there was a quietbut insistent voice that whispered to me, "Who are you to complainabout your fate, when measured against all that he's done?" For thefirst time since being handed the scroll with his seal on it, I wasstruck by doubt, wondering if what I was threatened with losing wasa small price to pay when compared to such greatness. Fortunatelyfor me, that did not last very long; after all, I reminded myself,all that I was seeing now was possible only because men like me hadmade it so. Without us, without the Legions of Rome, none of whatOctavian had tried to accomplish would have happened, and when allmatters were considered, had I not done more than my share? I hadshed blood, both my own and that of other men, in the pursuit ofall that lay before me, so why did I not deserve to reap somereward? As much as I had gained, as much as I had accrued in termsof money, property, and fame, I had lost at least as much. Atleast, that is the way I looked at it, and I still do. I hadsacrificed what most men would say was all that made lifeworthwhile: a family, a life filled with children and laughter, andthe promise of the future that comes from knowing that you live infuture generations. Looking around at all the grandeur, at thephysical signs of what Rome is to the world, I felt both a fiercesense of pride in playing a role in making it, and a sense of ragethat I was going to suffer for no other reason than doing my dutyto the best of my ability. Probably not surprisingly, my frame ofmind was not conducive to having a conversation with Diocles, so itwas not the most pleasant of walks for either of us. We traveledaround the Palatine to a point where we could see the CircusMaximus, reminding me that I had yet to attend a chariot race sinceI had arrived. It was probably too late, I reflected, as wefollowed the directions that Scribonius had given us, seeing how Iwas going to lose my life within the next two or three days. Wereached the villa that Scribonius had described, recognizable onlybecause of its slightly different shade of white, and a statue ofAphrodite that stood in an alcove next to the main entrance. When Iknocked on the gate, it was opened immediately, and a slave allowedus entrance, clearly expecting the two of us. Without a word, hebeckoned us to follow him, and we did so, entering into a villathat was in almost every respect identical to that of every othervilla on the Palatine, at least in layout. What distinguished itwas in the quality of the mosaics and the murals on the walls,which, even with my under-educated eye, I could see were very welldone. Before we passed through the atrium, Scribonius met us,wearing a tunic that was something I had never seen him wearbefore; brocaded and made of the finest wool. My initial reactionwas to burst out laughing, which caused his face to turn a shade ofred that came perilously close to matching our sagum fromour days in the Legions.
Looking down at his attire, he gave aself-conscious grin, saying, "I didn't pick it out."
"I can see that." I laughed. "But, by thegods, who made you wear that?"
Rather than answer me immediately, he simplysaid, "Follow me, and I'll show you."
Entering into the triclinium, I sawthat as I expected, the table was surrounded by couches in thenormal upper-class manner of Roman dining. What I was not expectingwas the woman standing there, dressed in a stola ofobviously expensive fabric, cut in the latest style, with her hairswept up and piled atop her head in the Roman fashion.
"Titus, I would like you to meet Aurelia,"Scribonius announced.
Aurelia Cotta Scribonius was, simply put, anastonishing beauty, despite the fact that she was of only aslightly younger age than Scribonius, or me, for that matter.Although there was gray in her hair, it was evenly sprinkled amongthose as black as a raven's wing. Time, I could instantly see, hadbeen extraordinarily kind to her; her jaw line was still firm, andthe slight creases around her eyes only enhanced her beauty,bespeaking of much time spent laughing. Not lost on me, despite myown advanced age, was her figure, which was both enhanced andhidden from view by the folds of her garment. In short, she was avision of loveliness, and I found myself completely at a loss forwords.
"Titus Pullus." She extended her hand;unlike the men of our society, women do not engage in the claspingof forearms. "I have heard so much about you from Sextus. I can'tbelieve that we finally have a chance to meet. I'm only sorry aboutthe circumstances."
I am not ashamed to say that I wascompletely flummoxed, but I managed to retain enough composure totake her offered hand, and bent down to kiss it.
"Aurelia." I was sure I sounded like ablubbering fool. "The honor is mine. Anyone who's a friend ofScrib...I mean, Sextus, is certainly a friend of mine."
"A friend?" She regarded me with an archedeyebrow. "I would like to think that I'm more than a friend toSextus."
She looked over to my friend, who stoodthere mute, with the same expression that I am sure a pig hasimmediately after it is struck between the eyes, right before it isslaughtered.
Finally, Scribonius seemed to find histongue, saying in a hoarse voice that I had never heard before,"She’s more than a friend, Titus. She is the love of my life."
I felt my jaw drop, although, as I lookback, I do not know why I should have been so surprised. Suddenly,my friend's actions and behavior suddenly made sense.
"You dog!" I exclaimed, completelyforgetting the circumstances and any idea of decorum. "That's whyyou've been skulking about! And with your brother's wife!"
The moment the words came out, I would havegiven every sesterce of my fortune to make it as if they had neverbeen uttered, especially when seeing the wounded look on myfriend's face.
"It's true," Aurelia spoke, her tone calmand head held erect, as if defying me
