The Ides of April

XV

I recognised the man who broke in. I had despised him at our first encounter, the time he barged into me at the aediles' office; I took against him furiously now. It was the fellow called Tiberius, who was supposed to act as a runner for the magistrates.

He was stocky, the way my plebeian grandfather had been-not overweight, yet strong in the body, with sturdy legs. His shoulders could have broken down my door had he not successfully manoeuvred the latch instead. Today he was in a porridge-coloured tunic in some rough material that must be itchy; he kept scratching absent-mindedly, though I saw no fleas hop off. A wide, crude belt held him in. The same cloak as last time was folded over one shoulder; this must be his informal indoors mode.

If the aedile's uncle chose his slaves for their beauty, he must have sent a short-sighted steward the day this man was first purchased, assuming he had once been bought in the slave market. The unshaven face gave him the classic look of any worker on the Roman streets. He could be a driver or a rent collector. More than a manual labourer, however: a man doing some job that called for competence, with considerable trust from whoever employed him. There was nothing timid in his manner.

"Cosy!" he commented sourly. He had sized up the situation between Andronicus and me, even though we were acting unflustered. It was the first time I had heard him speak. His accent was more refined than his appearance suggested. Like the archivist, he was presumably a freedman now. He would have been encouraged to develop a diction to suit their well-off home.

I glared. "Most people knock," I stated in a cold voice. "Most people think they should let a householder believe that the right to admit visitors lies in their own control."

Tiberius gave me a steady, half-amused stare. He had grey eyes. I always notice that. Mine are the same. His were a chillier colour; mine had been blue when I was younger.

The general crowd in Rome have brown eyes, though there are many of blue and grey. Nero had blue eyes. Grey is not significant. I was never going to fantasise that this fellow might be related to me. All the same, I do notice.

"You are Flavia Albia!" He did not wait for a snappy retort. It was just as well, because I was so surprised at the way he burst in that no ideas were flowing. Inevitably, I would find plenty of thoughts to sum him up later. The wit would not be complimentary.

He turned his attention to Andronicus. "You have been missed-at work and at home." Andronicus showed no reaction. Tiberius snapped back to me. "I need to speak with you-not now. It's too late and, frankly, it's inconvenient. I am putting you on notice. I shall call tomorrow morning. Be in-if you can manage that for once." I gathered he had tried to find me previously. Once more, he spoke to Andronicus. "I am going to the house for dinner. You can walk with me."

It was not exactly an order. Still, the way he spoke left little choice. As a "runner" he was no more than a messenger, even if the errands he was sent on meant his master trusted him. He was several years older, though hardly superior to an archivist, least of all one who had been assigned that role in a major temple. As his equal, therefore, I half expected Andronicus to argue. Instead, he shot me one of his rueful looks and swung to his feet, ready to leave with the other man.

I tried to understand. Andronicus might be reluctant to admit that there was something between him and me. I knew better than to question the dynamics of a strange household, but if he left meekly,

I was bound to start wondering if I had been wrong. If, after all, we were not soulmates.

They did leave together. I heard their feet clattering downstairs, this time even Tiberius making a noise as he went. As far as I could tell, they were not speaking.

I was furious, tantalised, passionately disappointed.

I did what women have to do: I tidied the office; took the Stargazer's titbit skewer downstairs to wash and return to the caupona tomorrow; retreated glumly to my apartment; went to bed alone.

That night I heard the terrible, near-human screams that I knew to be the foxes. It was unlikely anyone else noticed. Violence and fear were commonplace in the hours of darkness and few would want to investigate.

It reminded me that soon officials of the Temple of Ceres would be setting traps to catch the necessary animals for their horrible ritual. That plebeian aedile, Manlius Faustus, would be supervising the Games, so he must have an interest in the ritual with the torches. It made another reason for me to dislike him.