have to provide. I rather think my dear brother is suffering from that right now. You must remember they’re nothing like they were in father’s day. Now, with wild beasts and gladiatorial death fights, they cost a fortune.’
‘Then Quintus should help you,’ said Claudia.
Titus smiled. ‘I won’t ask and he has yet to offer.’
Cholon cut in. ‘Then he ignores his responsibilities, and, I may say, your father’s wishes.’
Titus just shrugged; as head of the house, Quintus had inherited a great deal of money and a lot more in assets. Given time to repair the depredations caused by Aulus’s bequests, he was again among the wealthiest men in the city. What Titus had been left, while ample to live on, was nowhere near enough to provide him with the means to embark on a public career. If he could not find an alternative source of income, the cursus honorum was barred to him. Intent upon his own progress, Quintus saw it as no part of his duties to use some of the huge estate to advance his younger brother’s political career.
‘I have the funds you need,’ said Claudia.
‘It’s not just money,’ Titus replied. ‘Quintus has inherited all of father’s clients as well. They are committed to him, to his bid for the office of praetor. Then there’s his attendance on Lucius Falerius, who practically controls the house. Unless he requests their aid, on my behalf, no amount of money will secure me office. My only avenue would seem to be a resounding success in the field, and right now Rome has no enemy so threatening that we must fight them.’
A slave stood in the doorway, silently waiting for a break in the conversation. It was Cholon who noticed him and he indicated his presence to Titus, who beckoned him forward.
‘A messenger at the gate, your honour, who begs to speak with you.’
‘At this hour?’ said Claudia.
‘He is from the house of the most noble Lucius Falerius Nerva.’
Titus frowned. ‘Is he indeed?’
‘He did not say so, master, but I recognised him.’
Titus had no need of Claudia’s permission, this being his house as much as hers, but he requested it nonetheless. ‘May I fetch him in, Lady Claudia?’
‘The messenger has asked to speak with you alone, master.’
‘See him at the gate, Titus,’ said Claudia. ‘I have a morbid fear of anything Falerii entering the house.’
She meant it as a joke, but it was one of those sallies that contained a measure of uncomfortable truth. Titus stood up and donned his slippers, making his way out of the dining room, across the atrium, to the postern gate. The Falerii slave stood just inside the door, with two of Quintus’s slaves keeping an eye on him.
‘Please leave us alone,’ said Titus, softly.
‘A request from the most noble Lucius Falerius Nerva.’ The messenger hesitated, to see what effect the name would have, plainly disappointed that it had none; the man before him did not even flicker one of those heavy, dark eyebrows.
‘What is the request?’ asked Titus evenly.
‘He asks that you call upon him tonight.’
‘I am occupied tonight, dining with my stepmother.’
The slave frowned. The idea that anyone could put dinner with their stepmother above a summons from the leading man in Rome was absurd. ‘I am empowered to say, by my master, that the request is of an urgent nature.’
‘It must be, but that doesn’t alter anything.’
‘My master also asked that I invoke the name of your father, the most noble Aulus Cornelius Macedonicus. It is in his memory that he asks you to call on him.’ Titus fought back his anger and the temptation to throw this messenger into the street; no good would come of taking his ire out on the slave. Besides, he was intrigued; Lucius could hardly be unaware of Titus’s feelings towards him. The slave continued, his voice somehow taking on the silky tones of his owner. ‘My master feels that he has failed his old friend, something he would wish to remedy.’
‘He’d be in for a long night, fellow,’ snapped Titus.
‘Can I carry back a positive reply, sir?’
The silence lasted for several seconds, before Titus nodded abruptly. The messenger turned and departed immediately, leaving him to shut the gate.
Lucius came out personally and led him into the study, begging him to sit before returning to his own chair behind the desk. They looked at each other without speaking for a few moments before his host opened the conversation.
‘Something tells me, Titus Cornelius, that you do not hold me in very high regard.’
‘If anyone is aware of the reasons for that, it would be you,’ replied Titus without rancour. He had decided, on the way here, that nothing Lucius did would make him lose his temper.
‘I will not seek to justify myself.’
‘You cannot.’
The older man smiled coldly. ‘You misunderstand. I mean that I don’t see the need. I sleep easily at night.’
Again they sat in silence, each weighing up the words that had been uttered, until Titus spoke, betraying a hint of impatience. ‘The hour is late, I have been forced to leave my stepmother in the middle of dinner. Pray be so good as to tell me why you asked me to call?’
‘I am grateful, Titus. Not everyone would abandon their stepmother to attend on me.’
The sarcasm was too much and Titus snapped out his reply. ‘I may well abandon you, to attend upon someone whom I do respect.’
The insult did not dent Lucius’s self-assurance one bit, his voice remained even. ‘I’m glad to see you’re not made of stone.’ He picked up a roll from the desk and opened it. ‘You remind me of your father, Titus, and according to your various commanders, you are his equal as a soldier. They are full of praise for your military abilities.’
‘Have you been spying on me?’
Lucius sat back, his face a picture of mock amazement. ‘Spying? What an odd word to use. If I was going to spy, it would be on someone with the power to harm me. You don’t come into that category.’
‘Yet you seek information on me?’
‘Your father and I were good friends. Once, when we were young, we swore an oath in blood, to remain true to each other. Is it not fitting, given that oath, that I should seek news of his son?’
‘No!’
Lucius was still looking at the scroll. ‘You’re right, of course. I have far more important matters to attend to, the doings of obscure military legates, however brave, are of little consequence.’ Titus stood up abruptly, but Lucius looked up at him, still smiling. ‘Sit down, Titus. I am no more prepared to be insulted by your assumed probity than you are by my apparent duplicity. I called you here so that I can aid you. If you wish to leave, do so. If you want a political career to match your military one, sit down.’
Titus paused, then sat down.
‘Do I detect interest?’ said Lucius, eyebrows raised.
‘Curiosity,’ replied Titus. ‘You have said I remind you of my father. If I do, then like him, I cannot be bought.’
Lucius sighed. ‘We could sit here all night discussing the relative merits of political systems and the need for expediency, but I fear what fascinates me would doubtless bore you.’
‘Please come to the point.’
‘Very well. I think your brother is behaving badly. I think he has let you down, you and the memory of your father.’ Titus fought to keep his face a mask; they had been discussing that very point when Lucius’s messenger called. It was uncanny; it almost seemed like sorcery. ‘Do you agree?’
‘I make it a point never to discuss private family matters outside the home.’
‘Then you’re alone, it’s common gossip in the market-place.’ He held his hand up to stop Titus interrupting. ‘Are you aware that I have put my support behind Quintus in his bid for the praetorship?’
Titus raised his heavy eyebrows. ‘I know he’s exceedingly confident.’
Lucius bowed his head to acknowledge the compliment. ‘I also intend to aid him to the consulship and, if he wishes the office, in time, the censorship.’
‘Why?’
