As people mingled freely, Regulus remained fixed to the spot. The room was bustling, as large parties in the capital tended to be these days, but Regulus stoutly declined to move from his position, opposite the foremost senator of the day, Lucius Sempranius. The man was possibly the closest advisor to the
Imperator, a man of some considerable influence, though not one of ultimate command; certainly not
Patrician. – no Senator would ever be in serious consideration for that. Regulus naturally gravitated towards the older man. He had never really managed to strike up a conversation with someone of his own age and class that hadn’t been at least partly regretted, at least, not that he recalled. Lucius was, it was rumoured, going to be swiftly confirmed as
Princeps Senatus, as the most distinguished man in the Senate. He had been in favour for a long time, ever since he had played the defining role in the embassy to Constantinople, with the bishop and the farmer. Certainly, he had the wealth, power, and influence to back such a claim, and the time between the murder of Senator Markus and the now was sufficient not to make such an advancement appear too unseemly or indecorous.
Regulus had insisted on coming to the party, hosted as it was by the great man himself. It had been the source of much argument, but Hesta had eventually acquiesced once it became apparent Regulus had no interest in mingling with anyone she wished to talk to, and vice versa. Hesta herself lounged with Tarquinius, along with Claudina, a lady in the retinue of the Lady Barbaria, all chatting with much gusto, laughing, smiling, and flirting surreptitiously. The room was heavy with words and noises, as many servants and guests mixed and food was stirred and crunched, wine was poured and drank. Regulus was hanging on every word that the Senator was saying to him, nodding occasionally and sometimes blinking, but otherwise in perfect awe.
“If the Senate was of any direct relevance, it would have to be abolished. It’s a sad state of affairs, and I deplore it, but it’s a question of political realism. The only means of keeping order today” Lucius said, leaning close to Regulus, as if sharing a secret confidence,
“is for every man to do his duty, under god, and obey the Emperor, as we did centuries ago.”
Regulus thought that was a curious interpretation of history, to say the least.
“The military has run riot for a century, half-stuffed with barbarians whenever it wasn‘t dying against them in futile battles. That’s no basis for running the empire.“ Lucius said, mildly disgusted.
“Wise words, Senator. And you gn-gn-know that the Imperator will always have our fh-fh-family‘s full support.”
Lucius Sempranius Syraticus
“Oh, it’s not the senatorial families the Imperator is worried about, son.” Lucius failed to extrapolate on that particular comment.
“No cause for concern there, heh” Regulus wondered whether or not he detected a slight hint of nervousness in the Senator’s voice.
“No, the next big thing will have to be focused on the profiteering that’s seemingly going on from all that business in Sicily. Between you and me, there’s bastards down there who are quite prepared to recoup their loses to the Vandals by practically any means necessary, and it’s got to stop. Needless to say, the Imperator isn’t too pleased by it all. You can’t have all these provincial semi-literates trying to swindle their way out of taxes and duties. The best solution would, in all honesty, be to…“
But Regulus never found out what the best solution would be. For, at that moment there was a thunderous crash to his left, which immediately caused the noise of conversation in the room to cease immediately. It had apparently given quite a few people an intense shock, as an array of startled faces and pricked eyes testified. A serving boy, doubtless green in such matters, had lost his grip on a large bowl of something brown and greasy, and it had hit the floor, smashing into a thousand fragments of oozy black pottery. The resulting mess was quite astonishingly total, and some of it reached so far as to splash onto part of Regulus’ hem, which was draped over the side of his couch. The boy stepped backwards from shock, and his foot found another, knocking both off balance. Falling backwards with astonishing speed, the two bodies fell somewhere out of Regulus’ line of sight. Suddenly, people were on their feet and the churn of voices was once again swelling up to engulf the room.
“What in god’s holy name?!” Lucius said, swaying forwards off his couch, and onto his feet. He quickly found himself and strode towards the heap of bodies on the other side of the room, his face red and blustered. He picked his way through the resulting mess on the floor, and found the boy in question. He gave him a sharp kick. Regulus couldn’t see to what part of his body it was administered. People were crowding around, half-off their couches, half-standing on the floor, their faces full of surprise and alarm.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?"
The boy gave a few pitiful whining noises. Lucius kicked him again. People were now taking an active interest and were, in some cases, straining their necks to see. Tarquinius was steadying himself, drawing himself up from the floor, and immediately began to attempt to pull the boy up, dragging him by the scruff of his tunic, and pushing him against a side wall, away from the senator’s blows which were raining down on him. He positioned the boy behind him and turned to face the senator.
“The boy meant no harm, sir, just a simple accident. Kicking him won’t clean the floor or repair the damage.”
“Who the bloody hell are you? I don’t even know you! You think you can instruct me on how to deal with my own servants, in my own house?!”
“I’m the man the boy tripped over. I’m the one who caused the accident. So, if you’re going to use violence, then you can apply it to me, Senator.”
Hesta and Claudina were, by this point rising, and moving in between the two men.
“He’s simply a poet, Senator, they have strange notions about the lower orders.”, Hesta said as Lucius darkly eyed Tarquinius with a face of rock.
“So it’s really not a”
Suddenly, a voice came from the other side of the room
“Have the bh-bh-boy whipped.”
“Aye!” The Senator said, stretching out his arm and pointing at the source of the suggestion, seizing on it.
“Severus, take this piece of filth away and have him roundly flogged later.” he said, to the master servant, who was now standing near the doorframe of the room.
“Sir.”
Tarquinius simply looked blankly at Regulus, who had turned his head away from him, and then back at the Senator. His expression was a picture of utter contempt for both of them. After a few moments, he threw the serving boy’s arm over his own, and bore him up, as he stumbled out of the room. Hesta followed a little after, followed by Claudina.
“And get someone to scrub the damn floor! It makes it look like a cowshed!” Lucius said, his face still crimson, his eyes beady. The attending servants sprung into action and darted in and out of the room, back and forth. People began to return to their positions and their conversations, the night’s excitement clearly over. Lucius himself moved back towards his couch, slowly, and lacking in confidence or enthusiasm. He lowered himself back down onto it after a few seconds, and took a long drink of wine.
“Incredible, when you have men barging in here, who you haven’t even seen before, instructing you on how to deal with your own bloody servants!”
“Incredible”, Regulus echoed.
The Senator reclined, and tried to ease himself back into a sense of normality. Regulus simply sipped on his wine.
A few minutes passed without comment from either side, and the din in the room returned to active levels. Servants quickly mopped the brown muck on the floor, others taking away fragments of pottery. Suddenly, the Senator took on a purplish hue, and began to cough, slightly low, and hoarsely at first, but rising, until it grew into a full splutter, a total seizure, which enveloped the entire body. Regulus jumped off his couch, his eyes bright and wide, his mouth agape.
“Seh-seh-seh-somebody help! The Senator is h-h-having difficulties!”
Men who had been dead to the world only moments before dashed over, until Lucius’ body was entirely covered by people peering over him, some checking his body, others holding his head to steady him, but with no physicians amongst them, and no idea of what the complaint was, they were as blind men feeling in the dark.
People began to shout, some babbling loudly, others, while others rushed out of the room. Most of the servants just stood, dumbstruck. After about half a minute, the gurgling and heaving from the senator ceased.
“The Senator is dead.”, said a voice, full of pain.
Some started sobbing, while others simply stood, vacantly. This was not an incident that a person could readily prepare themselves for. After a few minutes, people began to leave the room. Regulus simply shuffled towards the door, and out into the corridor. At that moment, Hesta, Tarquinius and Claudina were making their way back, clearly concerned over the commotion.
“What’s going on here, Regulus?” Hesta asked. “One of the servants was waffling something about the Senator being sick, or some such thing.”
“I’m afraid the Senator is dh-dh-dead, sister.”
“Dead?” Hesta said, incredulously, almost as if Regulus was fabricating this to her.
“How could he possibly be dead? Only a few minutes ago he was jumping up and down and threatening murder on people.”
“For god’s sake, a man has duh-duh-died!”
“And what would you care, ha?” Tarquinius interrupted, looming forward
“You were prepared to have that boy whipped on a whim, you were quite reconciled to the…”
“Enough, please!” Claudina said.
“This isn’t a time for this kind of thing. Tarquinius, please.” she said, pulling him back by his arm. Hesta did the same with Regulus, and pulled him a little down the corridor, before pinning him against the wall with the back of her arm, with some surprising force.
“What the hell were you trying to do in there? Please explain it to me, as I would very much like to know. Were you having a 'little jape'?” she said quietly, her voice full of aggression.
“Geh-geh-get off me!” Regulus squirmed, but he couldn’t disentangle himself from her grip.
“What, moreover, happened when we left? A man doesn’t just drop dead because of a fracas over a dropped bowl.”
“I don’t know what ha-hah-happened, and nor do you.”
Hesta starred at him, directly into his eyes, challenging him. You could never perceive when Regulus was more nervous than normal, since he was
always seemingly on the point of what would normally be considered a breakdown. His face, eternally beyond any kind of control, much less his own, was entirely inscrutable. The only thing out of the ordinary was the sweat, which gathered on his forehead.
“He-just-died?”, Hesta said, her voice still full of utter disbelief.
“It’s not unp-erh-erh-recedented.”
“And if someone did … slip him something – why?” It was not an open question; it was direct and, aimed at Regulus.
“Open your eyes, sister!” Regulus said, indignantly.
“The Imperator is a an arbitrary man; who knows what slight he may have ph-pher-ceived from Lucius? A black look, a sideways glance, a mistaken gesture - they can all me--mhu-ean death in the presence of such a man! Lucius was mu--mu-ch despised by many, in any case, over Mu-Markus‘ death. They called him a traitor to our class… It could have been anyone in that room, poh-poh-potentially.”
Hesta looked at him impassively for some time, her eyes moving up and down, still gripping hold of him.
“Are you seriously suh-suh-suggesting that I killed the man?!” Regulus said, after some time.
“I suggest nothing. You suggest it yourself.” she said. They starred at each other for some time, locked in the same position, neither moving even slightly. Eventually, she released her grip, but still piercing directly into his eyes.
“Fate has made us what we are; a brother and a sister, for better or for worse. You would do well to remember it.” she said. She turned away, still looking full of hate, and slowly walked back towards the direction of Tarquinius and Claudina.
After a few moments, Regulus’ head fell forward, and he coughed deeply. He remained in that position for some time.
“Are you alright, sir?” a voice enquired.
Regulus raised his doleful face to look at the female servant.
“Please take me to the kitchen.” he said, simply.
“Of course, sir.”
She walked back in the direction he had come, Regulus following. Sweat dropped freely onto his face, as he straightened his robes. When they reached their destination, he bobbed into the doorway, and directed his voice at the man previously identified by Lucius as the master servant, Severus.
“Please, a word with you.” he said, his hand swirling, without purpose.
Severus slowly drew closer. When they were face-to-face, Regulus lurched forward, and spoke into the man’s ear.
“You will not wuh-wuh-whip the boy.” Still staring at him, he drew the man’s left hand up with his, opened it, and pressed a small pouch into it. Regulus’ eyes darted downwards for a second, then back upwards to face the man. “
I’m sure we uh-uh-understand each other.”
“Course, sir.” the man said, under his breath.
“And, er, can I possibly sph-sph-speak with the boy from earlier?” Regulus said, flicking a lively hand in the direction of the lad in question.
“As you wish, milord.” the man said, bowing a little and retreating towards the menial tasks which beckoned at the back of the room, already full of bustle and swarming servants.
Regulus hobbled forward a little, so he could see the boy’s face in the dim light of the back room. The boy looked to be on the point of tears, and a little trickle of encrusted blood drew down his face, a small river of red.
“I only did what the Nubian told me to do! He - he payed me for it! I didn’t expect it would cause such a mess!” a little tear trickled down his face, and he looked at his hands, which fidgeted slightly. He shook as he entered a full fit of tears.
Regulus‘ face twitched slightly, his eyes alert, but otherwise emotionless.
“You-did-well.” he said, solemnly and in a barely audible whisper, hanging on every syllable, before repeating the same gesture he had used on the master servant, pushing a small pouch into the boy’s hand.
“You will not blame yourself for the-the-this.” He commanded, before he gave a sympathetic smile. He then advanced a little, and patted the boy’s shoulder with his hand, before rubbing it softly. After a few seconds of the boy mustering a weak smile back at him, he turned on his heels, and hobbled off down the corridor, back towards the main of the building.
It was a beautiful late afternoon on the Capitoline, as the sun shown down, not too intense, but warm enough to cast a healthy glow on Regulus as he laboured in his small plot. When the family had had their
domus in the city refurbished, soon after Romulus had been ‘restored’ to the Imperial dignity, a little after the Battle of Volaterrae, Regulus had specially insisted for the laying out of this small garden for him to work in during his rest hours. He found little as satisfying as gardening after a day’s study, or assisting his uncle in business matters surrounding their
latifundia in the country. To him, the simplicity, the rawness, and the majestic feeling of accomplishment in it filled him with the greatest uplift and satisfaction. There were, he felt, few things in life more pleasurable than tending a garden; keeping turf short and fresh; ensuring that plants had sufficient light and damp; making sure the soil was well turned-over. These were the simple pleasures of a life of complicated and busy activity. It was a private, almost illicit pleasure.
The plot itself was entirely surrounded by the wider building, so it was completely enclosed, and accessible only by a small door to the corridor to Regulus’ apartments, at the back of the building. He valued his privacy strongly, and hated the notion of people disturbing him, or even watching him while he was engaged in such activity. Many of the servants had already become accustomed to the fact that disturbing the young master in his garden was liable to earn the perpetrator a swift rebuke. Sometimes he would even lose his temper and throw a shoe or a tool at them. But that was only on especially bad days, or after multiple interruptions, which had become less and less over time. He had stationed a small stone bench at the side of the garden, which he occasionally would sit on to pass the time in quiet thought. Sometimes he would come out here at night in his garb when he had trouble sleeping, and savour the cool, still night air, until he was sufficiently chilled to be forced to return inside, or until he became sleepy. He always used the same dirty, beaten-up tunic for when he was in his garden, which was really just a simple, half-sleeve, knee-length, dark green affair, fastened at the waist. Often he would wear it in his apartments, but never further than that. It would be laughed upon, he knew, even within his own house. Hesta had caught sight of it once or twice, and had made acerbic comment on it, as she was all too wont to do. His uncle had not, and he intended to keep it that way. He could not bring himself to wear trousers, even when gardening. That would be a bridge too far.
“Master Arcadius is approaching the domus
, lord.” a voice said.
Regulus inclined his head backwards, his eyes half-closed.
“Thank you, Peh-peh-petrus. Help me up?” It was an invitation, not a command.
Petrus moved forward and fixed his arm around Regulus, and drew him up, a little too quickly, perhaps, so that Regulus stumbled before he could steady himself.
“Wha-wha-wha-wha-what would I do without you, Petrus?”
Petrus grinned. He was solid, on a large frame, similar to Avitus, but awash with muscles in a way that Avitus was not. His arms were thick, and his hands large, and fleshy. His whole body reeked of power, and mass. His dark black skin had always marked him out as a Nubian, a curiosity, a simple entertainment, something he resented deeply. He hated the notion of him being marked out for anything other than his own abilities, the ability to stand or fall based on one’s own attributes, a basis on which he knew he was competitive with any other man in the world, Roman, barbarian, or any other.
“I am unsure, lord. I would not wish to serve any other. You know this.”
Regulus shook his head.
“That’s noh-not what I meant.”, he said, moving out of the garden and towards his chambers.
“I muh-muh-must change, before uncle returns!” he said, when he entered his bed chamber, in a slight squeak, and with a touch of nerves.
“Wuh-where is the damn robe?” he swiveled on the spot, desperately looking for it, before swiftly tugging off his tunic once he had spotted it. He threw it away, and quickly grabbed the robes, feeling for the right configuration.
“Buh-buh-bring me some cold water, for my hands.” He was irritated to see that he had already marked the robe in some places with the compacted soil on his palms.
As he was quietly cursing under his breath, Petrus moved up behind him, and began to rub the bones of Regulus’ hips. He pushed his head forward, and began kissing Regulus’ neck. Regulus’ head recoiled slightly at the sensation, rubbing his head against Petrus’ shaven scalp. Regulus tried to laugh, but, combined with his hoarse breathing, it was more akain to a low, gurgling sound. It was like a drain being rinsed thoroughly with a weight of water.
“F-h-h-hul of luh-luh-levity today, aren’t you, you wah-wanton bh-bh-rute! Aw-wah-waay with you, I must-get-dh-dh-ressed! Fetch the dah-damnable wah-wah-wa-water!”
After a few seconds, he swatted Petrus away by flicking his robes over his shoulder; Petrus retreated, and drifted out of the room, in pursuit of the bowl of water, which his master had requested. Regulus quickly threw on his garments and carelessly fastened his robe, careful to avoid soiling it with his hands once more. He tried to keep them from touching the outside of the robe, and kept any grip over the fabric at minimal, only touching with the ends of his fingers. It was a stupid and thoughtless way to get dressed, but he was eager to meet his uncle and see what news he had brought back with him from the Palatine; perhaps even a little nervous.
The Flavian Palace, the
Domus Augustiana, was sited on the Palatine Hill, a space at the very centre of Roman history; here was supposed to have stood the wattle-and-daub hut of Romulus, the co-founder of the great city, and which was now inhabited by the latter-day Romulus, Imperator of the West. The present structure dated from the time of the Flavian Imperator Domitian, hence the name, but had been the site of various earlier residences, including Austustus‘. A huge, double-storey structure, it encompassed meetings halls, audience chambers, gardens; both private and public sections, both now taken over by Romulus for the same purposes as they had been used for generations. It was to the latter of these that Arcadius had traveled, to settle affairs that had arisen over the death of Lucius. Lucius had no direct descendants, other than his son, who was under age. Perhaps in better times the son may have been treated differently, but this was an age of financial glut on the part of the state and it seemed unlikely that a toddler would be able to assert his rights. It had often been a custom for men - even non-noble freemen - to give their wealth over to the
Imperator on their death, if they had no heirs, and sometimes part or even all of it even if they did, and, in the reigns of Nero and others, this had been exploited in the most perverse nature possible. The
Procovinii had some distant claim to the estate, which Arcadius had gone to assert, or, at least, to investigate. It was likely that he would seek an audience with the Imperial Mother over this, and the outcome was, as of yet, undetermined.
“Where is he?” Regulus wondered, audibly, after trying to wipe his hands a little on his bedclothes. After a few moments Petrus darted back into the room, bowl in hand, and set it down on a side-table. “Serh-serh-vice at last!” Regulus said, and dove his hands straight in, and scrubbed his hands quickly, before wiping them on the bedclothes again. Petrus once again began to take hold of his hips, and was once again rebuked for it.
“You’ve duh-duh-layed me enough for now!” Regulus said, darting out of the room.
“Throw out the wa-wah-wah-water, and have Marcella change the sheets, and, uh, tidy away my th-th-ools in the garden!” he called back , as he darted out of the door, grabing hold of the frame for leverage as he careered into the corridor, his body jumping from one side to the other on his faulty legs. He wanted to beat Hesta to a spot at the
atrium.
He relaxed a little when he arrived to find it deserted, his breathing fast and wheezy. His head turned, looking round for any signs, but there was nothing. He looked down, only to find, to his annoyance, a thick mark of soil, and he cursed under his breath. He scuttled towards the water pool directly below the
atrium roof, and dipped his hand in it, drawing the water up and scrubbing it with his nails with a touch of desperation. To his consternation, it simply made the mark even wider and more prominent.
“A little too late, if you’ve soiled your robe, to be making repairs, I feel”, Hesta said, slowly stepping into the
atrium in a leisurely fashion.
”These things should be left to the servants, along with a confidential explanation and a few copper coins. As it is, uncle will enter momentarily to find you smelling of roof water and vegetation. Don’t look at me like that, it makes you seem so desperate.” she said, on seeing his expression.
“I’m deh-deh-sperate to find out how this buh-business with Lucius tuh-turned out” Regulus said, his face active, as he sat down quickly on the little stone bench, set back from the atrium proper, and failing to rise to Hesta’s provocations. He rubbed his lower lip with his forefinger.
“Why, what on earth are you expecting?” she asked, innocently.
“That we should receive a sound sh-sh-share of the estate, primarily. It wouldn’t be unper-re-recedented.”
“A little ambitious, I fear. Despite uncle’s delicate and undoubtedly accomplished skills in persuasion. You know how Imperial finances sit these days.”
And then they heard the sound of Arcadius’ voice, chattering away to the servants as he entered the
domus. Regulus struggled to his feet quickly, and with some difficulty.
“What news, I wonder?” Hesta mused, as she moved towards the noise.
Arcadius met them at the entrance to the
atrium, at the far side.
“Hesta! Regulus! Oh, I am glad I have found you both!” Arcadius said, waddling towards them at some speed, and kissing Hesta on the cheek, before patting Regulus on the shoulder.
“I take it your time at the palace was profitable?” Hesta said, warmly.
“Oh, great news! Marvellous news! Lucius’ affairs have been set completely in order. Nothing for us to worry about at all there. Dreadfully bad luck for him, though, eh? They say it was through all the, er, excitement. I was told that he choked on a nut.”
“Indeed, it was most distressing, believe me, uncle. Quite a panic set in, particularly amongst the men.” Hesta said. Suddenly, drawing her eyes downwards for a second, she noticed a small, hesitant little shape clinging behind Arcadius. At first, she hadn’t noticed it as Arcadius’ bulk had blocked it out completely. But it was clearly there now, clinging to the hem of his robe, peering at her and Regulus with bright, clear eyes. He was clearly unnerved, and unconfident in what were certainly unfamiliar surroundings.
“Looks like you made a new friend.” Hesta said, intrigued.
“Ah, the boy, yes” Arcadius said, slightly hesitantly, resting his hand on the boy’s head, and pushing him forward a little.
“That will require something of an explanation.”
“He’s Lucius’ son, I believe.” Regulus said, plainly, fixing his eyes on the boy. His face slowly flexed and relaxed, flexed, and relaxed.
“Indeed he is, indeed he is.” Arcadius muttered.
“You see, with Lucius having no family, I was more or less obliged to take the boy in. How could I refuse, under such circumstances as these? Lady Barbaria was very keen on it, and it provides us with some, err, concessions as far as the estate goes.”
Hesta dropped down to the boy’s levels and squatted close to him.
“Such a beautiful boy” she said, looking into his eyes and ruffling his hair.
“We too know how it is to be orphaned at a young age. Come come” she said, drawing him into her arms. “We shall do all we can for you, and you shall be a good boy.” She smiled at him, rubbed the boy’s cheek, and the boy smiled back at her.
“He’s taking your name then?”, Hesta inquired, looking upwards at her uncle.
Arcadius looked torn.
“It’s conventional, yes, I know, but I thought with him being so young, and with such a peculiar turn of events over Lucius…” he tailed off.
“I thought it would be an insult to his memory.”, Arcadius said, pointedly, after some moments of pause.
“But he’ll be taking our gens
, though, I presume, yes? It would be absurd not to include that. What is his name, anyhow?”
“Saturnius.”
“What a lovely name”, Hesta said, still holding the boy close.
“Well, Saturnius, I am your cousin, Hesta. And this is your other cousin Regulus, and he is a silly, silly man.”
Saturnius smiled. Regulus drew closer to him, smiling, but the boy flinched away and buried himself in Hesta as the twitching, strange-looking, spider-like man loomed over him.
“You seem quite attached to the boy already, Hesta.” Arcadius said, evidently pleased at such a happy outcome.
“Would you mind taking the boy to the servants while me and Regulus have a little chat? Tell Marcella that she’ll have to, er, prepare one of the rooms near the back for the boy.”
“Of course, uncle” Hesta said, and rose. She held hands with the little boy and slowly guided him out of the
atrium. She glanced at Regulus on her way out. A smile danced on his lips, she noticed. His eyes travelled from Arcadius to her, and back again. Arcadius moved to sit down on the small bench.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Finally, a chance to sit down!” Arcadius said, as he sat down on the stone bench, beckoning Regulus to do the same.
“They made me stand. Stand! At my age! Terrible, absolutely terrible.”
“The court has no c-c-c-consideration for anyone but themselves, uncle.”
“Don’t talk too harshly of them, boy. We did rather well today. Even
you, Regulus.” Arcadius said, momentarily hoisting his eyebrows.
“Uncle?”
“By Imperial decree, no less. Lady Barbaria is taking care of it, of course. The Senate, you see. As your father served there, of course, and now that you’re of age, and with the death of Lucius, and all … you’re to be appointed to a seat there. Congratulations boy, very well deserved indeed.” Arcadius said, nodding and smiling intensely, and with great pride.
“Uncle!” Regulus was alive with happiness, and his mouth split into a massive smile. He even gave a little laugh. He was overcome with joy and newfound confidence.
“How can I reh-reh-repay my thanks?”
“Ah, think noting of it, boy, nothing at all. We’re family, aren’t we? Naturally, you'll have to make a small, er, donation, but that's purely nominal as far as we're concerned now.” he said, leaning close and winking.
”Of course, I hope that the Imperator isn’t going to bring forward any kind of general expansion of the numbers. Although I fear that exclusivity has not yet produced quality. Perhaps you can remedy that one, eh?”, Arcadius said, still smiling.
“I shall t-t-try my best.”
“Good lad, good lad.”
They both sat for some time, savouring the coolness of the
atrium, and the gentle glow of the sun in the water pool in the centre of the room. It cast beautiful arcs of light in the calm, clear water.
“Er, you meh-mentioned Lucius’ estate, earlier, duh-did you not?”
“Yes, indeed. Thankfully, Barbaria has graciously assigned me to cover the audit, and manage the break-up of the holdings, so there shall be no grabbing little hands” - Arcadius mimed such an action, in exaggerated fashion -
“trying to grab all they can, claiming descent from god know’s how many generations back, and all trying to get their foot in the door, heh, heh. The Imperator
shall get the vast bulk of it, of course.”
Saturnius Procovinus Sempranius Syraticus as a young boy
“I’m sure Lucius would be satisfied to know his affairs were being hu-hu-handled by us, Uncle. He would take great succor from it.”
“Likewise, boy, likewise. The child, though, is something of a complication. I confess, I hadn’t imagined that I would have him turned over to our care. I mean, it’s not as if we’re the proper environment for this kind of thing, and I’d have frankly expected someone at court to adopt him. But how could I refuse?” Arcadius said, waving his hands.
“As you said yourself, we have a solemn duty to Lucius. Of course, we‘ll make sure the boy receives his entitlement from the estate.”
“That will be just.”
“More than poor Lucius got, I fear. Too close for comfort, in that case, I think” Arcadius said, ambiguously.
“As you know, Regulus, he was a close confidant of the boy’s, and I fear it may set the poor lad slightly adrift as far as direction on policy is concerned.”, Arcadius said, seemingly a little perturbed.
“Indeed, Uncle. Many an uh-untried man has been left in duh-dire circumstances after being divorced from wise counsel. When Nero was sthu-struck from Seneca…” Regulus’ voice dropped a little, and he failed to continue the thought to its conclusion.
“Perhaps", Arcadius said, his head nodding slightly, mulling the thought over.
“But, equally, the day has to come when the Imperator will have to stand alone, on his own two feet. It‘ll make or break the lad, you know.” Arcadius said, with a touch of pessimism mixed with suggestiveness.
Regulus nodded, and lifted his head to the sky, his face fidgeting as the beams of soft, early evening light from the top of the
atrium struck his eyes. Whatever thoughts he had inside his mind, they remained his own.
