The Gift, Part V

Dies Iovis had been lovely. Absolutely lovely, with the exception of Gaius' inability to find a replacement for Rufia Docila. (She had been on her best behavior, as it happened -- Julia's firmness with her had paid off, and Hyperion had done his best to avoid her.)

Gaius had walked Julia and Hyperion to the Asinius Pollio -- Rome's first public library, in the Aventine -- and despite his earlier decision had shown Julia inside, and had taken an unexpected pleasure at the way her eyes lit up when she noted the sheer number of shelves stuffed with papyri and parchments.

"Latin texts in the wing to the left," he murmured. "And Greek to the right -- Well, you probably shan't need those --"

"One checks with the clerk to see what's available, and they send a slave to fetch it," Gaius went on. "I don't know if you'll be allowed to take things home, though -- I have, but they mightn't let a woman. Let's ask."

Gaius approached a harried-looking clerk, waited impatiently while the poor man dealt with some arrogant sod who was giving him a tongue-lashing for another patron's carelessness (liquamen dripped onto Claudius' letters concerning Britannia), and then he pulled Julia forward when the arrogant sod stormed off.

"My wife would like to use the library on occasion," Gaius told the clerk, "and I want to be certain she has no difficulty. Shall she have to consult the books on premises, or may she withdraw them?"

The man eyed Julia carefully, and then cautiously said, "We don't have many novels, you know. These are largely histories and technical texts, and the Temple of Apollo is much the same. Perhaps she'd have better luck at one of the baths. They cater to the more sensational literature."

"I don't think she's interested in novels," Gaius said dryly. "Or at least, not all the time." (He was offended for Julia, actually, but the man was trying to be polite.) "I'd rather not have to run over to borrow them for her myself, you see."

"Well," the clerk said doubtfully, "if you trust her and are willing to take responsibility for any damages, I suppose that can be managed. I'm not on duty every day, however, so...."

In the end, Gaius had to write out a letter stating that Julia was his responsibility and that yes, he gave permission for her to consult anything she liked, and yes, he would pay for any damage that might happen to the scrolls while they were in her hands. (She didn't seem nearly as irked about it as Gaius did -- but then she was a woman, and used to it. Gaius had never before realised the hoops one had to jump through if one wasn't the right gender.)

That done, he made certain she had a bit of pocket-money to pay for any texts she wished to take home, and hurried off to work.

Veneris began with a bang, so to speak, and well before first light. Gaius was ripped from a deep, comfortable sleep by an instantly-identifiable shriek: Rufia Docila. Again.

He stumbled out into the peristyle to find the woman, pale and shaking, backing out of the cucina. She'd been in the loo, apparently: her stola-hem was still hitched up in one hand, exposing her arse (Gaius thought he'd like to dig his eyes out with a spoon), and she was pointing toward the loo with the other hand.

"Oh, bloody -- don't be stupid," he shouted irritably. "You're seeing things. And cover yourself, you silly cow."

"Am not," she shot back, teeth chattering, and finally dropped the hem of her robe (before Gaius got the front view, thankfully). "Right there."

Gaius strode around the peristyle and into the cucina, and poked his head 'round the partition. There was nothing there at all.

"I don't see a damned thing," he said, returning to the peristyle. "You're still half-asleep, you fool."

"I tell you I --" she started to protest, and then drew herself up to her considerable height and glared at him. "Right, then. I've put up with that nasty old beggar and animals flying about, but this is the last straw, this is. You can just find yerself another cook, Gaius Longinius,."

"She's off, then?" Julia's sleepy voice floated across the peristyle, from the door of her room.

"Says she saw a ghost, the stupid bint," Gaius replied, not thinking to watch his tongue.

He turned to look at Julia: she didn't seem terribly upset at either his language or the ghost. She looked up and shrugged.

"She probably saw Postumus, that's all.... I suppose it's good riddance. I can manage to cook decently enough. I think," she added doubtfully, and wandered back into her room.

"Go back to bed, Gaius," the old man said. "I'll keep an eye on the old bitch, make sure she doesn't take off with anythin'."

He hurried into the tablinum and pulled some cash together, and stood in the door to Rufia Docila's room as she packed (swearing and muttering all the while), and wordlessly handed her her pay for the week. (He added just a bit extra, in hopes that she'd keep her mouth shut.) She counted it suspiciously, sniffed, and gave him and Hyperion another good glare before she left.

Once the front door had closed behind her, Gaius made his way back to Julia's bedroom.

"Ahhh...." He crossed the room and perched uneasily on the edge of the lectus. "What did you mean, she 'saw Postumus'?"

"That's what I call him," Julia said. "I noticed him our first day here. I think Hyperion's seen him once or twice, since."

"Are you telling me the house is haunted?" Gaius said, heavy on the disbelief.

"Ummm hmmm. I don't think he's the only one. But they're quite nice. I think they enjoy the company, actually."

"Come back to bed, Gaius," Julia murmured, and started to pull back the blanket.

Wonderful. Just wonderful. Even if we wanted to have non-magicals in, it's far too risky now.

Well, this was going to make finding another cook much more difficult. And it explained why Crispus hadn't been able to keep anyone in the place.

On the other hand.... It had rid them of Rufia Docila, very effectively and with a minimum of unpleasantness. Gaius supposed there was something good in the situation, after all.

"A thousand thanks, whichever one of you did this," he muttered to the empty room as he climbed back into bed.

And somewhere in the aether a mischievous spirit accepted them, and decided Gaius wasn't quite as big a prat as they'd heretofore assumed.

The next few days were... interesting. Boring, in a way: the usual at the office, other than the plans to back Muco into a corner and arrange for the Dexion's surreptitious trip to Corinth (for Dexion had agreed); a trip to Portus, at the end of which Gaius didn't bother to go home but went to his room in Fountain Court instead, to finish the clear-up and spend the night. (He decided to leave the magical texts there, but took Publius' letters back to the house -- after carefully pumicing away mention of anything that might identify the man. The incident with the squatter had taught Gaius more caution.)

He found Julia withdrawn the next evening, assumed it was because he hadn't returned, and explained that he'd simply stayed in the office after the unloading due to tiredness. She dutifully accepted the excuse and urged him to eat his dinner. (She wasn't a "natural" cook as Rufia Docila was: Gaius could tell she'd followed the recipes strictly and they were certainly edible, but without the flair a truly inventive cook would add. Not that he was complaining, mind -- and he made certain to thank her, even if he couldn't precisely compliment her.)

Still quiet throughout the meal, she closed herself off in her workroom after dinner, and Gaius finally got around to writing Longinia.

Justus Muco was very unhappy that he wasn't shipping out immediately after his return. In fact, he was rather unpleasant about it: Gaius suspected that the man had had something planned for the next shipment to Corinth, and thanked the gods that Ursus had the forethought to put him on leave. (It was paid leave, too -- which Ursus hadn't needed to do -- but it should keep Muco hanging about, with the promise of a ship on one of the shorter, safer winter routes when one turned up.)

"He consulted the auguries a week ago about the weather," he said casually, "and it wasn't good. He's decided to be cautious this season, I think. No sense in repeating last year, not for less than a full cargo."

Last winter early storms had been terrible -- for everyone. All the shippers had lost at least one vessel -- including Corvinus Shipping, the bloody corbita that Nigellus' wine had been on -- and Ursus had lost three. (One of those was a government shipment, thankfully, and was consequently completely insured by the State. That wasn't much consolation, though -- you could always build another ship, but the loss of a crew and captain was a terrible thing.)

"Last year was enough to put the fear of the gods into anyone," Gaius shot back dryly. "Or have you forgot how you had to put in at two ports because of one storm?"

No, Muco hadn't -- that had been the shipment where the amphorae had gone missing -- and he shifted a bit uneasily, though the sneer on his face never changed.

"No way to run a business," he muttered. "Never get ahead if you don't take risks."

"It's about the management of risk," Gaius corrected him, "and Ursus reckons it's a bad risk again this year. You could always refuse the paid leave, you know," he added coolly, deciding it was time to go on the offensive, "and find another company to take you on." (He was betting Muco wouldn't, not if he had plans for that bloody shipment and hopes for recapturing the Corinth route.)

"Your life," Gaius said with another shrug. "Do me the courtesy of informing me when you do, though, or you can't expect a decent referral."

Gaius put his pen down and leaned back in his chair to consider the exchange. It was very odd: he'd been in Ursus' office when he'd told Muco about the lay-over, and the man had made only a token protest at the time. Yet he'd followed Gaius down to his office, and then questioned him about Ursus' reasoning and motives.... It wasn't particularly smart of him, not if he really had something to hide. He must think they had no idea, then, and he was rather desperate about that particular shipment. Or one particular thing on it, perhaps.

Gaius stood, went to the cupboard in the corner, withdrew the manifest-scroll from it, and spread it out to look at the cargo.

It was puzzling, really. The largest part of the shipment -- the Spanish wine -- would be this year's early production: it wasn't that valuable per amphora, and Muco couldn't possibly plan to unload the whole shipment. At least two or three amphorae were routinely lost to breakage, of course, but that lot wasn't worth trying to intentionally "lose." The garum was a bit pricier. The skins might well be valuable enough -- they were much thicker and more luxurious than the Grecian variety, as the Germanic animals had thicker coats -- but still, it was a big risk for a relatively small payoff. The pottery wasn't worth mentioning: some Roman matron in Corinth wanted pretty tableware, but it was modern, not antique. The unlabeled items... who could tell? As it was a private shipment and clearly labeled 'paws off', the owner would have taken the responsibility for sealing the crates and keeping his own manifest.

The slaves were certainly valuable, though, with the possible exception of the eunuch. The owner, obviously looking for something exotic for his home (because Greece was crawling with slaves, no reason to go all the way to Rome) had purchased them, had them branded, and arranged for their shipment later rather than take them on a passenger-packet with himself. They'd been kept down below in the warehouse, in shackles, for two weeks now -- a great nuisance as they had to be fed and watered, and the warehouse workers prevented from mucking about with them. They were almost as bad as the horses that Ursus insisted on shipping back and forth.

Muco could easily make sure one or two "died" on the voyage, fling what appeared to be the bodies over the side, and dispose of them in another port. This would almost certainly require the collusion of one or more of the crew, however, and Gaius was beginning to worry that Ursus had a bigger problem on his hands than one crooked captain. The marble would be impossible to shift at all, tied down on the deck in plain view -- unless the ship went down in shallow water and the wreck was looted.

There was little scope for mischief, then other than the slaves. It was often on the westward trips that one had to be most cautious: the cargoes of spices, perfumes and silks from Asia and the Indies were far easier to lift and dispose of, and had far more value per weight than anything else but the oldest Falernian.

It's a moot point, Gaius thought with a sigh, and tucked the scroll back in the cupboard. Dexion will get it there barring a calamity, and we'll have Muco up on charges before long.

Gaius had to make another trip to Ostia to deliver the cargo and see Dexion off September 2nd. The crowds were worse, if anything. Everyone was having a last, desperate fling at getting goods out before the sea shut the shipping lanes down, and Gaius had to keep a close eye on the cargo as it was loaded: the cranes were working nonstop, the gangplanks and docks crawling with porters and crew. It was a prime situation for someone, or something, to be hurt: the bear destined for Corinth nearly went into the harbour when one of the guide-ropes snapped free and its cage was flung past the deck of the ship.

"Secure that bloody line!" Dexion roared at a cringing deckhand, and Gaius held his breath until the poor beast was safely aboard. "Jupiter's prick, Longinius Corvinus, that crew's gone sloppy."

"I only tell them what to load," Gaius said. "Disciplining them's your job. Good luck."

Dexion snorted. "Thanks. A September voyage and a lazy crew. If Ursus wants me dead, a knife under the ribs would have been sufficient."

Gaius grinned. Dexion was exceptionally sarcastic and a pessimist -- and it was a bloody good thing he was. Two occupations which had no room for optimism were ships' captains and Army generals.

"So we're off to Corinth anyway, are we?" Dexion continued dryly -- and Gaius quirked an eyebrow and concealed his alarm. "Oh, come now -- I don't believe you'd bring me back for a hop over to Alexandria, no matter what you told the bloody crew. Corinth's been Muco's route for a year now, hasn't it? I happen to know he's cooling his heels at one of the lupanari in Portus, and he's been whining about Ursus having no balls. Anything I should know?"

"Let's just say we wanted to be certain this cargo made it there intact," Gaius said steadily, "and we're not ready to do anything about Muco yet."

"I'll be on the look-out if we have to put into port, and I'll watch the crew," he said -- and that was that: it was all understood. If anyone unaware of the change of captains approached Dexion or any of the crew with intent to defraud Ursus Imports, he'd make note of them.

"Here's the chart, then," Gaius said, handing it over with a copy of the manifest. "And -- if you have time when you reach Corinth -- these packets are for the Port Commissioner and for my brother-in-law. Just an account of what we think is going on, so they can hand over any evidence."

"Oh, good gods, no. If they have no idea of what's gone on, it may take them days to dig up anything. You'll have a partial shipment for the return trip, but it should already be there -- don't loaf about if the weather still looks good. And Ursus said you can take on whatever else you care to as it's not a full cargo, same arrangement as usual."

"Right. I doubt I'll muck around with that, though." Dexion glanced up at the sky. "I don't have a good feeling about this, lad. The wife's given me strict instructions to stay there if it looks dicey. Seems she's got used to me hanging about, and wants me back in one piece."

"So do we -- and so you should. If you have any problems, check with my brother-in-law for lodging." Gaius grinned at Dexion again. "Pater wouldn't want you to go down in an attempt to get home three months sooner any more than Ursus does. Corvinus Shipping would still snap you up in a second, you know."

"Ah, well. I always preferred to be a big eel in a little pond. They won't be happy about this," Dexion said with a nod to the crew.

"There's extra cash in the strongbox," Gaius said. "You're authorised to use it as necessary -- incentive if you must, or to defray their lodging if you over-winter."

"Good. They'll scatter to the four winds if I don't, and that's a route I don't want to hire a new crew for."

"Gods go with you, then, and if I don't see you in a few weeks, I'll see you next Spring."

Dexion gave Gaius another smart nod, strode off and up the gangplank, and commenced to roar at the deckhands to motivate them. Gaius stayed to watch the last few crates being loaded: and then the fat little ship cast off and was towed out toward the mouth of the Tiber and the open sea.

"Just for this lot," Gaius said casually, eyes still on the ship. "I think he's enjoying his retirement too much to do it on a regular basis."

"Wondering's free," he said, turning to face the inquisitor, and checking for eavesdroppers. "But if you really want to know why, Brother, you'll have to give me a much better reason to tell you."

"Needs to be kept quiet, for now," Gaius admitted softly, and stared at Quintus to impress him with the need for secrecy.

"No problem here," Quintus said, and stepped closer and lowered his voice. "I imagine it has something to do with the last letter from Pater -- the one that said to keep a sharp look-out on manifests coming from Corinth and Carthage."

"No, now don't go wild. He and Pater have a right to be concerned, and he didn't name names. I just put two and two together."

"Well, make sure you do your checking quietly. We're trying to bring them all in at once, and the way rumours fly about here --"

"Yes, he did, you ungrateful little git. Said you raised a bloody fuss about it, too." Quintus stared at Gaius for a while, puzzled, and then gave up: he'd never understand Gaius. "At any rate, Lavinia wants to meet her. She suggested the two of you come down for a day or two."

"As far as Pater's concerned, yes. And there's no need for the poor girl to be stuck all the way out here with no family, is there? Not everyone's as stubborn and solitary as you."

Gaius opened his mouth to argue -- and then shut it and simply glared at his next-eldest brother. Whereas Lucius seemed to take after the pater's first wife in most things, Quintus was his pater's son -- the very image of him with his thick body and swollen, bullish neck, and with a brain and nature almost like. He and Gaius had never got on as children, and they obviously weren't going to start now: total opposites physically -- Gaius with his mater's earlier slenderness and sharpness -- and in emotion, thought and ambition.

"So, would the Nones suit? You don't care about missing a day or two of the Games, do you? Come down in the afternoon, stay to dinner and overnight, and leave next day when you like."

"I'll have to check the schedules," Gaius said reluctantly. (He couldn't very well use the Games as an excuse -- the bloody things went on forever.) "But if I don't have anything due in, yes, I suppose. I'll send Hyperion with a note if it's not."

"Yes, I did," Gaius grumbled. "Don't go on about him so, he's been very useful."

"I'll just bet -- keep an eye on your wine jugs. House of Jove and Ganymede, not far on the other side of the Porta Laurentia. We'll expect you mid-afternoon."

Gaius nodded, and Quintus turned and pushed his way through the dock-workers toward the building that housed Corvinus Shipping.

Bloody Hades and his balls. Dinner with Quintus and that cow Lavinia.... I wonder how many spawn they've hatched by now? I suppose it's better to get it out of the way now, though....

Julia stared at Gaius, horrified, when he told her that evening of the invitation.

"Yes, and Hyperion's told me about Quintus. He said from what he's heard, the house is nearly as nice as my pater's."

"For the gods' sakes, Julia, it's only more family. I doubt there will be anyone there other than Quintus and Lavinia. Even their idiot children probably aren't allowed in the triclinium. At least I hope not."

She was still staring at him: he finally realised that she was irritated with him, not frightened.

"So, your sister-in-law will be putting on a show. And I'm expected to compete."

"Fine," she muttered, pushed a strand of damp hair out of her eyes, and went back to grinding pepper in the kitchen-mortar (quite viciously, now). "You'll see. You'd better take your best toga, the one you wore to the wedding."

Gaius recognised that tone of voice -- his mater was highly skilled at it: the one that meant 'You may argue all you like, but that is that.' So he quite sensibly wandered off and shut himself in the tablinum.

Ye gods, Julia's in a foul mood.... How long could it take to have a bloody stola made? A day? Two? Well, assuming one had located a dressmaker first.... And of course this is Rome, not sleepy little Albingaunum....

Gaius opened the little strongbox he'd acquired, counted out the coins, and compared it to the account Julia had left on the desk, starting with that first week of Rufia Docila's residence.

Good gods, he thought, a peck of wheat is damned expensive. (He knew it, of course, or rather he knew it on the grand scale of the import business, but hadn't realised how much it took to feed four persons.) At that rate they might have to go on the grain dole, like three-quarters of Rome. Thank the gods Mater had talked Pater into gifting them with an amphora or two of good drinking-wine, decent liquamen, and plenty of second-quality oil for the lamps.

Julia hadn't kept a running total expenditure, so Gaius -- after finally remembering to add Rufia Docila's severance pay to the tablet -- did the sum up and then the subtraction, and came to a conclusion.

He buried his face in his hands and did his best to blame Julia. She wasn't thinking properly, damn it. If she needed something she should simply buy it, and not wait about for him to read her mind (which was impossible, of course -- no-one could do that). She must know he didn't want to be bothered with the mundane household idiocy.

Gaius found himself deploring in Julia what he would think an admirable trait in a junior clerk -- and then backtracked and mentally smacked himself. She was doing what he'd told her to, no more or less.

(He felt ashamed of that. It was very like his own thoughts of the whole bloody marriage for several weeks.)

She wasn't adept at cookery, much less gutting a fish: Gaius could tell she hadn't done it often, but she wielded the knife with care and grace, and he could almost see the fingers of her other hand gauging the depth of the fish's flesh, guiding the knifes' edge to but not into the viscera -- the hand of a skilled craftsman in the delicate arts of dissection and blending.

"But it was done badly," he said quietly, "and I.... Look, could you stop for a moment?"

"Then it will be late," he said, impatient for her full attention: he reached over, took the knife from her and set it on the table, and took her by the shoulders to guide her to the wall opposite. "It's not just bloody Quintus's invitation, it's the whole money situation. I thought -- I assumed you'd take anything you needed from the household money, you see -- up to and including getting that silk made up. Or anything at all that you need. You see? And yet, I find that you haven't. And I have to assume you don't think you have a right to."

"Both, actually. But the dress is going to cost a packet, I'm certain. You can't trust silk to any old tailor, or at least I'm not comfortable doing so."

"Can't you wear.... What about those things you wore for the wedding? They were nice enough." (At least, he thought they were considering what little he remembered: he couldn't forget the flammeum, but he'd done his best at the time to ignore the gown and the body in it.)

"I can't do that. It's not meant to be worn for anything but a first wedding," she explained patiently.

He ran a hand over his hair -- the one he'd taken the knife from her with, unfortunately, as it smelt slightly fishy.

'I don't know anything about all that muck, you see," he finally explained. "I never paid attention when Mater went on about it. And I never imagined you'd want to make an impression on any of my family -- or that you'd need to. I didn't expect Quintus to come looking for me. We haven't spoken in years."

"No, it's not -- not the money bit, at least. I should've made it clear.... I'm not very good at this marriage thing, I'm afraid. I've no idea what to do most of the time."

"Neither have I," Julia retorted softly, and gave him a tired smiled. "So I suppose we'll just have to keep working out the knots as they appear, together."

Gaius smiled back, and reached over to push away that annoying lock of hair that insisted on falling across her forehead before he realised what he was about.

"Finish up here, then," he said, hastily pulling back. "Let me look at our reserves in the meantime, and if you really object to taking what you need, we'll set an allowance. But I'll expect you to use it for yourself, do you understand? And not only for things like library fees, either."

He left her and returned to the tablinum, feeling quite virtuous and magnanimous: and he decided that as he hadn't yet touched the extra money Nigellus had given him that he would draw Julia's allowance from that. He'd had no definite plans for it either way, after all, and the blasted under-the-table manner of its transfer to him had made him feel ridiculously uneasy. It was only right, he decided, that Julia benefit from her pater's money.

Julia couldn't have got the gown made in two days anywhere in Rome, as it happened: Pridie Nones was the beginning of the Ludi Romani -- the games and spectacles that would last a full 16 days, until the eighth day Kalendas October. Gaius hurried home from work early on the Pridie, and hustled Julia and Hyperion up to the top of the Aventine Hill to watch the procession of consuls and juvenes, charioteers, athletes, priests, statues of the gods, and animal sacrifices as it wound its way from the Forum down to the Circus Maximus. (Hyperion was itching to go see the games, he could tell, but Julia seemed content to watch the festivities from afar.)

That decided him: he'd leave Hyperion in Rome and give him leave and pocket-money to see the games -- though with strict instructions to be back at the house at evening to guard it from any over-enthusiastic revelers or thieves -- and Gaius and Julia would go on alone to Ostia. (It would save some unpleasantness in the long run -- Hyperion and Quintus were not fond of each other, to put it mildly.)

The trip to Ostia on the Nones was pleasant -- Rome no longer sweltered, and as their litter bounced along, approaching the coast, the wind off the sea made itself known. (Gaius had to subdue some worry for Dexion.) He kept Julia entertained with explaining things she hadn't yet seen: the buildings and temples along the Via Ostiensis; the warehouses along the banks of the Tiber; Ursus' warehouse, quite near the road; Mons Testaceus -- not a natural hill, but a huge rubbish-tip where all the shippers discarded amphorae from all over the Empire.

"More wasteful to ship empty amphorae back," Gaius said with a laugh. "Fresh clay and the labour to dig it is cheap."

There wasn't much of note to discuss once outside the city gates, other than the Sepulcrum Cestii -- the odd Egyptian-style pyramid-tomb of that stuck up out of the landscape like a sore thumb -- until they reached the Ostian necropolis.

"They're not just monuments," Gaius said thoughtfully. "I've heard many of the wealthier families are giving up on cremation -- they just chuck the body into a crypt."

Julia turned slightly green. "Imitating the Egyptians, just like the other fellow up the road, I suppose," she said with a disapproving sniff.

"Each man Pharaoh of his own home -- and tomb," Gaius shot back with a laugh. "Odd, what ideas they get into their heads, isn't it?"

Julia perked up a bit as they entered Ostia itself, and roused herself to admire the theater and Forum as they passed by them.

"I thought Ostia was just a harbour. Why would your pater's offices be here rather than Rome?" Julia asked.

"It's the difference between a shipper and an importer -- though that's how Pater started out, just like Ursus. Pater now owns a huge fleet in his own right, and makes his money by transporting alone -- at least, most of the time," Gaius added hastily, remembering the cargo of thrice-blasted Falernian. "Ursus has far fewer ships, and he splits his interest between shipping and wholesale -- so he's located where he can best serve his primary customer base, in Rome. It's far riskier, in a way, because if he loses a ship, he loses his investment in part of the cargo as well.

"At any rate, Ostia is a decent city all its own now -- 60,000 people or so. The navy is stationed here, which accounts for some of the population. Prices are more than a bit lower, too. I should imagine Quintus would have had to pay millions for a similar house in Rome, if Pater's description of it is to be believed."

The litter-bearers trotted them down the Cardo Maximus and through the Porta Laurentia, and they soon overtook a little marker incised DOMVS IOVIS ET GANIMEDE.

"Down this way," Gaius ordered the bearers, and they turned into the lane and followed it up to the portico of a very impressive domus.

Julia merely took his hand to step from the litter, and quickly straightened her palla before he escorted her to the front door. A slave was standing ready to show them in.

The vestibule was floored in black marble: columns of a contrasting marble supported the roof, and a mosaic paved the atrium. A fountain stood in the centre of the impluvium, spouting water into it. (Quintus must have had a hook-up to the aquaduct, although it was possible he had enough slaves to haul water to a second-level cistern for a gravity-fed line, or a pump of some sort -- a shocking extravagance for what was supposed to be a practical feature, but then Quintus, while careful with the business, wasn't known for denying himself luxuries.) Niches lined the walls, Grecian statues tucked inside, but Gaius wasn't close enough to tell if they were Roman copies or the far-costlier authentic items. The frescoes for which the house was named were here: the great god alternately wooed the hapless youth, and, in the last panel, abducted him. (Gaius wondered what possessed Quintus to leave them up. The paintings were certainly tasteful, but it was an odd subject for a family home.)

"They're waiting for you in the peristyle," the slave mumbled, and led them through an extravagant tablinum (far grander than the pater's) and into the open room beyond, which, while simpler than the atrium, eclipsed it for the sheer costliness of the materials used. Gaius was surprised Quintus hadn't sprung for a swimming-pool. (Or perhaps he had, and it was off in another wing of the house.)

One look at his brother and Lavinia told Gaius that Julia's assumption had been spot-on.

Quintus hadn't yet changed into a formal toga, but Lavinia, reclining on a lectus, was already done-up within an inch of her life: a gauzy palla over a fine, white silk stola which did nothing to hide the rolls of fat that twelve years of constant child-bearing and far too much rich food had packed onto her once-sylph-like frame. She'd gone easy on the jewelry -- for now -- but she'd taken to putting on her cosmetics with a trowel since the last time Gaius had seen her, and he could smell her heavy myrrh-based perfume from where he stood.

He'd never liked her before, and he now fought an instant sense of revulsion. At least Quintus was honest in his enjoyment of luxury, but he didn't flaunt it about his person as some people -- and Lavinia -- did.

"Quintus. This is my wife, Julia Corvina," Gaius said, drawing her forward with his other arm.

"Welcome to the House of Jove and Ganymede, Julia Corvina," he said, "and welcome to the family. My apologies for not extending an invitation sooner, but I wasn't at all certain the young fool would hear me out."

"It's worked out for the best," Julia replied steadily, "as we've been so busy organising. I thank you for your hospitality."

"Send her over, Quintus," Lavinia ordered testily. "I want to get a good look at her."

Julia dutifully crossed over to the lectus and stood while Lavinia stared up at her with narrowed eyes.

"Yes, Quintus' mater was quite right -- very, very pretty. Well-educated, too, she said -- is this true?"

"Latin of course, and Greek, and probably a bit more mathematics than usual. I developed an interest in Potions quite early, and he encouraged it."

"Potions?" Lavinia perked up and looked at Julia with a new interest. "That's a useful skill for a matron. And unusual for a man to encourage your interest." She shifted her bulk a bit to stare at Gaius (she never seemed to do anything but stare, somehow -- she had pop-eyes from the beginnings of a goiter). "I think your pater's done well for you, Gaius Longinius. Educated and pretty. Knowing you, you care for the first more than the latter." (Quintus snorted his appreciation at that.) She glanced back at Julia critically. "Not a great deal of fashion sense, true, but we can work on that."

"Good gods, she's on to clothes -- let's go into the garden," Quintus said with a groan, and pulled Gaius by the elbow after him.

"Quite all right, Gaius Longinius -- I'll watch out for her," Lavinia said, waving a lazy hand to dismiss him: and then she glared at the little wine-boy that stood over in the corner. "You there -- fetch that chair over here for Julia Corvina."

Julia met Gaius' eyes calmly -- he almost thought he saw the corner of her mouth quirk up in amusement -- and she took the chair that the scrawny little boy dragged over, and Quintus succeeded in yanking Gaius out onto the terrace.

"Can't stand womens' talk," Quintus grumbled. "Makes my skin crawl. Give Lavinia five minutes and she's on to how long her labours lasted and how long her breasts leaked after --"

"I have to say, though, she's right about Julia Corvina. Damned pretty. Of course, so was Lavinia, but that's the price you pay for doing your duty...." He glanced sidelong at Gaius. "Have you got her breeding yet?"

"No, no, I just asked -- too soon for her to show, I know. She just seems... untouched, somehow."

"She has that look," Quintus went on blithely. "Something pure and unsullied, something you can almost smell. Not all virgins have that, you know, and married women certainly don't.... I say, Gaius," he said, stopping in his tracks and staring at Gaius suspiciously, "you have been bedding her, haven't you? It would be just like you to try to spite Pater --"

"We spent the wedding-night in the traditional way, Quintus," Gaius said coldly, "and all day together the next. Alone. I don't imagine we're different than any other married couple, and I don't intend to tell you how often -- it's none of your bloody business."

"Oh, come on, Gaius, young man in the big city -- bound to experiment. I thought you and that mate of yours -- Lupercus, was it? -- were a bit too close, if you know what I mean, but I never caught the two of you at anything. And I'll be the first to admit that a quim can't compare to a boy's nice, tight arse, Gaius, but there's a reason they sing those ridiculous songs after the wedding --"

"My gods, Gaius, don't tell me you.... You haven't stooped to.... You're not a pathicus, are you?"

Gaius had had enough: he stepped closer to Quintus, less than a hands' length away, clenching his hands tightly in the folds of his toga to avoid hitting the man.

"Get this straight, Brother. I don't fuck men -- or boys -- and I certainly don't offer myself to others," he hissed, and Quintus flinched as some spittle landed on his cheek. "This subject is closed, and you have about two seconds to find another or I am fetching my wife and leaving immediately."

A rather ugly look crossed Quintus' face -- he'd never found it easy to refuse a challenge -- and then he relaxed and shook his head.

"All right, all right," Quintus said, and held up his hands in surrender: Gaius stepped back and walked a few paces away, fuming, as Quintus wiped the spit away. "No offence intended, you fool." He warily fell into step with Gaius. "How were Pater and your mater when you saw them?" he asked awkwardly. (When in doubt, comment on the weather or ones' parent's health.)

"Fine," Gaius said quite shortly, and then thawed a bit and admitted, "Mater drove us wild with packing things for us to bring. I think she wore herself out."

"Yes, very well. They seemed to understand each other right off. Or at least Mater understands Julia," Gaius amended, thinking of Julia's bewilderment over the silk, "and Julia took to Mater even if she doesn't understand her."

"That's good. I always thought your mater was a good sort, but she and Lavinia never seemed to hit it off. But Pater looked well?"

They walked several circuits of the garden: Quintus finally resorted to talking about the shipping business, and tried to pry more about the Muco affair out of Gaius (he wasn't successful), until the poor little wine-boy was sent out to tell Gaius that Julia had asked for a lie-down before dinner, and she thought he might like to have one as well.

For once, the idea of sharing a bed with Julia was far more attractive than any other option: so he accepted the summons and left his brother at the huge fountain in the middle of the garden. He could feel Quintus' eyes boring into his back as he walked up the terrace stairs and followed the boy to the second-floor guest bedchamber.

Julia was lying quiet on the lectus, and didn't speak when he removed his sandals and lowered himself down next to her.

Only then did he realise how tightly-wound he was: his shoulders were rigid with tension, and pain was creeping up his neck into his scalp. He'd have a migraine in short order if he couldn't relieve it, so he made a conscious effort to relax the muscles, and rolled onto his back until his shoulder bumped against Julia's.

He groped for her hand, found it, and clumsily laced his fingers with hers -- and her slender fingers squeezed back. She rubbed her thumb comfortingly along the knuckle of his first finger for a while, until she dozed off.

Gaius wished he could. He kept her hand in his until a slave came to help them dress for dinner.

Gaius was wrong about being inflicted with Quintus' and Lavinia's passel of brats -- except for the two youngest, still in the nursery. They were allowed to eat in the triclinium after all, though thankfully at their own miniature, ridiculously adult table and lecti at the other end of the room. All six of them were podgy and pug-faced with the exception of the second-eldest boy who suffered from some sort of palsy. (Gaius felt awful about that. He'd seemed the brightest and best-behaved when Gaius had seen him last, but his condition had degenerated noticeably since then: he now needed the help of a slave to walk about, and it appeared that eating properly was becoming a problem.)

He should have been impressed with the dinner -- it was calculated to impress, obviously, or at least he hoped it was -- but he wasn't. It was all far too rich, and there was far too much: as the courses weren't enumerated beforehand and were brought in singly he'd made an effort to go easy on the portions, but still miscalculated and was ready to puke by the time the tuna pate made its appearance. (Quintus didn't help matters by changing wines for each new dish, either.) Even the wedding feast hadn't been this lavish, though there had been plenty there given the number of guests, but this was for only four people, and Gaius was sickened by the thought that Quintus and Lavinia might consume even half this amount on a regular basis (though that would explain a lot). Lavinia, while a surprisingly dainty eater in terms of her table manners, managed to pack away huge amounts, and what she didn't finish off was sent over to the children, who fought over it.

She kept Julia busy with conversation and, thankfully, almost totally ignored Gaius: he was certain he would have done an credible imitation of Hyperion aboard-ship, otherwise. He tried to focus on Julia -- it wasn't hard, even Quintus was entranced -- and took the opportunity while Quintus and Lavinia were distracted with his wife to hide unwanted bits of food in his napkin.

He had first-hand inklings that something was wrong with Julia's family that evening.

It wasn't so much the comparison between Julia and Lavinia's clothing, although that was certainly noticeable: Lavinia had dressed for dinner and was swathed head to toe in silk, and every available surface was covered in jewelry. (She might have been accused of flouting the Sumptuary Laws had Augustus still been alive.) By contrast, Julia was in a fine but plain stola and palla (her best, which she hadn't before worn), and her only ornaments were a pair of antique ear-rings and a few wrist-bangles. (Gaius searched his memory of the marriage-contract, and concluded that those were the sum total of her jewelry.)

She still managed to outshine his piggy sister-in-law with a beauty that had nothing to do with fabrics or gold -- dress a pig in a flammeum and it was still a pig, after all, as Florius Crispus would undoubtedly say -- and Gaius tried to convince himself that Julia's loveliness was why he hadn't noticed the situation before.

But he couldn't. He had, in fact, to admit that Julia's everyday clothing was not terribly better than Rufia Docila's had been. And he was having a hard time understanding why Julius Nigellus, a man who could afford a spread every bit as lavish as Quintus', would clothe his daughter little better than the average Roman freedwoman.

After an interminable and dyspepsia-producing two hours, the dinner was done: Quintus stood from his lectus, reeling slightly, and excused himself and Gaius to the tablinum. (Gaius was too relieved to feel badly about abandoning Julia to Lavinia -- and to the sticky clutches of the brats -- yet again.)

Quintus detoured to the loo (a three-seater, convenient to the triclinium, with a marble-slab seat and rather spectacular wall-paintings to keep one amused for longer visits).

"I think Pater's done fine by you, Gaius," he said in mid-piss. "I was worried there for a bit, but I think you're the luckiest bastard in the whole bunch of us,"

"The question is," Quintus said, tucking himself back into his loincloth, "are you doing right by her?"

"Don't be stupid, idiot, I'm not talking about that," Quintus grumbled, and weaved his way down the hall with Gaius' help -- past the triclinium, where the eldest girl's voice was reaching an hysterical pitch over something or other -- and he pushed Gaius on ahead into the tablinum. "Light that lamp over the table, will you?"

Gaius took a twist of used papyrus from a cup on the desk, held it to the desk lamp, and then lit the huge, hanging lamp over the map-table as Quintus pulled a scroll from a cabinet.

"All the Corvinus routes," Gaius said automatically, and weighted down his end of the map with a heavy, smooth bit of glass (no mere stones for weights in Quintus' office). "I've seen this, Pater showed it to me last month --"

"Ah, but look at the notations. I doubt he put them to paper, gods bless his suspicious heart."

Gaius bent closer and squinted: along each route was marked a number -- sometimes in the high thousands or hundreds of thousands. But the main route -- from and to Rome -- was in the millions. Rather spectacular, in fact.

"Got it in one, Gaius. A seven per cent increase from the year before. And I expect ten per cent this year. Now have a look at these figures," Quintus said proudly, unrolled another parchment, and pinned it down with his finger-tips.

It was a list of the Corvinus profits on all the routes, with a total. There were also totals for all Corvinus Shipping's competitors -- including Ursus Imports, which ranked embarrassingly low on the list, though not on the bottom.

Gaius felt his face go red. This was very sensitive information, and Quintus shouldn't have been able to get his paws on it.

"Somewhat. They're not that bad," Gaius said grudgingly. "What's your point, Quintus?"

"Yes, I'm catching on -- It's what this whole bloody visit has been about, hasn't it? -- but you might as well say it outright."

"Fine. Seventeen per cent growth in two years, Gaius -- two years. That's unheard-of. The only company that's pulled off a coup of that magnitude," Quintus said craftily, "was Ursus, after he hired you. Ursus Imports went up nine per cent your first year, eight per cent last year -- and I reckon you would have gone over ten if it hadn't been for the weather. I think you might do better than twelve this year, maybe more if Dexion makes port and back."

(They were already over twelve, but Gaius wasn't about to volunteer the information.)

"I always knew you were good with numbers, Brother, but this proves that you understand the whole bloody thing -- maybe better than any of us. To take a piddling little business like that and turn it around...."

"I've got more coming in and going out than I can manage," Quintus said bluntly. "Why hire two more clerks when I could bring you on board instead?"

"Can you imagine what you could accomplish with Corvinus Shipping behind you? How that percentage could go through the roof? Do you have any idea how much we're talking about in denarii?"

"Oh, come off it, Gaius -- pull that better-than-thou stick out of your arse. Because you can do better. You can move more goods in six months with us than in an entire year with potty old Ursus."

"What does he pay you, anyway? A bloody pittance, I'll bet. I saw that rat-hole you lived in before, you know," Quintus said belligerently. "Thank the gods Pater didn't know just how bad it was -- I white-washed the description, or he'd have had an attack. So why stay there when you can accomplish more with less effort, and have decent pay besides?"

"It's not like I'd take you on as a clerk, anyway -- you'd be a junior partner. You know how Pater does it. I can guarantee you triple your current salary, maybe more, plus commissions."

"Well, you bloody well should," Quintus shot back. "You've had your fun, you know. You've proved you don't need the family, and the family's proved that it doesn't need you, either. Want you, yes, for some only gods-known reason, you ungrateful fool, but it doesn't need you. But you've got a family of your own, now, Gaius. Are you telling me you can support that lovely thing the way she deserves by clinging on to Ursus' toga-hem?"

"I'm not talking about subsistence, fool," Quintus said tiredly, stumbled away to a chair and plopped down, and stared at Gaius, bewildered. "Look, I don't doubt you've found a decent place -- I know there was an adequate settlement, Pater said you talked Nigellus out of a nice little packet. But there's no need for you to depend on that -- and you'll never actually get ahead if you do. Do you realise that as a junior partner and with a few good, solid seasons behind you, you could have something closer to this?" he said, waving his hands about. "As much comfort as a reasonable man could desire? And she wouldn't have to lift a finger."

"Yes, that's obviously done Lavinia good," Gaius shot back maliciously. "My gods, Quintus --"

"Do not," he said, voice dangerously low, "make assumptions about my wife. No, I didn't marry her for love, Gaius -- I daresay I don't love her now, but I am fond of her. I married her because she was pretty, once upon a time, and her pater was a very wealthy man., and she's paid me back a thousandfold -- she charmed countless clients with those looks when she still had 'em. She was almost as much an asset to the business as I am. And she's given me a child nearly every year --"

"Shut up and listen, you idiot. Do you have any idea what that means for a woman? Our real warriors aren't the Army, you fool, they're our women. Birthing a child is like going into battle for them, and there's just as much risk that they'll be lost, if not more. She's done right by me and the family. I know the way I choose to live doesn't meet with your approval --" he added caustically, "-- No, don't deny it, I caught on to how disgusted you were this afternoon. Yes, I fuck boys, as you so eloquently put it -- what healthy Roman doesn't on occasion? But no-one can accuse me of not caring for my wife. I've no right to set her aside or indulge in the kind of disgust for her that you obviously feel, because she's sacrificed everything for me and never complained, and by the gods she deserves every luxury I can give her."

Quintus lapsed back into his chair, exhausted by the tirade: Gaius stared down at the maps, speechless and very nearly ashamed of himself. He'd no idea that Quintus had such a strong loyalty to anyone but the pater, or that his distaste for Quintus and Lavinia had been so obvious.

"My point is twofold, fool," Quintus said after the silence had stretched out a considerable time. "The first is that the girl is an incredible asset, and you're not taking advantage of that -- it's obvious, boy, just looking at her. They're like fine jewels, Gaius -- they need a beautiful setting, very plain while they're still lovely, and more elaborate as time passes. Lavinia's the way she is now because.... Well, there's really nothing left of that sweet little girl I married. She has to make up for it with everything else, and I let her because I owe her.

"You need to spend some money on your Julia, pamper her, whether you love her or not -- it'll pay off on the business end. And you need to start on your nest egg now, before just getting by and too many babies wears off the lustre. The second reason.... Well, the second is just that she deserves it, damn it all, or will after a few babies."

"No, you wouldn't, and you'd have no idea why -- you're damned lucky, Gaius. I meant what I said about your mater, you know. She was lovely to all of us -- my lot, I mean, and she didn't have to be. And she was smart. Made certain Pater knew she wasn't going to be like my mum." Quintus looked up at him painfully. "Fourteen children in seventeen years, Gaius. Only six of whom survived. I barely remember her -- you'd have to talk to Lucius for a better idea -- but I remember she was practically an invalid. Part of that was having to flee from Ravenna when things got too hot, I know, but if she'd only been in better health then....

"Well, it's water under the bridge. Pater learnt his lesson -- too bad it meant my mater paid for it, but there it is. We're at the point now," Quintus mused softly, "where we need other options. Non-magical methods don't seem to work well for us, and I don't know if that's for wizards in general or us in particular.... At any rate, fool, I'm trying to tell you that this is a golden opportunity for you to get ahead. Even if you throw my offer back in my face, you need to keep in mind what I'm telling you -- I know I'm not as diplomatic as Lucius and Titus are even at my best, but it's good advice garnered from experience. Get yourself a cushion of wealth now, because you never know when there'll be another purge, and if you don't keep your head down far enough you're going to need to do what Pater did -- start over. And that's damned hard if you haven't prepared for it."

"I might take all this a bit more seriously," Gaius said, "if I was certain you weren't actually concerned with potential profit for the company."

" 'Course I am, fool, I'm a businessman," Quintus admitted cheerfully with a tired grin. "Blast it, but it sticks in my craw that you're benefitting Ursus instead of us. But Pater finally seems content to let you go your own way, so the best I can do is leave the offer on the table and make certain you understand the situation. All of it, not just the obvious business parts, though I didn't mean to give you such a massive walloping." His grin faded, and then he admitted, "We lot worry about you, you and the two girls, I mean. You all seem so innocent of the ways of the world -- understandable in their case, but you.... Well, Lucius and Marcus remember quite clearly why we had to leave Ravenna, and I was here through Nero's purge, so I have a bloody good idea what it must have been like. There's a reason Pater's dissociated himself from the more obvious magical circles, and why he's so concerned with your... interests. I was surprised when he yoked you to the Nigellii. I didn't think he'd hang about with someone like that."

"And you went along with it anyway? Good on you, Gaius. I think you're finally growing up. Do you think there's anything... off, about the girl?"

"No, not at all. Her pater's another matter. He's very cold. I didn't see anything, mind you, but I can imagine someone like him dabbling in dark arts."

"Hmmmph. Good thing you got her clear of him, then." Quintus ran the back of his hand over his face -- he was sweating copiously, even with the evening breeze that flowed from the garden, through the peristyle, and into the tablinum. "Think I'd better turn in soon. Don't give me an answer now, Gaius. Just keep the offer in mind. Doesn't matter much now, anyway, what with the slow season starting. Have you decided when you want to leave, tomorrow?"

"That's fine. Don't worry about hiring a litter, ours will take you back -- I'm not going in to the office tomorrow." Quintus heaved himself out of the chair, blew out the hanging lamp, and waved his hand at the bookshelves. "Entertain yourself all you like, fool. And I'm glad I finally got you out here, you pigheaded idiot."

"Good-night, Quintus," Gaius said softly as his brother lumbered off out of the tablinum and in the direction of the stair to the second floor.

Gaius didn't read the evening away -- though he tried at first: but he couldn't concentrate on the text. He wandered out into the garden instead and paced himself into exhaustion.

He couldn't manage anger over the pirated profits figures or the fact that Quintus had spied on him. Or even over the attempt to lure him away from Ursus.

It was very confusing, to find that someone you had so little in common with and so little respect for actually had admirable traits. That Quintus -- big, bullying Quintus, who'd mercilessly picked on Gaius when they were children, might actually have a code of ethics that Gaius could finally begin to understand, even if he didn't agree with the reasoning behind them.

The reasoning was wrong, of course. Quintus saw everything so clearly in terms of profit and loss. While that was excellent in business, it was appalling to apply it to other aspects of ones' life. To think of a wife as a business asset and a baby-producer....

No, that last wasn't fair. Quintus had offset that with an appreciation of and loyalty to Lavinia (as unlikely as that seemed) that made it clear he did care for her. And apparently they'd tried to limit the pregnancies and failed, if Gaius was understanding Quintus properly. Perhaps that was why Quintus resorted to boys -- to spare Lavinia. It would make a certain twisted logic to Quintus, Gaius thought: it was accepted behavior, Quintus would neither go without nor impregnate Lavinia or some poor unsuspecting non-magical whore, and Lavinia would have time to recover fully from her latest 'battle.'

He briefly wondered if Hyperion was right about the pater's fidelity after all, and then quickly dismissed the thought with a shudder. Speculating about his parent's sex life was too disturbing.

Curious, though, how one family could produce so much diversity, and that he hadn't noticed it before. There was his pater's first, disastrously over-fertile marriage -- eight miscarried or dead children, ye gods, he hadn't known about that; his mater's more carefully-spaced pregnancies; the loveless Lavinia and Quintus, who seemed, belatedly, to be trying to avoid the pater's early mistake; Lucius and Drusilla, who had found a middle ground and seemed genuinely in love.

Gaius couldn't have told Quintus that his concern was unwarranted -- that Gaius had no intention of getting any children whatsoever on her (and that, in fact, Quintus had given him some additional, excellent reasons not to). Quintus was so wrapped up in the idea of familia that he couldn't possibly understand.

It was all too odd for Gaius to wrap his mind and emotions around. He'd expected to be tense and outraged for much of the visit, but all he could muster up right now was sadness and pity for someone that he had, to this point, unthinkingly hated.

But Quintus was absolutely right about one thing: Julia deserved better than she'd apparently got at her father's hands, and better than Gaius had given her up to this point. (He might not have felt that before his earlier observation at dinner, but he couldn't deny it now.) And it didn't only include seeing that she was clothed properly, though certainly not up to Lavinia's questionable taste and standard.

Gaius was beginning to wonder if it might be so terrible to truly commit to the whole thing. Not Quintus' offer, though -- certainly not. He was well aware that Quintus had painted a very rosy picture of what life would be like at Corvinus Shipping. No, he wouldn't take his brother up on that. But he might now take the offer in the spirit in which it was intended, rather than seeing it as coercion, and decline it gracefully when the time came.

No, he meant Julia. To accept her as a true partner, even if not as the mother of his hypothetical and unwished-for children. He wasn't ready to give in yet -- he knew better than to do that now, while his emotions were so terribly in flux -- but he had to admit to himself that it was no longer an appalling idea.

"What was the after-dinner entertainment?" he mumbled after waving away the slave that tried to enter with him. (He could untie his own sandals, damn it.)

"Quintus the Younger stumbling through several stanza of The Illiad," Julia replied, amused, "in very bad Greek, and with many skips."

"You see? Pater made me learn it straight off. Poor boy, I let him fumble -- less humiliating for him than to be corrected by a woman."

"Does Hyperion know you can do that?" Gaius said, untangling himself from his toga.

"Yes. He's been expanding my vocabulary, too -- the bits they don't teach you in books. Some parts make much more sense, now."

Gaius groaned, and Julia giggled: when Gaius glanced at her again, her eyes were alight with mischief. (He suspected he was being teased, though he didn't doubt Hyperion was being a disgusting old reprobate and teaching her things she shouldn't know. He briefly felt a pang of jealousy that they got on so well, and then dismissed it.)

"You're not as upset as you were this afternoon," Julia said quietly as he blew out the lamp. "Did Quintus behave himself?"

"No," Gaius said as he slid in under the blanket, "but.... You've had the same impression, then?"

"That's what I'd thought, too. But it's not that, or at least it's innocently intended. I think it just doesn't occur to them that anyone mightn't actually want all this, you see. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, I think so. They can't imagine that anyone would deliberately choose another way. Perhaps they think it will spur your ambition, so they don't bother to be careful to avoid giving offence."

"Exactly. Because the gods know the only reason I'd turn down a position with pater's firm is lack of ambition."

"Yes. Again. I shan't, of course. If I'm not willing to commit to Ursus beyond the next year or two, I bloody well won't commit to Corvinus Shipping either, no matter what the benefits. Is that terrible of me?"

"Tolerable. There's... just no life of the mind, there. She's totally wrapped up in the children and her creature comforts."

"No. We talked about the house this afternoon and what I thought of your pater and mater. This evening she was on to Potions."

"No, really, Gaius --" she said quickly, her voice dropping to a whisper. "The slave's sleeping just outside the door. I'll tell you most of it tomorrow. But there was one thing...."

"I don't know. He was a baby when I was fourteen or so, and he seemed as fat and healthy as the rest. But Mater's said that not long after he started to walk on his own, he got clumsy -- lost his balance and fell a lot. I last saw him four years ago and it was already fairly bad, but not this awful. I don't understand it -- there was nothing wrong with his brain then, he was obviously bright, so it can't be feeble-mindedness."

"I could see that. He was prompting young Quintus, though it was hard to understand him. It's the muscles, you see -- they seem to waste away."

"It won't. Strengthening tonics might make him more comfortable, perhaps, but there's nothing I know of that would halt or reverse the course of the disease." She went silent for a bit. "I've heard Pater speak of cases like Lucillus' before. Perhaps I ought write him...."

"Too late now," she said. "And I needn't tell him it is -- I can present it as a case study, no need to identify the poor boy."

She went quiet again before admitting, "No, Gaius. They keep getting worse until they can't swallow or breathe properly. They either starve or suffocate."

"No. I think she's guessed, though, or they've had a physician in already. He would have told them as much."

"Oh, fuck," Gaius said tiredly. "Poor buggers. And that poor little blighter.... He was named for both Pater and Lucius, and it'll be a terrible blow to them, too."

"Puts them in a different light, doesn't it?" Julia mused, and snuggled down further into the blanket: the nights were getting cooler, now. "Most families would hide a child like that away, but Lavinia seems to adore him as much as the others."

Gaius decided he'd take her word for it, as she'd been around the woman more than he.

He was so upset over poor Lucillus that he didn't stop to consider how neatly his observations of the day and Julia's had fit together, or to wonder at the understanding that had passed between them.

They stayed later the next day than Gaius had anticipated. It wasn't that Quintus and Lavinia were any less abrasive: but Gaius felt more forgiving, somehow, though he gritted his teeth often. Julia took it all with her usual serenity, even when the children demanded that she come out to the garden to play with them after breakfast.

"Stop by the office next time you're at the port," he said gruffly as they stood in the portico, waiting for Lavinia to release Julia from a prolonged farewell. "No need to be strangers any longer."

"I will, Quintus," Gaius said, and darted out of the way of two of the children as they shot out of the front door.

"I'm sorry I acted like a bastard for the past three years -- though you helped a great deal with that," Quintus added with a glower.

Quintus snorted at that -- and then lunged, with surprising speed for a man of his bulk, at the doorway as Lucillus stumbled out after his siblings and nearly went headlong down the steps.

"Zeno!" Quintus bellowed into the house. "Gods damn it all, where's that bloody slave?"

"He's stinky right now," Lucillus slurred, and then giggled: Gaius had to bend down to catch his words. "They had beans for dinner and breakfast."

"You'd be stinky too, then. You were a terribly stinky baby, for that matter, but we put up with you anyway," Quintus grumbled back, and gently wiped a bubble of spit from the corner of Lucillus' mouth. "You'll crack your head open if you run loose, you know that. Julia, my dear," he said as she came through the door, "thank you for taking on the fool. Don't let him be such a stranger in future."

"I shan't," she said, and meekly accepted a kiss from him (and one from Lucillus, too).

"All right, off with you both," Quintus growled, and Gaius helped Julia into the litter before hopping in himself. "For the gods' sakes, don't tip these bastards when they get you home -- they'll go hang about the Games, and I want them back before next market-day," he bawled after them as the litter-bearers trotted them off down the road.

They were halfway down the lane before Julia muttered, "I really don't care for the way he calls you 'fool' all the time."

"Ah, well, he always has," Gaius said with a backward glance at the portico, where Quintus still stood with Lucillus, both of them waving goodbye. "I suppose that to him, I am."

He settled back into the cushions, wondering if he would ever be able to forget the sight of big, bullish Quintus standing there with his arms about his slight, twist-limbed son. He rather thought not, and accepted the uncomfortable, unfamiliar ache in his heart that went with the memory.

For the second time in two days his hand sought and found Julia's, and he said not a single word all the way back to Rome.

I MOD. TRITICVM	Id	IIIs	IIa
II SEXT OLEUM [PRIMVS]		IIs
I HEM VINVM [SECVNDVS]		Is
I PVLLUM		IXs
I MOD. LENTIS		Xs
I SEXT MEL	Id
VI OVVM		IIs
II BRASSICAE			IIa
I VVAE		IVs
I SEXT OLEAE VIRIDIS....

GVSTVM	MENSA PRIMA	MENSA SECVNDA
OLEAE VIRIDIS ET NIGER (Green and Black Olives) ACETARIA (Salad) HILLARUM LVCANICVM (Lucanian Sausages) GVSTVM DE PRAECOQVIS (Starter with Apricots)	PATINA DE PISCICVLIS (Soufflé of Small Fishes) PVLLVM ANISEVM (Aniseed Chicken) SARDA ITA FIT (Tuna Pate)	ALITER DVLCIA (Nut-Paste Dumplings) TIROPATINAM (Honey Soufflé) POSVM ET CAESVS (Fresh Fruit and Cheese)