The Hand of Fortuna

By Jenn Phizacklea

The year is 6 CE.

 

The family Plautii have reached the pinnacle of the Roman social hierarchy and politics, led by the charismatic Aulus Plautius and his cousin Silvanus; but that position will be threatened from unlooked-for sources, both inside and outside the family.

 

Silvanus has left his wife and children in Rome to take his place as Governor of Pamphylia and Galatia in the east, but behind him, chaos descends as his wife spirals out of control and his son behaves in unexpected, scandalous ways.

 

Meanwhile, the elder Aulus takes on an investigation into a shadowy figure named Facilus, unaware that the trail will lead him into a case that threatens both his hedonistic cousin, Rufus, and the family name, with disaster.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jenn Phizacklea
• Release date: Mar 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798360055051

Jenn Phizacklea

Jenn Phizacklea is a poet and novelist with a passion for history. She lives in Perth, Western Australia, with her husband, two dogs, and a rabbit.

Book preview

For my husband Ben,

who spent many hours listening to me

talking about my imaginary friends.

I couldn’t have done any of this without you.

6 CE:

The Consulship of Marcus Aemilius Lepidus and Lucius Arruntius

1.

In Rome, Italia. Late January.

It was such a grey and rainy morning that the younger Aulus Plautius had slept through dawn and morning had followed before a loud boom of thunder penetrated the thick darkness of his sleeping chamber and woke him. He groaned and mumbled to himself. He’d been dreaming about an elaborate battle, and he was annoyed that he’d never know the outcome of the manoeuvres he’d ordered.

He sat up after a few moments of resisting wakefulness, and saw that a dim light from the adjoining atrium was visible through the fretwork headers of the doors. He wondered what time it was as he rubbed his hands over his face, chasing off the last threads of sleep, and sat up on the edge of the bed.

A young man of twenty, he was still spare in his build, with curly, dark brown hair that he kept cropped short, and remarkably light hazel eyes in a thoughtful and serious face.

Ordinarily, he would have remained in bed as long as he could. Since he’d completed his year as an administration assistant in the city of Rome, the vigintivirate, in the previous twelve months, he’d had no call to rise early; but today was special: his younger brother Quintus was marrying his betrothed, Sextia.

Aulus stood and stretched. Hearing the movement, Anthio came into the room.

‘What time is it?’ Aulus asked him, his voice a little gruff with sleep.

‘Nearing midday,’ Anthio replied. ‘Your brother was looking for you an hour or so past. He said he’d be in the library.’

Aulus nodded. ‘I’ll go and find him once I’ve eaten. Fetch me some fruit, Anthio.’

Anthio went away quickly towards the kitchens, and by the time he had returned with a tray of food and a glass of honeyed wine, called mulsum, Aulus had pulled on a tunic and was sitting on a bench in the atrium. He thanked Anthio and fell to eating.

His thoughts went naturally to his brother. The betrothal to Sextia was an arranged match. Their father wished to strengthen the existing business association with the Sextii, wealthy members of the equestrian class, led by Marcus Sextius. The two families had close ties through their ancestral links to Trebula Suffenas, a small town and municipium north of Rome where the large, ancestral estates of the Plautii were located.

Sextia herself was sixteen, petite, rather plain in looks but with a cheerful disposition that made up for any of the shortcomings she may have had in the eyes of some. Aulus liked her, and was pleased that at least the business deal that lay at the heart of the marriage hadn’t lumbered his quiet and thoughtful brother with a morose, or worse, licentious character. Aulus had always been protective of his younger siblings, Quintus and his little sister, Plautia Vitellia, who was fourteen. He would have opposed any betrothal that their father suggested if they gave any sign of unhappiness, but it was clear his brother was pleased with the decision.

Quintus was three years younger than Aulus, and was much more introverted. He’d been schooled, just as Aulus had, in preparation for a career in the senate and various other leadership roles which were expected of the son of an ex-consul. Aulus knew that his brother had brought himself to accept that this was his path despite his own reticence, and learnt all that he could from his oratory teacher. He had a good voice and he was clever at structuring an argument; but Aulus was not alone in seeing that being in the public eye would never come naturally to him.

He, by contrast, was entirely confident of where his life would take him. He wanted above everything else to be a great general, and was willing to do anything to achieve that goal.

Aulus brought his mind back to the moment. He looked around the atrium, and not for the first time, thought that this second wing of the house, where both Quintus and he had their rooms, was something special. They called it the second atrium, because this wing had once been the neighbouring property to the main house. Despite having been joined long ago, each still retained all the rooms of separate houses. While the main atrium at the front of the Domus Plautii was very grand, even luxurious, because it was where the elder Aulus conducted most of his business, this second atrium was on a more intimate scale. Its main feature was four fluted columns, white with red bands at the base, one at each corner of the pond which caught the rain which poured through the small opening in the roof. The walls were covered in rich yellow frescoes, painted with a confection of attenuated columns, arches and pediments. In the gaps between these designs, mythical characters and scenes had been painted.

Beyond the atrium, to the right of where Aulus sitting, he could see through the tablinum, a room used here as a combination of seating area and hallway, into the peristylum. The covered colonnade that surrounded a large garden lay at the heart of the Domus Plautii. It was full of fruit trees, some of them taller than the roof. At this time of year, there were no leaves on the trees, and even the bushes that clustered close around their bases looked dead. In another few months though, before his birthday in June, it would be transformed. He always looked forward to the time when the leaves all burst out afresh, and the garden sprang to life once more. He’d once said that to Quintus, and his brother had looked at him oddly as he’d replied, ‘That’s almost poetic, brother.’

Aulus, who was fifteen at the time, had been embarrassed. He didn’t want people to think he was soft, not even his own brother.

When he’d eaten, he made his way to the library to find Quintus. It wasn’t far; once he’d crossed the tablinum, he turned right into the colonnade of the peristylum, and the very next doorway along was it.

Quintus was sitting near the threshold to catch the light, as his lamp did little on such a dim day, and the two high slit windows were of little help. In looks, Quintus was tall and slender like their mother, with more of her sandy hair colour than Aulus. The light this morning made him look darker than he really was.

‘Good morning,’ Aulus said, making Quintus jump. He’d been totally absorbed in what he was reading, but dropped the scroll without regret onto the couch, and stood. He embraced his older brother, and said in his usual soft voice, ‘I’m pleased you’re finally awake.’

‘Did you sleep last night?’ Aulus asked, noting the dark rings around Quintus’ eyes.

‘Less than I hoped,’ he said as he sat down once more. ‘I’m not sure if I was sleepless due to excitement or nerves honestly.’

Aulus followed his example and seated himself on the couch opposite.

‘I’d be surprised if you weren’t a little of both,’ Aulus said.

Quintus smiled a little. ‘Do you remember when we were young, and I said I’d never get married, because girls are boring?’

Aulus chuckled. ‘You said that more than once.’

‘I still think it’s strange the way a man changes his mind about these things. I was quite determined.’ He paused thoughtfully for a moment before he asked, ‘You think she’s a nice girl, don’t you?’

Aulus replied soothingly, ‘Of course I do. I’ve told you that many times. If I thought she was in any way unsuitable, I’d never have been quiet about it. I think she’ll be a credit to the familia, and a kind and generous wife. She seems very fond of you.’

Quintus nodded, but without conviction. ‘I thought that myself but... what if she’s pretending?’

‘It’s better that she pretends, if she actually is – which I don’t believe. At least then you’d know she’s willing to try to make the best of the marriage. If she was tearful or resentful, you would certainly have a much harder time of it,’ He paused a moment, as Quintus thumbed at the scroll beside him absently. He added soothingly, ‘You are worrying unnecessarily. No marriage begins with love; it’s just a lucky offshoot that comes to some.’

Quintus sighed and tried to smile. ‘Yes, of course. I’m sure you’re right.’

Aulus stood. ‘Now stop brooding. We should go and bathe. It’s already nearing midday and it’s not long before we must go to the Domus Sextii for the ceremony. Come on.’

They companionably left the library and crossed the peristylum towards the family bath suite on the other side, noting that the rain was no longer falling, but the sky was still dark and threatening.

They had just undressed when their father, Aulus the elder, came into the dressing room. He was a handsome man in his early fifties, with his hair touched with grey around the temples. Short and muscular, he and the younger Aulus were similar in build and were obviously father and son, though the younger Aulus was yet to fill out. Quintus was taller than them both and would always be reedier in his figure.

‘I thought I would find you here. My boys are always punctual.’ He grinned cheekily. ‘It’s early to see you out of bed Aulus, considering the hour you came in last night. Is your head not aching?’

Aulus feigned indignation. ‘I was home before the middle hour of the night, father – and as you well know, I barely touch a drop.’

‘That is what all the young men say,’ he said, still teasing.

The younger Aulus shook his head, and their father turned to Quintus. ‘How are you bearing up, Quintus?’

‘I didn’t sleep much, but I think I’m only nervous.’

The elder Aulus, who had a hard time understanding his younger son’s aversion to attention, said, not unkindly, ‘You’ll be alright. Just remember your lessons about projecting your voice.’

Quintus nodded. He’d tried, as a younger man, to make his father understand that being the focus of attention made him feel sick to his stomach, but the elder Aulus had always brushed it off by saying he’d learn to accept it. Quintus hoped, rather than believed, that his father was right, and no longer mentioned it to anyone; but the familiar unease remained.

The three men began the long process of bathing: oiling, being massaged before having the oil scraped off with a strigil, then steaming, before finishing off with a dunk in the plunge pool.

They emerged from the bath suite some time later, refreshed and wearing their festive tunics, rich with embroidery and brightly coloured. Quintus was the exception, dressed in his pure white toga, as was traditional for the groom.

Quintus had turned aside, intent on returning to the second wing of the house, when the elder Aulus stopped him by saying casually, ‘Before you commence your final preparations, I have something to show you.’

Quintus frowned. ‘What is it?’

The elder Aulus smiled but said mysteriously, ‘Come with me.’

The brothers followed their father along the colonnade of the peristylum towards the back wall of the domus which was inset with seven niches, each accommodating a statue of one of the gods. On the right-hand side of this decorative ensemble was a door which, as far as the brothers knew, opened into a single room in which the gardening tools were stored. The elder Aulus led them to that door, and with something of a theatrical flourish, he opened it, looking back with a chuckle at the bemused expression on their faces.

Inside, the room had a faint scent of earth, but had recently been plastered and painted. The walls were now a rich red, and where the end of the storeroom had once been, there was an opening into a large room into which light was entering from one side. The elder Aulus, very pleased with himself, led them into a mosaiced tablinum and gestured expansively around himself.

‘This is to be your home with Sextia,’ he said, smiling warmly at Quintus.

Speechless, he looked around. The walls of the tablinum and the atrium beyond were decorated in the same rich red, with beautiful architectural renderings across their surface. The artist had done such a fine job that, for a moment, Quintus could almost have believed there really was a garden and shrine beyond the wall.

His father continued, ‘There’s a separate entrance from the street; and as you see, the tablinum here opens onto our vegetable garden, so I had an area walled off for your private use.’ With a little humour, he added, ‘I didn’t think you’d like to entertain while overlooking rows of onions and garlic.’

‘Thank you, Father,’ Quintus said a little breathlessly once the shock had worn off a little, and the pleasure had set in. ‘I didn’t expect this, but I thank you. It’s wonderful!’

The elder Aulus smiled. ‘I’ll leave you to look around. Your mother will be looking for me.’

After he’d gone, Quintus and Aulus explored the domus: the atrium, and the other rooms used for sleeping and storage, the cubicula, of which there were five. There was also a small triclinium for dining and the tablinum which led them out into the small garden.

‘I can hardly believe it,’ Quintus said. ‘I thought I’d have to find my own house.’

Aulus shook his head. ‘You should’ve known Father wouldn’t allow such a chance to pass. He wants you and Sextia to be comfortable while you settle into married life.’

Quintus nodded. ‘It is like him.’

Aulus walked back into the tablinum alone, looking at the frescoes again, so that Quintus might have a moment of quiet if he wished it, but Quintus came after him, and together they pulled the wooden doors closed over the entrance to the garden.

In the dim light of the atrium, Aulus could see that Quintus had begun to grin like their father.

‘My new home,’ he said. ‘Everything is going to be much changed, isn’t it, Aulus?’

‘I’m sure of it. Come, we should finish getting you ready.’

As the two young men walked back towards the main house, Aulus was feeling a little melancholy. He felt that their childhood, which had been a happy one, was now truly ending. They’d reached the door out of the tool store. Before he opened the door out into the peristylium, he turned back towards his brother in the near darkness, and said softly, ‘I hope we’ll still talk as we always have when you’re married, Quintus. I’d be saddened if that changed.’

Quintus was surprised, for Aulus didn’t often show his feelings. He said soothingly, ‘Of course we will, Aulus. You’ll always be my brother, and my friend. Having a wife won’t change that.’

Aulus was quiet for a moment, and Quintus wished he could see his face; then Aulus cleared his throat and in his usual firm voice he said, ‘No, of course not. I was just being sentimental.’

Quintus reached out in the darkness, and embraced his older brother, and said with humour in his voice, ‘Of course you are. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.’

Aulus snorted. ‘You take that back. I am nowhere near as bad as Father.’

Quintus only laughed lightly as he broke the embrace.

Aulus turned away and pushed the door open and stepped out into the mellow light of the overcast day, both of them smiling once more.

The main doors of the Domus Plautii stood open, and the house had been decked in garlands and wreaths in preparation for the wedding celebration. Though the main ceremony would take place at the bride’s home, the Domus Sextii, there were many guests who’d been invited to celebrate at the Domus Plautii. They would be waiting the return of the bride and groom for the final stages of the ceremony in the evening.

Quintus and Aulus saw their sister, Plautia Vitellia, for the first time that day when they reached the atrium to greet the guests. Even on an ordinary day, their mother kept her busy; but on a festive day like this, she had been up since before dawn supervising in the kitchen, checking that all the cleaning completed by the slaves the day before was satisfactory, and dashing out to the markets for last minute purchases.

She was probably pretty, Aulus thought, though she would always look like his gawky younger sister to him: the one who had got into his scrolls and torn them up when she was a baby; and who had wet the bed they’d all shared when she was only two. It was one of those stories that came up sometimes in a joking way. She would never live it down, though he knew she was too young at the time to know better.

Plautia Vitellia was the right age for their father to begin looking around for a betrothal, though it could be another year or two before she married. The thought made Aulus feel protective. She seemed too young still, but he knew he was foolish to think so. Women often married at her age; it was only their father who believed that it ought to be older. He was often teased by his friends for his strange opinions; not that the elder Aulus cared a fig for what other people thought. It was one of the things that made him so likeable to others – he was truly easy-going, and could hold his ground without causing any offence.

‘Good morning, Plautia,’ the younger Aulus said to his sister. ‘How are preparations?’

She embraced him and Quintus enthusiastically, standing on tip-toe to put her arms about their necks, just as she had always done since she was a small child, before she said, ‘Everything is running smoothly, I think. There was a moment of worry when we thought we hadn’t enough wine; but the silly slave hadn’t checked the second cellar...’

She trailed off as their mother Vitellia joined them. Like her brothers, Plautia Vitellia was slightly in awe of her mother.

Vitellia was in her late forties, tall, thin and angular. Her hair was light brown touched with grey. She was, as always, immaculately dressed; today in crisp, almost unbelievably pure white, with just enough jewellery to exhibit the family’s wealth while remaining entirely tasteful.

She gave the younger Aulus a dry peck on the cheek. ‘Salve Aulus, my son.’

He winced a little, but returned her greeting. He disliked her habit of speaking formally and had been embarrassed enough by it as a young man that he’d avoided introducing her to his friends because of the inevitable teasing that followed.

She was generally talked of as a distant and aloof character by those outside the family, based on her impossibly high moral standards. She didn’t hesitate to slight people in the street because they were dressed in a slovenly manner; because their slaves followed them more closely than was seemly; or because there was the slightest whisper of scandal around their family. Those who knew her well, though, saw that she had redeeming qualities, not least of all fierce loyalty and true kindness to her husband and children.

‘And to you, dear Quintus. Salve.’ She gave Quintus a dry peck, but looked at him fondly. Aulus had always thought Quintus was her favourite, despite the many occasions when his brother had been the focus of her lectures about the uselessness of being too shy and reserved.

Quintus smiled. ‘Thank you, Mother.’

She glanced up and down his toga, and adjusted the folds at his shoulder. This last-minute adjustment was interrupted by the porter’s voice, as he invited the first guests to step into the atrium.

These early guests were the closest members of the family, and they would accompany Quintus to the Domus Sextii where they would stand as witnesses to the marriage. Of course, it was the matriarchal Urgulania who arrived first with her daughter, Plautia Silvania. She strode imperiously past the porter as though he didn’t exist, with her daughter trailing wispily behind. ‘Salve Quintus, on this, your nuptial day.’

She was dressed in a typically bold and luxurious red stola, embroidered at the shoulders with gold, and an elaborate palla in white. She was in her mid-sixties, though she looked older. The younger Aulus privately thought she looked like a dead lizard who had lain in the sun too long; but he was always polite to her. They were all conscious that it was this domineering woman who’d been the catalyst to the family’s success via her carefully cultivated friendship with the wife of Augustus, Livia Drusilla.

Quintus was outright frightened of the older woman, but he bravely said, ‘Salve, Great Aunt Urgulania.’

She pecked him on both cheeks, and then repeated the process on each of them before stepping aside to speak with the elder Aulus.

Plautia Silvania, who was a sad wisp of a woman, nearing forty, childless and thrice widowed, greeted each of them softly in her mother’s wake. She was still grieving for her latest husband, who had died only the year before, and this was the first time Aulus had seen her since. She’d always been an emotional woman, but he saw that she’d become even more so, and was weeping freely as she approached him.

‘Salve, Plautia Silvania,’ he said, as she embraced him, before grasping his shoulders and looking for a long moment into his face.

‘You are looking so well,’ she said, releasing his shoulders and turning to Quintus. She cast her arms around his neck. ‘May the gods watch over you dear, young people!’

Quintus politely thanked her, and sought to untwine himself from her arms.

As she was prevailed upon to grant the groom some space, she continued, ‘I hope you’ll be as happy as I was with my first husband, Decimus. He was such a kind man, and I think I see some of his character in you. Oh, the pitiful death that stalks us all!’

The last words came out as a sob, and Urgulania gave an exasperated sigh before snapping, ‘Plautia Silvania! Come here to me.’ Once her daughter was standing beside her, sniffling, Urgulania turned back to the elder Aulus and said, ‘Silvanus is, of course, sorry that he cannot be with us today.’

The elder Aulus said good-naturedly, ‘Well – he was never one for weddings anyway, my dear aunt.’

The older woman smiled. ‘I’ll admit it – you’re quite right.’

The Silvanus that Urgulania referred to was Marcus Plautius Silvanus, her only son, who was absent as he had departed at the beginning of the month on the long journey that would take him to the province of Galatia and Pamphylia, where he would be serving as the Governor, or governor of the province. He had been home for only a few short months between his previous year-long posting as the Governor of Provincia Asia, before being sent away again. It had all been unexpected, he’d said, though the elder Aulus doubted that. His wife, Lartia, had chosen during all his provincial postings to stay behind in Rome with their children.

Lartia arrived at the Domus Plautii soon after her mother-in-law. She was in her middle forties, and was a blowsy, untidy woman, who always looked tired and fed-up with life. She had four children altogether, but she only brought the two eldest with her to the wedding; a young woman, Plautia Urgulanilla, who was fifteen and always dressed fashionably; and another Marcus Plautius Silvanus, called Marcus to distinguish him from his father, who was near in age to the younger Aulus.

Lartia gushed out congratulations, though she erroneously began by addressing her words to the younger Aulus, who redirected her to Quintus. The families saw a lot of each other, but Lartia was renowned for a terrible memory, amongst other things.

Marcus’ young wife, Fabia Numantina, was with him. They’d married two years previously. Fabia’s father was one of the closest confidantes of the Emperor Augustus, and a renowned general – a far better match in worldly terms than this marriage of Quintus’, a fact that Marcus showed with a curl of his lip as he congratulated the groom.

While he was doing so, the younger Aulus took Fabia’s hands in greeting, and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘I hope you are well, Fabia?’

‘I am,’ she said, meeting his eye shyly. He thought he could see great unhappiness in her, but that was no surprise, for who could be happily married to his cousin?

Marcus then turned to the younger Aulus, who released Fabia’s hands, and the two young men went through the motions of grasping hands as though they were friends. With a twist to his mouth, he said, ‘You’re becoming quite the confirmed bachelor, Aulus.’ Under his breath, he added, ‘It’s quite bizarre that you haven’t married.’

Aulus replied in the cold tone which he reserved for people he didn’t like, ‘I’m to join the army, as you know. I won’t marry until I’ve served my time as tribune with the legions.’

‘You’ve been saying that for years now,’ Marcus scoffed. ‘You simply can’t find someone you like well enough, I suppose. You always thought you were better than everyone else.’

Aulus narrowed his eyes, setting his mouth in a thin line. Some things never change, he thought.

To him, Marcus’ character would always be best described in an event that he would never forget.

It was a Roman tradition that all the aristocratic boys gathered together down by the Tiber on the Campus Martius to do military-style exercises in fine weather. It was considered a crucial element of their education. They learnt to ride, to use a sword and a spear known as a pilum, and undertook a variety of athletic contests.

Throughout their childhood, the younger Aulus and Marcus had been thrust together by their fathers, who were hoping that they would form the kind of bond that the two elder men enjoyed. To this end, on one occasion when they were ten and eleven respectively, their fathers had insisted that they attend the exercises together. The sons had reluctantly agreed, though Aulus at least had already known that he and Marcus would never be friends. Their characters had always clashed, and always would.

As they’d made their way to the Campus Martius, Marcus had boasted relentlessly about how skilled he was at every exercise, and how superior he was sure he must be compared to Aulus. He gave no reason why he thought this – the two boys had never even raced each other. Aulus had ignored his boasting, only coolly shrugged and said, ‘We’ll see when we get there.’

They’d begun with swords, and Aulus had easily bested Marcus. When the victory was declared, and Aulus had offered his hand for the traditional shake which acknowledged the defeat, Marcus had slapped his hand away rudely, and declared that this was his least strong exercise, and he would easily beat him in running, at which he excelled. Aulus had assured him in a reasonable way that running was his own strongest exercise, but Marcus had snorted and said, ‘You think everything is your strongest exercise.’ Aulus had shrugged. ‘Then we will race.’

Aulus had beaten Marcus by an embarrassingly long distance, and Marcus, furious, had aggressively screamed into Aulus’ face that he must have cheated. Aulus had stood firmly before him, stony faced, without responding at all, until Marcus had shoved him and stormed away, leaving the other boys shaking their heads and laughing at his expense.

Marcus had stopped attending the exercises at all after that when Aulus was there.

Aulus looked at Marcus as he stood smirking before him in the atrium of the Domus Plautii, and said sharply, ‘I shan’t speak to you at all if you insist on being so unpleasant. I have better things to think about than whatever you might think of me and my decisions.’

Urgulanilla interrupted them with a frown. ‘Marcus, stop being a bother. Why do you have to be so provoking all the time? This is hardly the occasion for childish insults.’

Marcus scowled at her, thought about saying something further, but seeing his grandmother Urgulania eyeing him, thought better of it. He took Fabia Numantina’s hand, and moved away from the rest of the group to sip a glass of wine and scowl at them all.

The younger Aulus took Urgulanilla’s hands and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘He always was fun at parties.’

She grimaced. ‘Yes – like the man who won’t stop coughing during a music recital.’

Aulus chuckled. ‘You’re looking well, Urgulanilla. I think I heard there’s a betrothal in the making for you?’

Urgulanilla shrugged. ‘When isn’t there such talk about all of us? I’ve not been told of anyone in particular, but you know how Urgulania is. She never stops planning.’

‘She’s certainly a determined woman. How have things been since Silvanus left?’

She grimaced again. ‘The less said on that, the better.’

He sighed. ‘That well, then? I suppose you know I’m going to join your father when the seas open in May?’

She was surprised. ‘Father didn’t tell us.’ She thought about it for a moment before she added, ‘That will be good for you though, and for Father. I often think he must feel a sense of loneliness, so far from home, amongst foreign people.’

Aulus was amazed that Silvanus hadn’t told his family what had been arranged. ‘I thought he’d have made this known to you all, especially Marcus.’

Urgulanilla sighed. ‘You know how Father can be. One thing is for certain - Marcus isn’t going to take it well when he finds out.’

Aulus was about to answer when his father came over and asked, ‘Is everyone here?’

The younger Aulus looked around the room. ‘Only Rufus is missing.’ This was the elder Aulus’ other cousin, Publius Plautius Rufus.

The elder Aulus shook his head, and said wryly, ‘How typical!’

Vitellia had overheard him, and said, ‘That’s the one thing you can trust Publius Plautius Rufus on - being late at inconvenient times.’ She didn’t like Rufus and thought him a foolish trouble maker. If she’d had her way, he wouldn’t have been invited at all; but the elder Aulus and Rufus had been raised as brothers, and Aulus wouldn’t hear of excluding him.

As though summoned by the mention of his name, Rufus rushed into the atrium at that moment, and overhearing Vitellia’s acidic comment, he said, ‘Ah Vitellia! You know me so well.’ He caught her by the elbows and kissed her on both cheeks. He didn’t like her either, and knew full well she didn’t welcome the attention.

He clapped the elder Aulus on the shoulder, then clasped Quintus’ hand and congratulated him and apologised energetically for being late. ‘I am sorry, young man. I was caught up in a mess of a crowd in the forum. Some poor girl had been knocked down and robbed. She was a great beauty, though of no distinguished family, and there were many who were seeking to comfort her. They quite blocked the way.’

Rufus was five years younger than the elder Aulus, handsome, with long black curls, quite out of fashion for anyone who had assumed the toga virilis and thereby entered manhood. He was the offspring of an impoverished and disgraced branch of the family tree.

Everyone knew the story: Some fifty years before, Rufus’ great-grandfather had been running for the consulship under the auspices of Pompey Magnus. He’d been unsuccessful in his bid, and was later accused by Pompey of corruption – specifically, of accepting and distributing bribes to the people. He was found guilty, and initially exiled; but later, his wealth had been confiscated, a loss they’d never been able to recoup.

‘Think no more of it,’ Quintus said, smiling. He always enjoyed Rufus’ company. He had a gift for finding an amusing story in the everyday nothings of life. ‘We all know you’d find a crowd creating drama, even if you were in the deserts of Provincia Africa.’

Rufus grinned. ‘I can’t deny that action seems to find me.’ It was only when he smiled that you could see that he and the elder Aulus were related. They had the same warm grin and a similar brand of charm. ‘But the question on everyone’s lips today is whether you’re ready, Quintus?’

Quintus smiled. ‘Of course I am.’ Then with a teasing tone in his voice, he added, ‘When should we suppose you’ll be ready, Rufus?’

Rufus shook his head, laughing. It would’ve been hard to find a more confirmed bachelor. ‘When Venus condescends to come down and meet me, of course. I shall settle for no less.’

Quintus shook his head wryly. ‘I should have known you’d aim high.’

The elder Aulus interrupted any riposte Rufus may have given. ‘We must go. We’re all here, and we should not keep the bride waiting.’

*

It was mid-afternoon, and growing dark, when they reached the Domus Sextii, which wasn’t far from the Domus Plautii, just on the other side of the Caelian Hill, near the Caelian Gate.

The property was grand; a member of the upper, patrician, class would have called it vulgar because it was designed and decorated in the latest fashion. The large double doors were thrown open, and the guests were welcomed into an enormous atrium, garlanded and lit with a dizzying array of braziers, lanterns and torches. The scent of burning oil was strong, and it combined with the freshly strewn herbs crushed underfoot to fill the room.

Quintus was shunted along until he was standing shyly before his soon-to-be