his litter, and I wondered whether he’d been hiding until his mother had gone inside. He looked to Vitruvius. “May I come on your tour?”
“I didn’t know you were interested in architecture.”
Tiberius shrugged sheepishly. “If Selene’s interested, I might be, too.”
We followed Vitruvius into the palace, where the entrance tesserae of colored limestone spelled out the Latin greeting
“It’s nothing like Rome,” I said wonderingly. The walls were ornamented with painted apses and niches. “And look at the marble edges on the pillars!”
“And the painted ceilings,” Vitruvius added.
“How were all of these made?” Tiberius asked.
“The frescoes? Selene can tell you.”
“By applying three coats of mortar and three coats of lime mixed with powdered marble. Then the artist painted on the wall while the mixture was still damp.”
“You’ve learned a lot about this,” Tiberius remarked.
“She’s a good student.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I’m not surprised. She’s my only real competition at school.” Although he was unbearably arrogant, I couldn’t help being flattered. “You should show her the library,” he said to Vitruvius.
“That’s where we’re going.”
It was magnificent. Heavy wooden shelves from ceiling to floor were crammed with scrolls. Seabirds had been carved into the wood of the ceiling, and beautiful urns filled the niches. Vitruvius explained how the shelves had been built, then took us through the triclinium and the guest chambers, pointing out small features like fluted columns and barrel-vaulted spaces painted in sea green and gold. Every room we entered was richly furnished. There were marble-topped tables and couches faced with bronze. Even the chairs were inlaid with precious ivory. When we reached my chamber at the top of the stairs, I saw that I would still be sharing with Alexander, but the room was so large that it was impossible to see all of its corners from the doorway. Straw hats and feathered fans had been laid on our tables, and thick leather sandals for walking along the rocks had been left out for us as well. I stepped onto our balcony overlooking the sea.
“Is it as beautiful as Alexandria?” Tiberius asked earnestly from behind.
I didn’t lie. “Yes.” I turned to Vitruvius. “How long did all of this take?”
“My entire youth.”
“And the most difficult part?”
He indicated the immaculate gardens with their shady bowers and small marble temples.
“Can we see them?” I asked eagerly.
He led us down the stairs and through a pair of doors that opened onto a portico. There were gardens in every direction, some colonnaded, others terraced to the sea. Vines trailed from painted bowers, and, as we walked beneath them, he explained the difficulty.
“A garden is like an onion,” he said. “It takes layer after layer to make it whole. First the earth has to be cultivated, then the landscape rearranged.” He pointed to thickets of myrtle and boxwood, then showed me the orchards where peach trees grew among lemons and figs. “But it’s the small details that make it complete.”
Sea daffodils and lilies spilled from heavy urns. And where fountains bubbled merrily, Carystian marble gods raised their arms to the sun. As we reached the bottom of the garden, Vitruvius pointed to the heated bathing pool from which swimmers could look out over the sea. Even in Alexandria we had never had such pools. And there were many more things he showed me that afternoon that rivaled Egypt for beauty.
When we returned to the triclinium in time for the evening’s meal, I saw that Alexander had put on a new tunic, while I was still in my traveling clothes.
“So what did you do all day?” he asked.
“Looked at architecture with Vitruvius and Tiberius.”
Julia popped open an oyster. “That’s it?”
“There’s a great deal more to the palace than you know,” Tiberius retorted.
Marcellus raised his brows. “Such as?”
“The slaves’ chambers,” I said. “And have you seen the baths that they use?”
Julia laughed. “Who would want to do that?”
“You might,” I said sternly. “They are some of the most beautifully frescoed pools I’ve ever seen. And their rosewater is better than what you use in Rome.”
Julia wrinkled her nose. “Really? Why are the slaves living so well?”
“Because we only come here once a year,” Marcellus guessed. “The rest of the time they’re doing as they please. Your father doesn’t call this the Land of Do-Nothings without a reason.” He smiled at me. “I’d like to see their baths.”
“I’m sure Vitruvius will take you.”
“Or you can.”
Everyone at the table paused. My brother darted a look of warning at me. Then Julia said lightly, “You can take all of us. Tomorrow afternoon.”
Marcellus shook his head. “I heard your father say we’ll be visiting Pollio.”
Julia lowered the oyster in her hand.
“Pollio is always lending money to the treasury,” he explained. “And you know he comes to the sea every year—”
“So my father’s planning on spending the day with a murderer for a handful of denarii?” Julia cried.
Marcellus put his finger to his lips, but Octavian was busy talking about antiquities with Juba. “At least you’ll get to see Horatia,” he offered.
“And then what?” she hissed. “Ask if she’s enjoying the sea?” She pushed away her plate of food and stood. “I’m not in the mood for this anymore.”
She left the triclinium, and Marcellus was caught between going after her and remaining with us.
“Oh, just let her be,” Alexander suggested. “My sister can talk to her.”
“Why me?” I exclaimed.
“Because you’re a girl and understand these moods.” Since I had experienced my moon blood several months before, Alexander had suffered a few of my irrational tantrums.
“Yes,” Marcellus pleaded. “Better you than us.”
“And you wouldn’t rather go?” I asked temptingly.
Marcellus shook his head. “She’s vile when she’s angry.”
I suppressed a smile and stood. So long as we weren’t sitting at Octavian’s table, no one cared when we left the triclinium. I found Julia on the balcony of her chamber, illuminated by torchlight and watching the waves. “Marcellus?” she asked eagerly, and her shoulders sagged a little when she saw that it was me. “Selene.” Her pale tunic fluttered in the breeze, and I realized that her cheeks were wet.
“I’m sure your father isn’t doing this to hurt you,” I said.
“No.” She spun around. “Livia is. You think my father can’t borrow gold from a thousand other men? Why Pollio?” she demanded. “Why tomorrow, just as we’re free from the ludus and beginning to enjoy ourselves?” She stalked from the balcony, and I followed her into her chamber. Her eyes were brimming with tears. “I won’t go.”
“Don’t give Livia the satisfaction,” I told her. “She wants to see you alone and upset while all the rest of us are out together. And if you don’t go tomorrow, she’ll know she’s found a way of excluding you. She’ll only do it again.”
Julia sat on her couch. “You saw what she did to Gallia,” she said. “Without lifting a finger. If I go, she’ll only find another way to hurt me.”
“Then tell your father!” I seated myself on one of her chairs.
“Do you think he would listen?” She laughed scornfully. “I’m like one of his Setinum wines being aged to perfection. And when the time is right, he’ll sell me off to Marcellus.”
