The door slave, explaining that the censor was meeting with a visitor on official state business, asked him to wait in the antechamber next to Claudius’s library. It was a warm day and the doors were open. Kaeso could hear quite clearly the conversation that was taking place in the adjoining room.

“Admittedly,” Claudius was saying, “there is some precedent for what you’re asking to do. The state religion has grown so large and complex, with so many rituals that must be performed every day, all over the city, that in recent years more and more duties have been delegated to temple slaves, who are owned by the state and receive special training from the priesthoods. Nonetheless, Titus Potitius, what you propose is a bit different, and sure to be controversial.”

The name Potitius meant little to Kaeso. He knew the Potitii to be a patrician family-one of the oldest-but they figured little in the politics of the day and were seldom seen in the exalted social circles of the Fabii. If pressed, he might have recalled that they had something to do with the Ara Maxima, and in fact, it was that ancient hereditary duty that Titus Potitius had come to discuss with Claudius.

“Please understand, Censor.” The man sounded old, and his voice was weary and downtrodden. “If I saw any other solution to the family’s ills, I would never have come to you with this request. The sad fact is, the Potitii can no longer afford to maintain the altar, or to put on the annual feast in Hercules’s honor. The altar itself is woefully in need of restoration. Have you looked at the site lately? It’s an embarrassment to us all! The feast has become a pauper’s banquet; it causes me great embarrassment to admit this, but it’s the simple truth. Our inability to properly fulfill these duties does not reflect in an honorable way upon Roma, or upon the god, or upon the Potitii. Our continuing attempts to do so are only driving the family into greater poverty. Alas, in the days of our ancestors, an altar could be nothing more than a flat stone, and a feast could be a handful of beans! But Roma is no longer like that. As the city’s power and wealth have grown, so have the standards of religious observance. The state can afford to restore and maintain the Ara Maxima and to honor Hercules with a feast that will make all Roma proud. The Potitii cannot.”

“Your point is well taken, Titus Potitius. In return for ceding this privilege to the state, I presume you will expect a substantial payment.”

“It would be proper.”

“A payment large enough to get you and your kin out of the financial hole you find yourselves in.”

“The state’s generous recompense will be put to good use, Censor.”

“So, an exclusive, hereditary religious duty, jealously guarded for centuries, is merely a commodity to be bought and sold? You realize that this is what some people will say.”

“As censor, I believe you have the authority to approve this transaction.”

“And if I do, what will people say of me? ‘There goes Appius Claudius, abusing his office again! It’s not enough that he packs the Senate with his low-born friends and fixes the elections; now he’s tinkering with the most ancient religious rites in the city!’”

Potitius sighed. “I realize that the decision would be a difficult one for you-”

“On the contrary! I wholeheartedly approve of your idea.”

“You do?”

“Absolutely. The old-fashioned notion that certain priesthoods and religious rites should remain under the exclusive control of a particular family is obnoxious to me. Any religious function that affects the entire state should be in the hands of the state. The people’s religion should be controlled by the people. For that reason, which has nothing to do with your family’s financial woes, I entirely approve of your offer to cede authority over the Ara Maxima and the Feast of Hercules to the state. Toward that end, I’m sure I can arrange for just compensation to be paid to your family.”

“Censor, I can hardly express my gratitude-”

“Then don’t, at least not yet. As I warned you, there will be some who rabidly oppose this change. They’ll accuse me of impiety and abuse of my authority. They’ll defame you and your kin. You must be prepared for their aspersions.”

“I understand, Censor.”

“Very well. Before we can proceed, I must ask if you truly represent the will of the entire family. From the census rolls…” Kaeso heard a rustling of scrolls. Claudius grunted. “I see that your numbers are smaller than I supposed. Can this be right? There are only twelve separate households of Potitii remaining in Roma, comprising some thirty males who carry the name?”

“That is correct. Our numbers have dwindled along with our fortunes.”

“And you have authority to speak for them all?”

“I am the paterfamilias senior to all others. The matter has been thoroughly discussed within the family and decided.”

“Very well.”

Claudius called for a secretary, to whom he issued some instructions. He exchanged some parting pleasantries with Titus Potitius and escorted him from the room. As the two of them stepped into the antechamber, Claudius saw Kaeso and smiled broadly. Kaeso saw that Potitius had gray hair and a gray beard to match his elderly voice, and was wearing a toga that had seen better days. The old man gave Kaeso a passing glance, then stopped short and stared at him.

“Do I know you, young man?” he said.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” said Kaeso.

“Allow me to introduce Kaeso Fabius Dorso,” said Claudius, “a young fellow with a wonderful head on his shoulders. He’s helping me build the new road and the aqueduct. And this, Kaeso, is the venerable Titus Potitius, paterfamilias of the Potitii.”

“One of our most ancient families,” said Kaeso, simply to be polite.

“We made our mark on the city in its early days,” said Potitius. “Now it’s the turn of families like the Fabii to make their mark, as I’m sure you will, young man. But I must say…” He peered at Kaeso, squinted, and shook his head. “You do remind me of someone-my cousin Marcus, who died some years ago. Yes, you are the very image of Marcus when he was a young man. The resemblance is uncanny! You even sound like him. I wonder, is it possible that the two of you are somehow related? I recall no marriages between the Potitii and the Fabii in recent years, but perhaps-”

“I think not,” said Kaeso brusquely. “I’m quite sure there’s no family connection between us.”

“Kaeso, your face is as red as a roofing tile!” said Claudius.

“I feel warm,” muttered Kaeso. “It must be the wine I drank at cousin Quintus’s house.”

“Ah, well; the resemblance is merely a coincidence, then,” said Potitius, but he continued to stare at Kaeso. At last he lowered his eyes, only to stare at the fascinum that hung on a chain around Kaeso’s neck. Kaeso had decided to wear it that morning to mark the occasion of his betrothal.

“What’s that?” said Potitius.

Kaeso stepped back, irritated by the man’s scrutiny. “It’s a family keepsake. The famous Vestal Pinaria gave it to my grandfather on his toga day. Surely you’re seen a fascinum before.”

“Such trinkets are usually made of cheap metal, not gold, and this one appears to have sprouted wings-most unusual! Yet it seems oddly familiar. Yes, I’m sure it stirs some memory, but of what?” Potitius scratched his head.

Kaeso was beginning to seriously dislike the old man. Claudius deftly took Potitius’s arm and steered him toward the vestibule. “I’m sure you must be eager to get back to your family and tell them of the success of your proposal,” he said. “Farewell, Titus Potitius. The door slave will see you out.”

“Farewell, Censor, and thank you!” The old man took Claudius’s hands and squeezed them. Before he turned away, he shot a last, curious gaze at Kaeso and the amulet he wore.

“An unpleasant fellow,” said Kaeso, after Potitius was gone.

“A bit scatterbrained, but harmless,” said Claudius.

Kaeso winkled his nose. “He imagines we’re related.”

Claudius shrugged. “I’m related to him myself, if rather distantly. The connection goes back to the early days of the Republic. A daughter of the very first Appius Claudius married a Potitius, but the fellow turned traitor and fought against Roma with Coriolanus. For a long time there was bad blood between our two families. But all that is ancient history now, and the Potitii have fallen on such hard times that one can only pity them. But come, Kaeso, let’s speak of happier things! Unless I’m mistaken, you’ve come to share some good news.”

Kaeso told him of his betrothal. As the two of them celebrated with a cup of wine, Kaeso pushed the unpleasant encounter with Titus Potitius from his mind.

“What a large vestibule!” declared Kaeso’s mother, stepping inside the front door of the little house on the Aventine.

“Mother, this isn’t the vestibule. There is no vestibule. This is the house itself.”

“What? Only this one room?”

“Of course not. There’s a garden in the center of the house-”

“That little plot of dirt, under that hole in the roof?”

“And there’s another room at the back, which serves as a kitchen and pantry. Behind that is a cubby for the slaves to sleep in, though I don’t suppose we’ll keep more than one apiece; they’ll have to sleep on top of each other, as it is.”

“Well, I suppose it won’t take much to furnish the place!” At forty, Herminia was still a pretty woman, but she had a tendency to make unpleasant faces that spoiled her looks. “Really, it’s hardly worth it for you to move out of the family house into such cramped quarters.”

“Nonsense!” said Kaeso’s father. “Cousin Quintus’s wedding gift is very generous. It’s not every pair of newlyweds who can celebrate the ceremony at their own house. It needs a bit of fixing up, to be sure-”

“I hope Galeria likes a challenge!” said Herminia.

“It’s the location I like best of all,” said Kaeso.

“The Aventine?” Herminia made a particularly unpleasant face. “Well, at least you’re on the north slope.”

“Come see the view from this window. Be careful of those loose floor tiles.” Kaeso flung open the shutters. “Spectacular, isn’t it?”

“I see a great clutter of rooftops,” said Herminia dubiously.

“No, Mother, look there-between those two houses.” Kaeso pointed.

“Ah, yes-you can just catch a glimpse of the elevated portion of the aqueduct, that eyesore your friend Claudius has inflicted on the city.”

Kaeso’s father cleared his throat. “We have much to do today, wife.”

“Indeed we do! I need to draw up the list of guests.”

“Then perhaps we should run along.”

“I’ll stay here for a while, if you don’t mind,” said Kaeso.

“Very well.” Herminia kissed her son’s forehead and swept from the room.

Kaeso’s father hung back for a moment. He tapped his foot against the loose floor tiles. “Don’t worry, son. We’ll find the money to fix the place up.”

“You forget that I have my own income, Father. Claudius pays me quite generously.”

“I believe it’s the state that pays you. The censor merely fixes your salary.”

“Of course, Father. Hadn’t you better join Mother before she grows impatient?”

Kaeso was left alone. His mother’s caustic remarks did nothing to deflate his buoyant mood. The gods were smiling on him. His work for Appius Claudius was more fascinating than ever, his wedding day was fast approaching, and the gift of a house from his cousin Quintus had not only surprised him, but had deeply moved him. He recalled one of Claudius’s favorite aphorisms, and said it aloud: “Each man is the architect of his own fortune.” Kaeso gazed out the window at the distant aqueduct. “If that’s true, then I must be a very fine architect, indeed!”

“I’m sure you are,” said a voice behind him.

Kaeso spun about. His father must have left the door ajar. An old man in a shabby tunic stood in the middle of the room. Kaeso stared at him for a moment, then furrowed his brow. “Titus Potitius?”

“So, you remember me?”

“I’m afraid I do. What are you doing here?”

“Your tone is very harsh, young man. That’s no way to address an elder-especially an elder kinsman.”

“What are you talking about, old man?” Kaeso drew back his shoulders, but in his chest he felt a sinking sensation.

“You and I have much to talk about, Kaeso.”

“We have nothing to talk about.”

Potitius cocked his head and peered at him. “You’re not wearing the fascinum today.”

Kaeso touched the empty spot at his breast. “I wear it only on special occasions.”

“Do you know where it comes from?”

“The Vestal Pinaria gave it-”

“But before that? Do you know from whom she obtained it?”

“No. But I know it’s very ancient.”

“It is, indeed-as ancient as the Potitii themselves.”

“What are you saying, old man?”

“I’m the paterfamilias of all the Potitii. I’m also the family chronicler and historian. I understand your cousin Quintus serves much the same function for the Fabii-keeping scraps of parchment and scribbled notes about who was married to whom, and the names of their offspring, and who did what and when and how. Our families are so very old, and our ancestors accomplished so many things-great and small, wonderful and terrible-it’s hard to keep track! Sometimes I think it would be a relief if we all turned to dust, so the rest of the world could simply forget us and go on about its business as if we never existed.”

“I don’t think Quintus Fabius feels that way.”

Potitius made a croaking sound, which Kaeso took for a laugh. “I daresay you’re right. But imagine the things he must know! A family chronicler becomes privy to all sorts of secrets. He knows the things that no one must ever speak of-mysterious deaths, babies born out of wedlock, bastards sired on slave girls…”

“If you have something to say, say it!”

“Very well. You and I are kinsmen, Kaeso. You are a descendent of the Potitii.”

Kaeso’s mouth was suddenly parched. “How do you know this?”

“First of all, I could tell simply by looking at you. You favor my cousin Marcus more than anyone else, but with those eyes, that chin, and the shape of your mouth, you could pass as a son or brother to any number of my cousins. At first, I thought perhaps old Marcus had spilled his seed outside his marriage bed, but as I began to track down the truth, I realized that the connection was far more complicated and went much further back in time. Just now, as he was leaving, I took a good look at your father. He, too, has the look of a Potitius, but his features are less distinctive. For some reason, the gods decreed that the family traits should resurface full-blown in you.

“It was your precious fascinum that provided the key. Somewhere in the family chronicles, I knew I had seen a reference to a winged fascinum made of gold. It was worn by an ancestor of mine, also named Titus, who lived in the days of the Decemvirs. After that Titus, there is no further reference to the golden, winged fascinum, which disappears from the family history. However, according to family legend, Titus sired a child out of wedlock, and that child became a slave. As you can imagine, this is seldom talked about. But slaves are property, and Romans keep very thorough records of property, as thorough as their genealogical records! Through diligence, and a lot of pestering, and a bit of guesswork, I was able to trace the descent of that bastard child down to a slave called Pennatus. Have you heard of him?”

Kaeso swallowed a hard lump in his throat. “It was a slave called Pennatus who found my grandfather among the ruins left by the Gauls.”

“So it was! Did you know that this same Pennatus was trapped for several months atop the Capitoline with the Vestal Pinaria, who somehow came into possession of the golden fascinum, and, for reasons never explained, felt obliged to pass it on to your grandfather when he came of age? Now you wear the fascinum, Kaeso-and you are the very image of a Potitius! Do you begin to see how all these things connect?”

“Guesswork! Innuendo! You slander the memory of a pious Vestal! You have no proof of anything!”

“The gods know the truth about you, Kaeso. And now, so do you.”

Kaeso felt faint. The room seemed to pitch and sway around him. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Isn’t it always better to know the truth?”

“No!”

“What was it I heard you say, as you looked out the window? Something about being the architect of your own fortune? How can you build a lasting monument, a life of virtue and accomplishment, unless you begin with a firm foundation of self-knowledge?”

“You’re a stupid old man, Titus Potitius! You and your third-rate family have squandered whatever good fortune ever accrued to you. You’ve offended the gods by selling your birthright to the Ara Maxima. How dare you come to me with such a lie, suggesting my grandfather was the bastard of a Vestal and a slave!”

Potitius sighed. “This has gone badly. I never intended to offend you. Don’t worry, Kaeso. I’ll be discreet. What I’ve discovered is for your ears only. I haven’t even told any other members of the family.”

“Shout your lies from the rooftops, if you dare to! You’ll only make yourself a greater laughingstock than you already are.”

Titus Potitius shuffled toward the door and disappeared. Kaeso violently kicked at the floor and sent a loose tile flying against the wall.

That night, sleep was slow to come. When it did, Kaeso was haunted by nightmares more vivid and disturbing than any he had previously experienced.

One dream jarringly led into the next. In each of them he felt heartwrenchingly alone and bereft, the object of other men’s ridicule and disdain. At one point, naked and covered with sweat, he sat bolt upright in his bed and reached up to discover that he was wearing the fascinum, though he had no memory of having put it on. Angry and distraught, in tears, he tore the chain from his neck and cast the amulet into the darkness, only to see it come flying back at him! He shrieked in terror-and only then awoke, realizing that he had still been dreaming.

His mother and father stood at his door, staring at him; his screams had awakened them. He felt embarrassed to be naked before his mother, but there was nothing with which to cover himself. He looked again, and in his father’s place he saw Titus Potitius, clucking his tongue. “There, there, my child,” said the old man, “don’t be afraid of the truth…”

Kaeso was still dreaming.

When at last he did awake, he felt utterly exhausted. He squinted suspiciously at the sunlight that leaked around the shutters, afraid he might yet be asleep, trapped in another nightmare.

He rose from the bed. On trembling legs he shambled across the room and opened the box where he kept the fascinum. The sight of it repelled him. He should throw the awful thing away! But his father would expect him to wear it on his wedding day. To get rid of it now would only call attention to its absence. He slammed the box shut.

On the day before his wedding, Kaeso went to the house on the Aventine to make sure that all was ready to receive him and his bride the next day. In preparation for the ceremony, an altar had been erected before the front door for the sacrifice of the sheep and the taking of the auspices. Inside the house were the ceremonial chairs for the bride and groom, ready to be taken into the street for the open-air celebration. Both chairs were stacked high with dried garlands that would be used to decorate the doorway. Between them was the sheepskin rug upon which he would set Galeria after he carried her across the threshold, as if she were his captive Sabine. Kaeso’s heart sped up as he considered the momentousness of the looming event. By this time tomorrow, he would be a married man.

The house was sparsely furnished, but the floor tiles had been fixed and the whole house had been scrubbed clean. The little garden had been planted with new shrubberies and flowers, and the kitchen had been stocked with pots and pans. He saw the bed that had been placed against the wall, near the window-a new bed, larger than the one in which he was used to sleeping alone-and he felt a quiver of erotic anticipation. Galeria grew more beautiful every time he saw her; soon he would see her naked, and would be naked with her, and would possess her. Any hesitation he felt about the ceremony faded when his thoughts turned to the carnal pleasures that awaited him. He crossed the room, wanting to take a closer look at the bed.

A voice that was almost a whisper said: “The house looks very nice.”

Kaeso spun around. “What are you doing here? Get out!”

Titus Potitius stood in the doorway. “Can a kinsman not visit a kinsman on the day before his wedding, to wish him well?”

“You’re a madman. The gods have made you mad, as a punishment for selling your birthright.”

“Then we sold it for too little.”

“Appius Claudius should have thrown you out when you came begging. He shouldn’t have given you so much as a copper coin.”

“It’s curious that you should mention money. Along with paying my respects, that’s one of the reasons I’ve come to see you.” Potitius stood with his hands clasped before him and his eyes downcast. “Galeria’s family is wealthy. I presume she comes to you with a substantial dowry. As well, I think the censor must have arranged a very generous salary for you. You even own your own house! You are a most fortunate young man, to be of independent means at such an early age.”

“And you are an old fool, to have squandered everything at your age.”

“The travails of the Potitii began long before my time. How typical of our misfortunes, that one of the most gifted young men of his generation, who should be the scion of the family, does not even bear the name Potitius! Still, in a time of trouble, I am hoping that young man will hear the call of the blood in his veins and will help his kinsmen.”

Kaeso clenched his teeth. “What do you want from me?”

“A loan. Only that. A small loan, from one kinsman to another.”

“Why now? Why must you spoil a day when I should be thinking of nothing but my wedding?”

“My request has nothing to do with your marriage-although I’m sure the bride’s father would be shocked to learn that she is about to marry the descendent of a slave and a tarnished Vestal.”

Kaeso’s legs grew unsteady. He sat on the bed.

Potitius’s voice was gentle. “It’s a curious thing, that you should be a builder. Your ancestor Titus Potitius, the friend of Coriolanus, was a builder, too-did you know that? He was also the first to bring shame on the family. It would be a pity, if you should take after him in that regard, as well.”

“How much do you want?”

Potitius named a sum. Kaeso drew a sharp breath, appalled at the man’s greed but relieved he had not asked for more. It was agreed that Potitius would come to him in two day’s time and that Kaeso would pay him then.

Amazingly, despite his excitement at his impending wedding and the anxieties aroused by his unwanted visitor, Kaeso slept like a stone that night. He experienced no nightmares. He woke early, before the first cockcrow, feeling clearheaded and refreshed. He lit a lamp.

Some time earlier he had finished reading all the documents loaned to him by his cousin Quintus. He had been meaning to return them, but in the rush of getting ready for the wedding had neglected to do so. He reached for them now. He found himself rereading certain of the documents, occasionally nodding and humming.

After a while he set the documents aside, extinguished the lamp, and slept for another hour, as men do when they have made an irrevocable decision and are at peace with the gods and themselves.

When Titus Potitius next came to call, it was ostensibly to pay his respects to the newlyweds. Kaeso received the visitor in his new home without a trace of rancor. He even spoke warmly to him, and apologized for his earlier harsh words, then introduced him to his new bride.

To Potitius, it seemed that a night of marital bliss had done wonders to correct Kaeso’s attitude. And why not? As he saw it, there was no need for Kaeso to be unfriendly. Having convinced himself that selling the family’s rights to the Ara Maxima was acceptable, Potitius had further convinced himself that his request for assistance from Kaeso was entirely reasonable. They were kinsmen, after all. Kaeso had plenty of money, and Potitius was in dire straits. The gods smiled on generosity. There was no reason the transaction should be unpleasant. Indeed, Kaeso should be proud to help an elder kinsman in need.

With his head full of such rationalizations, and his guard down, Potitius thought nothing of it when the bride offered him a portion of the traditional dish of beans left over from the wedding feast, and he did not notice that it was Kaeso who actually put the bowl in his hands. He was hungry, and the beans were delicious. Kaeso discreetly slipped him a small bag of coins, then hurried him out the door. Potitius took no offense at being dismissed so quickly. It was only natural that the groom was eager to be alone with his bride.

Patting the money bag that hung from his waist, humming a happy tune, Potitius crossed the Aventine, heading for his house on the less fashionable south side of the hill. Walking in front of the Temple of Juno Regina, he saw that one of the sacred geese had escaped its enclosure and was strutting across the porch, craning its neck this way and that. Potitius smiled, then felt a sudden tingling in his throat. His mouth was very dry; he should have asked for something to drink to wash down the beans.

Abruptly, a flame seemed to run down his throat all the way to his bowels. The sensation was so intense and so peculiar that he knew something was seriously wrong. He had reached that advanced age when a man might die at any moment, suddenly and without apparent cause. Was that happening now? Had the gods at last chosen to end the story of his life?

Without knowing how he got there, he found himself lying flat on his back on the ground in front of the temple, hardly able to move. A crowd gathered around him. People stooped over and peered down at him. Their expressions were not encouraging. Men shook their heads. A woman covered her face and began to weep.

“Cold,” he managed to say. “Can’t seem…to move.”

As if to contradict him, his arms and legs began to twitch, a little at first, and then so violently that people drew back in fright. The alarmed goose honked and flapped its wings.

Potitius realized what had happened. He hardly thought of it as murder, but rather as yet another misfortune to befall the Potitii. How the gods must hate his family! It never occurred to him to accuse Kaeso with his dying breath; to admit his extortion would only blacken his own name and further humiliate the family. His convulsions ceased, along with his breathing.

Titus, reigning paterfamilias of the Potitii, died swiftly and in silence.

Two lictors sent by the curule aedile arrived to look after the body until a family member could claim it. The lictor who took an inventory of the dead man’s possessions recognized Potitius and expressed surprise that the old fellow should be carrying such a substantial amount of money on his person. “The Potitii are always crying poverty, but look at all these coins!”

“Maybe it’s what left of that settlement the censor gave him for selling the rights to the Ara Maxima,” said his companion. “No good could come of such sacrilege.”

“No good’s already come to this poor fellow!”

To Kaeso’s eye, Titus Potitius, the son of the deceased paterfamilias, looked only slightly younger than his father.

“So you see,” said Potitius, “as far as I was able to figure out, you must have been one of the last people to see him alive. Papa told one of the slaves he would be stopping here on his way home, but he didn’t say why. It’s a bit of puzzle how he came to have so much money on him. No one has a clue as to where he got that bag of coins.”

The two of them sat in the tiny garden of Kaeso’s new house. There was no innuendo or suspicion in Potitius’s voice; he sounded like a bereaved son who simply wanted to learn all he could about his father’s final hours. Still, Kaeso felt a flutter of anxiety in his chest. He chose his words carefully and spoke in what he hoped was a suitably commiserating tone of voice.

“It’s true, your father paid us a brief visit that day. He and I had met briefly once before, at the house of Appius Claudius. It was very considerate of him to come by and congratulate us on our nuptials.”

“Such a nice old fellow,” remarked Galeria, who sat nearby with her spindle and distaff, spinning wool with the assistance of her slave girl. Galeria had many old-fashioned virtues, but keeping silent was not one of them, and the house was too small for Kaeso to conduct a conversation out of her hearing. “He seemed very fond of you, Kaeso.”

Potitius smiled. “I can see why Papa might have taken a liking to you. You probably reminded him of cousin Marcus.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, the resemblance is quite striking. And Papa was very sentimental. And…he wasn’t above imposing on people. He didn’t…” Potitius lowered his eyes. “He didn’t by any chance ask you for money, did he? I’m afraid Papa had a bad habit of asking for loans, even from people he barely knew.”

“Of course not!”

Potitius sighed. “Ah, well, I had to ask. I’m still tracking down his unpaid debts. Where he acquired that bag of coins may remain a mystery.”

Kaeso nodded sympathetically. Clearly, the younger Titus Potitius knew nothing of his father’s scheme to extort money from him. And yet, the man’s fretting over the bag of coins, and his remark about Kaeso’s resemblance to a kinsman, made Kaeso uneasy.

Kaeso took a deep breath. The flutter in his chest subsided. As had occurred in the early hours of his wedding day, a resolution came to him, and with it a sense of peace.

He looked earnestly at Potitius. “Like my dear friend Appius Claudius, I’m moved by your family’s plight. That one of Roma’s most ancient families should have dwindled so greatly in numbers and fallen into such poverty should be a cause for concern to all the city’s patricians. We of the old families squabble too much among ourselves, when we should be looking out for one another. I’m only a young man, and I have very little influence-”

“You underestimate yourself, Kaeso. You have the ear of both Quintus Fabius and Appius Claudius. Not many men in Roma can say that.”

“I suppose that’s true. And I should like to do what I can to help the Potitii.”

“I would be very grateful for any assistance you can give us.” Potitius sighed. “The duties of paterfamilias weigh heavily upon me!”

“Perhaps I can help to relieve that burden, if only a little. Upon my recommendation, my cousin Quintus might be able to secure positions for some for your kinsman, and so might the censor. You and I should meet again, Titus, over a bit of food and wine.”

“I would be honored,” said Potitius. “My house is hardly worthy to receive you, but if you and your wife would accept an invitation to dinner…”

And so Kaeso began to insinuate himself into the household, and into the trust, of the new paterfamilias of the Potitii.

311 B.C.

The new fountain at the terminus of the aqueduct was not merely the largest fountain in all of Roma, but a splendid work of art. The shallow, elevated pool into which the water would spill was a circle fifteen feet in diameter. In the center, from the mouths of three river sprites magnificently carved from stone, water would continuously jet into the pool.

Many of the city’s most distinguished citizens had gathered to witness the inauguration of the fountain. Chief among them was Appius Claudius, smiling broadly and looking resplendent in his purple censor’s toga. Quintus Fabius was also there, exhibiting his perpetual scowl. He had agreed to attend only begrudgingly, and Kaeso felt obligated to stand next to him.

The auspices had been taken; the augur had spotted several river-fowl wheeling over the nearby Tiber, a sure sign of the gods’ favor. There was a lull in the festivities while the engineers made ready to open the valves. Quintus began to grumble.

“So this is your friend Claudius’s excuse for hanging on as censor, well past his legal term-a fountain!”

Kaeso pursed his lips. “Claudius argued that his work on the aqueduct and the road is too important to be interrupted. He asked to continue as censor. The Senate agreed.”

“Only because Claudius has packed the Senate with his minions! He’s as devious and headstrong as his ancestors and just as dangerous. For his own selfish ends, he’s caused a political crisis in the city.” Quintus shook his head. “These so-called grand projects of his are merely a diversion while he continues to press for the implementation of his radical voting schemes. He won’t rest until he’s made the Roman republic into a Greek democracy ruled by a demagogue like himself-a disaster that will never happen as long as I have a breath in my body.”

“Please, cousin! We’re here to celebrate a feat of Roman engineering, not to argue politics. Surely the aqueduct is something we can all be proud of.”

Quintus grunted in reply. His frown abruptly softened. “How is the little one?”

Kaeso smiled. Galeria had become pregnant very soon after their wedding, and had recently given birth to a son. Kaeso knew that Quintus would be pleased, but he had been surprised at how avidly his cousin doted on the baby.

“Little Kaeso is in good health. He loves the gourd rattle you gave him, and all the other toys.”

Quintus nodded. “Good! He’s very bright and alert, that one. With those lungs of his, he’ll make a powerful orator someday.”

“He can certainly make himself heard,” agreed Kaeso.

Claudius mounted a platform and raised his hands to quiet the crowd. “Citizens! We are almost ready to fill the fountain. But first, if you will indulge me, I should like to say a few words about how this marvelous feat of engineering was achieved.” He proceeded to discourse on the importance of water to the growing city, recalled the flash of insight that had inspired him to commence planning the aqueduct, and recounted a few anecdotes about the construction. His speech, delivered from memory, was full of puns and clever turns of phrase. Even Quintus grunted an involuntary laugh at some of his witticisms.

“There are many, many men who must be thanked for their contributions to this great enterprise,” said Claudius. “Lest I forget a single one of them, I have written them down.” Claudius proceeded to read the names. Kaeso was flattered that he was mentioned early in the long list.

As Claudius continued to read, Quintus whispered to Kaeso, “Why is he squinting so?”

Kaeso frowned. Quintus had touched upon a matter of growing concern to him: the censor’s eyesight. Quite abruptly, Claudius’s vision had begun to deteriorate, to such a degree that he practically had to press his nose against his beloved Greek scrolls to read them. The list he was now reading had been written in large letters, yet still he had to narrow his eyes to make out the names.

Quintus saw the worry on Kaeso’s face. “The rumor is true, then? Appius Claudius is going blind?”

“Of course not!” said Kaeso. “He’s merely strained his eyes from working so hard.”

Quintus raised an eyebrow. “You know what people are saying, don’t you?”

“People are fools!” whispered Kaeso. He had indeed heard the vicious rumor being put about by Claudius’s enemies. They said the censor, who so loved the pleasures of reading and writing, was being punished with blindness by the gods, for having allowed the transfer of religious duties at the Ara Maxima from the Potitius family to temple slaves. “Whatever you may think of his politics, cousin, Appius Claudius is a pious man who honors the gods. If his eyesight is failing, it’s not because the gods are punishing him.”

“And yet, the gods punished those other unlikely friends of yours, the Potitii, did they not? And most severely!”

Kaeso drew a sharp breath, but did not answer. In his dealings with the Potitii over the last year, Kaeso had been acting in his own self-interest, to obliterate the secret of his origins and to safeguard the future of his offspring. But might the gods have taken a part, making him the instrument of their wrath against an impious family ripe for destruction?

“Do you doubt that the terrible end of the Potitii was the result of divine judgment?” said Quintus, pressing him. “What other explanation could there be for such an extraordinary sequence of deaths? In a matter of months, every male in the family grew sick and died. Not a single Potitius is left to pass on the name. One of Roma’s oldest families has become extinct!”

“Some said they died of plague,” said Kaeso.

“A plague attacking only one family, and only the males?”

“That was what the Potitii themselves believed.”

“Yes, and in their desperation they convinced the Senate to appoint a special dictator to drive a nail into the wooden tablet outside Minerva’s sanctuary, to ward off pestilence. It did no good. At least they had the comfort of a steadfast friend-you, Kaeso. Others turned their backs on the Potitii, fearful of being contaminated by their bad fortune. But you, having just befriended them, remained loyal to the very end. You never stopped visiting the sick and comforting the survivors.” Quintus nodded sagely. “Once, long ago, we Fabii were almost extinguished, as you well know. But that was honorably, in battle, and the gods saw fit to spare one of our number to carry on the line. History shall reflect very differently upon the fate of the wretched Potitii. Be proud of the name you have passed on to your son, Kaeso!”

“The name means more to me than life itself, cousin.”

Appius Claudius finished reading the list. Amid applause, he raised his hand to order the opening of the valves. “Let flow the aqueduct!”

From the mouths of the three river sprites issued a great rush of air, as if they groaned. The gurgling sound reminded Kaeso of the death rattles of his victims.

What a great deal of ingenuity and cleverness and sheer hard work had been demanded of him, to win the trust of the Potitii and make sure they never suspected him! From Appius Claudius he had learned the arts of charm; from his cousin Quintus he had learned everything there was to know about poisons. Once it began, his quest to eradicate the Potitii had become all-consuming. Each new success was more exhilarating than the one before. Kaeso had almost regretted killing the last of his victims, but when it was done, he felt an indescribable sense of relief. His secret was safe. No man would ever tell Kaeso’s son the shameful truth of their origins.

The groaning of the river sprites grew louder. The noise was so uncanny that the crowd drew back and gasped. Then water began to jet from all three mouths at once. It was a spectacular sight. Foaming and splashing, the torrents began to fill the pool.

Claudius shouted above the roar. “Citizens, I give you water! Fresh, pure water all the way from the springs of Gabii!”

The crowd broke into rapturous applause. “Hail Appius Claudius!” men cried. “Hail the maker of the aqueduct!”

279 B.C.

Before the Senate, the aged Appius Claudius, now called Appius Claudius Caecus-“the Blind”-was delivering the greatest speech of his life. More than two hundred years later, the orator Cicero would declare this speech to be one of most sublime exercises in the Latin language, and Appius Claudius Caecus would be revered as the Father of Latin Prose.

The occasion was a debate on Roma’s resistance to the Greek adventurer King Pyrrhus, the greatest menace to confront the Romans since the Gauls. Just as his kinsman Alexander the Great fifty years before had conquered the East with lightning speed, so Pyrrhus thought he could invade Italy and make quick work of subjugating its “barbarians”-the term being a Greek epithet for any race that did not speak Greek.

Thus far, the Romans had confounded Pyrrhus’s plans. The invader continued to win battles, but these costly triumphs stretched his supply lines, weakened the morale of his overburdened officers, and wore away the numbers of his fighting men.

“If there are many more such ‘Pyrrhic victories,’” declared Appius Claudius Caecus, “King Pyrrhus may soon discover, to his dismay, that he has won one battle too many!” The chamber resounded with laughter. The unflagging wit and relentless optimism of the blind senator were much appreciated amid the gloomy debates of recent years.

“Some of you are calling for peace with Pyrrhus,” said Claudius. “You want an end to the spilling of Roman blood and the blood of our allies and subjects. You are ready to offer concessions. You will allow Pyrrhus to gain the permanent foothold he seeks on Italian soil, hoping he will be content with a little kingdom here and put aside his dream of a Western empire to rival Alexander’s empire in the East. I tell you, Pyrrhus will never settle for that! He will never stop scheming to rob us of everything. He will not be satisfied until he has made us his slaves.

“You all know that I am a man who treasures Greek learning and the beauties of Greek literature and art. But I will never have a Greek rule over me, and I will never obey any law that is not chiseled in Latin! The future of Italy belongs to us-to the people and Senate of Roma. It does not belong to any Greek, and not to any king. We must continue the struggle against Pyrrhus, no matter the cost, until we drive him out of Italy entirely. When the last Greek ship bears away the last remnants of his exhausted army, Italy shall be ours, and Roma shall be free to fulfill the destiny the gods have decreed for us!”

A majority of the senators sprang to their feet, applauding and shouting accolades. Seeing that Claudius had decisively carried the day, those who had argued for appeasing Pyrrhus begrudgingly joined the ovation. The war against Pyrrhus would continue.

Even as he was leaving the Senate House, assisted by a slave to guide him on the steps, Claudius was thinking ahead to his next oration. Unable any longer to read or write, he had become adept at composing and memorizing long passages in his head. The topic would be Roma’s relationship with Carthage, the great seaport on the coast of Africa founded by Phoenicians at about the same time Romulus founded his city, whose rise to prominence in many ways mirrored that of Roma. The Senate had just signed a treaty of friendship with Carthage, and the incursion of Pyrrhus into their mutual sphere of interest had made Roma and Carthage allies-but for how long? Once Pyrrhus was expelled, Claudius believed that a natural rivalry between Roma and Carthage for domination of Sicily, southern Italy, and the sea lanes of the western Mediterranean was certain to come to the fore.

“Of course, once again, those fools the Fabii can’t see the obvious,” he muttered to himself. “They still think Roma should expand her reach northward to the Alps and beyond, and pursue a policy of moderation toward Carthage. But southward and seaward lies our destiny. A clash with Carthage is inevitable!”

The slave remained silent. He was used to hearing his master talk to himself. Sometimes Claudius carried on elaborate arguments with himself that lasted for hours, changing voices as he shifted points of view.

Now in the twilight of his life, frail and nearly blind, a lesser man than Claudius might have succumbed to bitterness. His radical attempts at reform had failed; a few years after his censorship, Quintus Fabius had seized control of the office and had ruthlessly undone almost all of Claudius’s populist enactments. Quintus Fabius was repeatedly elected consul, and his supporters dubbed him Maximus. Appius Claudius became the Blind, while Quintus Fabius became the Greatest! Claudius had been forced to realize that true popular government would never take root in Roma. But his physical monuments would endure. The Appian Aqueduct remained a marvel of engineering, and each year another stretch of the Appian Way was paved with stone that would last for the ages. After a lifetime of victories and defeats, Appius Claudius Caecus was more passionate than ever about the destiny of Roma.

Crossing the Forum, clinging to the arm of his guide, Claudius heard a voice call out, “Senator! May I have a word with you?”

Claudius stopped abruptly, almost certain that he recognized the voice-and yet, it was impossible! That voice, beloved to his memory, belonged to his one-time protege, Kaeso Fabius Dorso. But Kaeso was no longer among mortals. He had died many months ago in a battle against Pyrrhus. Although they had drifted apart over the years, Claudius had followed Kaeso’s career at a distance. His youthful interest in building had eventually been eclipsed by his excellence at soldiering; like a typical Fabius, Kaeso was born to become a warrior. Claudius grieved when he learned of his death. Hearing his voice now brought back a flood of memories.

Claudius gripped the arm of his guide. “Who speaks to me? What do you see, slave? Is it a man, or only the shade of a man?”

“I assure you, Senator, I am not a shade,” said the voice that sounded so familiar. “My name is Kaeso Fabius Dorso.”

“Ah! You must be the son of my old friend.”

“You remember my father, then?”

“I certainly do. My condolences to you on his death.”

“He died honorably, fighting for Roma. I also fought in that battle, under his command. I saw him fall. Afterward, I tended to his body.”

“You can be very proud of him.”

“I am. He was a fearsome warrior. Men say he killed more of the enemy in that campaign than any other soldier in the legion. My father took a fierce delight in bringing death to the invaders.”

“Bloodlust has its place on the field of battle,” declared Claudius. “Your father’s joy in killing redounded to the glory of Roma and the honor of our gods.”

Kaeso reached up to touch the talisman at his neck-the golden fascinum he had retrieved it from his father’s corpse on the battlefield. The amulet had failed to protect its wearer against the spear that killed him, but it was a cherished heirloom nonetheless. Kaeso wore it in memory of his father.

“Tell me, Kaeso, how old are you?”

“Thirty-two.”

“And your father, when he died?”

“He was fifty.”

“Can so many years have passed, so swiftly?” Claudius shook his head. “But what’s that, young man? Do I hear you weep?”

“Only a little. I’m very honored, sir, to hear my father praised by a man so renowned for noble speech.”

“Indeed?” Claudius beamed.

His slave eyed Kaeso suspiciously and spoke into Claudius’s ear. “Master! The fellow is a Fabius.”

“So he is. But his father was different from the rest of them. Perhaps the son takes after the father. He seems respectful enough.”

“I assure you, Senator, I hold your achievements in the highest regard. That’s why I approached you today. I was hoping you might honor a request.”

“Perhaps, young man, though I’m very busy. Speak.”

“My father was always quoting your aphorisms. Sometimes it seemed that half his sentences began, ‘As Appius Claudius so wisely put it…’ I was hoping, in honor of my father, that you might assist me to make a collection of those sayings. I know many of them by heart, of course, but I should hate to get a single word wrong, and there must be some I’ve forgotten, and some I’ve never heard. I was thinking that you could dictate them to me, and I could write them down, and we could group them according to subject. We might even attempt a translation of the Latin into Greek.”

“You know Greek?”

“Well enough to have served as my father’s translator, for the messages we intercepted from Pyrrhus’s couriers.”

“The son of Kaeso not only has a literary bent, but has mastered Greek! Truly, each generation improves upon the last.”

“I can never hope to be the man-killer my father was,” said Kaeso humbly.

“Come, walk with me. The day is mild and I need the exercise. We shall walk up to the Capitoline, and you shall describe to me the recent adornments which, alas, I am unable to see with my failing eyes.”

They ambled up the winding path to the summit, where in recent years the city had indulged its fervor for grand public works. The barren hilltop where once Romulus had set up his asylum for outcasts had become a place of lavish temples and magnificent bronze statues.

“This new statue of Hercules,” said Claudius. “Is it as impressive as men say? I’ve touched the thing, but it’s so big I can do no more than grasp its ankles.”

To Kaeso the statue hardly seemed new-it had been there since he was a boy-but perhaps time was measured differently by the much older Claudius. “Well, of course, my family is descended from Hercules-”

“Ah! You Fabii never miss a chance to remind us of that claim.”

“So I have a tendency to favor any image of the god, and the bigger the better. Actually, the bronze workmanship is quite good. Hercules wears the cowl of the Nemean lion and carries a club. His expression is quite fierce. Should the Gauls ever dare to come back, I think his image alone might scare them away from the Capitoline.”

“How does it compare to the colossal statue of Jupiter, over by the temple?”

“Oh, the Jupiter is much taller than the Hercules, as I suppose the father should be. People can see it all the way from Mount Alba, ten miles down the Appian Way!”

“You know the story of the statue’s creation?”

“Yes. After Spurius Carvilius crushed the Samnites, he melted their breastplates, greaves, and helmets to make the statue. The god’s enormous size represents, literally, the magnitude of our victory over our old enemy. Out of the bronze filings left over, the consul made the life-sized statue of himself that stands at the feet of the Jupiter.”

“You need not describe that to me. I remember quite clearly how ugly Carvilius is! And atop the Temple of Jupiter-is the quadriga as magnificent as they say? It used to be made of terra cotta, you know, an expressive but rather delicate material. It was repaired from time to time, but some parts were as old as the temple, and probably made by the hand of the artist Vulca himself. But now the terra cotta has been taken down and replaced with an exact duplicate, done entirely in bronze.”

“I remember the original terra cotta,” said Kaeso. “Believe me, the bronze is much more impressive. The details of Jupiter’s face, the flaring nostrils of the steeds, the decoration of the chariot, are all remarkable.”

“Alas, if only I still had eyes to see! The bronze replacement for the quadriga was done by my dear colleagues Gnaeus and Quintus Ogulnius, you know. It heartens me to see men of a younger generation take up the populist banner. In the year both Ogulnius brothers served as curule aediles, they put the worst of the rich moneylenders on trial and convicted them. Out of the confiscated property, the Ogulnii paid for that new bronze quadriga. They also paid for that new statue of Romulus and Remus over on the Palatine, which has become such a shrine for the common people of the city.”

“Do you know, I’ve never seen it.”

“Really? Neither have I, but blindness is my excuse. How your cousin Quintus must detest the Ogulnii and their politics!”

“We call my venerable cousin ‘Maximus’ nowadays,” said Kaeso.

“I suppose he’s deliberately kept all the Fabii from paying homage to the Ogulnii’s great monument. We must go at once, so that you can finally see it.”

They descended the Capitoline, crossed the Forum, and ascended the Stairs of Cacus. The slave barely needed to assist Claudius, who knew the way by heart. At the foot of the fig tree not far from the Hut of Romulus, the statue of the Twins had been erected upon a pedestal. It was not colossal in size, but the image was striking: Beneath a standing she-wolf, two naked babies squatted and turned up their faces to suckle the animal’s teats.

“Well, what do you think, young man?”

“It’s remarkable. Very powerful. Very beautiful.”

“Do you suppose the founder of the city and his unfortunate brother were literally raised by a wolf?”

“So legends tell us.”

“And do you never question legends? Some believe the she wolf to be a metaphor, or perhaps a too-literal interpretation of a tale passed down by word of mouth. The same word, after all, can refer to a woman of the she-wolf variety-a prostitute. Is it not more likely that the Twins were raised by such a woman, rather than by a wild animal?”

Claudius was unable see the younger man’s expression, but from the silence that ensued he could tell that Kaeso was taken aback. Claudius laughed good-naturedly. “Forgive my outspokenness. Obviously, such ideas are not spoken in the staid households of the Fabii!”

“Some of your ideas…are novel to me,” admitted Kaeso. “My father said you often challenged his ways of thinking, but that you also inspired him. Thank you for showing me the statue of the Twins and the she wolf.”

Claudius smiled. “We’re not far from my house. Would you like to see my library? It’s grown considerably since the days when I tried to teach your father Greek. New scrolls arrive every month. I can’t read them myself, of course. Someone must read them aloud to me. You have a very pleasant voice, Kaeso.”

“Senator, I would be honored to read aloud to you.”

The slave led them homeward.

“We’ll take some refreshment,” said Claudius, walking through the vestibule. “Then perhaps we can get to work on that collection of aphorisms you propose.”

Kaeso nodded happily, then frowned. “There was one of your sayings that my father found particularly inspiring. Something to do with architecture, and fortune…”

“‘Each man is the architect of his own fortune.’”

“Exactly! My father lived by those words.”

“I’m sure that no man ever put those words into practice more faithfully than did Kaeso Fabius Dorso!”