Liberalia, and more men would be inquiring about my availability for marriage, since this was the age by which even the most restrictive fathers realized they would have to let their daughters go. I twisted my napkin nervously in my hands.
We both looked at Julia and Marcellus, laughing and happy in their newly wedded bliss. He had taken her up in his arms, and a long procession was forming to escort them into their new villa. As they passed our table, Julia’s gaze met mine and her smile faltered. I knew she was thinking about her mother. I stood up and pressed her hand. “Someday, when you are empress …” I whispered. Her face brightened, and as Marcellus carried her away, I made a silent prayer to both Isis and Serapis that Julia would always be this happy. Time and again she had been kind to me, and I had repaid that kindness with jealousy. She had been denied the love and affection of her mother; now, at least, she would have it from a husband.
“Do you want to go with them?” I asked Alexander.
“No. It will only be depressing,” he said.
Secretly, I was thankful. Although I was curious to see what her villa was like, I had no desire to watch Marcellus untie Julia’s girdle, then lay her down on his bridal couch while men sang lewd songs and made grunting noises. “I’m going to go to sleep, then,” I told him.
“Don’t wait up for me.”
“But it’s almost morning!”
My brother smiled. “And there’s still a few amphorae of the Chian left.”
When I awoke that afternoon and looked across the chamber, I saw that Alexander’s couch hadn’t been slept on.
It was three days before we saw Marcellus and Julia again. They remained in their villa enjoying each other and their sudden freedom, and Marcellus didn’t even attend school with the
“Three days!” she cried. “He hasn’t studied with the
“He’s a newlywed,” Vitruvius pointed out calmly. “I’m sure it’s not a sign of anything but love.”
Octavia saw my face and mistook my pain for disapproval.
“You see?” she exclaimed. “Selene understands. That’s why she comes here with you every day when she could be shopping with Julia or studying Plato. I will warn him this evening.”
“At his first feast?” Vitruvius asked. “He’ll be playing the host.”
“He can play at whatever he’d like so long as he studies! Even from Iberia,” Octavia warned, “Livia keeps her eye on Rome. You think I don’t know what her slaves are writing? And if Augustus should discover what Marcellus has been doing—lying in bed, watching the races from his balcony—don’t think there aren’t plenty of other choices for heir.”
Vitruvius gave a hollow laugh. “Like who? Tiberius would rather be castrated.”
“And would Livia care? She would put him through the trials of Hercules if she thought it would bring him closer to power. When I’m finished speaking with Marcellus,” she demanded, “you must speak to him as well.” Only after Vitruvius nodded gravely did she look down at the scroll we were working on. “Is that the Pantheon?” she asked.
“Yes. Selene and I are about to oversee the installation of the gods, and by the time your brother returns, it will be finished.”
“Then there’s been news?” I asked swiftly. I looked at Vitruvius and Octavia, but neither of them seemed inclined to answer.
“Only half of Cantabria has been subdued,” Octavia said. “The war may take another six months, even though he promised to be here for the unveiling.”
“I can ask Agrippa whether he wishes to postpone it,” Vitruvius said uncertainly.
But Octavia shook her head. “No. It wouldn’t be right for such a great building to stand empty.”
“Come with us,” Vitruvius said imploringly. “You haven’t seen the construction in more than a year, and you can write to your brother about what’s been completed.”
“He’ll be jealous.” She smiled sadly. “Agrippa tells me it’s unlike anything that’s ever been built.”
Vitruvius offered her his arm. “You’ll have to judge that for yourself.”
Octavia invited Gallia to come with us, and when we arrived, their eyes were drawn upward to the pediment, where sculptors had inscribed: MARCUS AGRIPPA, SON OF LUCIUS, CONSUL FOR THE THIRD TIME, MADE THIS BUILDING. There was nothing unusual about the outside of the building. It was a colonnaded porch of simple concrete and brick. But as we passed through the great bronze doors into the Pantheon, I heard Gallia whisper something in her mother tongue.
Nothing in the world had ever equaled it in beauty or grandeur, not even in Alexandria. From the rich marble flooring to the internal colonnades, light and color worked together to create something that had never been done before. The dome was decorated with octagonal and hexagonal shapes, making it appear like a honeycomb to anyone who was standing beneath it. In the center was a large, perfectly round opening, an oculus, which let in the only light.
Gallia’s gaze traveled from niche to niche, where workers were using oiled polishing cloths to prepare them for the reception of the marble statues. When she repeated her amazed sentiments in Gaulish, Juba stepped from the shadows and replied, “It’s impressive, isn’t it?”
I looked at Vitruvius in surprise. He explained, “He has come to inspect the statues for flaws and authenticity. They only arrived this morning.”
Juba and Gallia spoke for a moment in her language, then he turned and greeted Octavia and Vitruvius. But when it came to me, his voice was not so merry. “I don’t believe there are any mosaics that need finishing.”
“I am here to make measurements for the statues,” I retorted.
He turned to Vitruvius. “What?” he asked with mock indignation. “You didn’t think I would consider that before buying them?”
Vitruvius looked genuinely apologetic, but Juba slapped his back good-naturedly.
“Of course.” Juba laughed. “There is no point in hauling a marble statue across the chamber if it’s only going to be returned.” He took Gallia and Octavia on a short tour of the building, and while they were busy I helped Vitruvius take the measurements. I hoped desperately that one of the statues would be too tall or too wide for its niche, but, frustratingly, Juba was right. They all fit.
“Well?” Juba stood over me when we were finished.
“They’re fine,” I said shortly, rising and dusting my hands on my tunic.
“A perfect job,” Vitruvius complimented. “And very handsome sculptures, Juba. Are they all Roman?”
“Only the Venus is Greek. For some reason, I was drawn to her face.”
I looked across the Pantheon to the statue of Venus. Perhaps it was my own vanity that made me think I recognized her. But the nose and possibly the light, painted eyes were similar to mine. Then Gallia dropped her voice and whispered, “She reminds me of Caesar’s mistress.”
“Terentilla.” Juba nodded. “Yes. Perhaps you’re right.”
That evening, I dressed more carefully than usual for Marcellus’s first feast. I put on my favorite tunic of blue silk and a belt of silver cloth to match my sandals. Then Gallia arranged my hair in a handsome bun on the top of my head, using long silver pins to hold it in place. The result in the mirror was extremely pleasing, and even Gallia was impressed. She sprayed me with a blend of violet and jasmine.
“You have turned into a real beauty,” she said. “Hera would be jealous if she had to compete with you.”
I laughed. “How do you know that story? It’s a Greek tale.”
“I read. And sometimes, Magister Verrius tells those tales to me.”
“Does he miss us?” I asked as we walked to the portico.
“What do you think? He has Drusus and Vipsania now for students. They do not study much.”
My brother and Lucius were already on the portico, gambling with dice. “Don’t you ever stop?” I teased.
