Whisps of all sorts of smells mingled and shifted in the great halls of the
Domus Augustiana - Incense, foodstuffs, perfumes, sweat, smoke, and, resting above it all, steady and unchanging, the low, inescapable thrum of suppressed noise from what was an Imperial feast in every sense of the word. Swathes of the city of Rome’s notable groups and interests had made their way to the event, enticed by the prospects of food, drink, social advancement and sexual license offered. The largesse on offer seemed curiously disproportionate in comparison to the current tottering Roman state, although the heady opulence on offer had the power to quell the objections all but the most principled. ‘Decadence’ was perhaps an appropriate word to use.
Hesta cursed herself for being drawn too far into it all, for losing her self-control and discipline. She’d lost him in the mass of humanity in the main hall and the night had deteriorated since then. She’d wisely avoided the Imperial party - perhaps a little too vigorously, under the circumstances. Her mind was foggy and dim. Her only success had come in managing to strike up, by luck, a conversation with a tax official recently arrived from Mediolanium, who had revealed some interesting facets of regional finances and administration, but who was possibly the dullest man in the hall; and she had consequently indulged herself with wine a little too much, and most of the conversation was now half-lost on a wave of weariness and alcoholic indifference. She’d had to retreat after he’d mistook her polite, detached interest for enthusiasm, and had stumbled around rather aimlessly since then trying to regain her clarity.
Her mood was even less improved when she’d seen her brother, like some lecherous, drink-spiked spider move through one of the ante-chambers in close contact with some waif she didn’t recognise. She’d noticed a definite loosening of Regulus’ social ineptitude, almost ever since his promotion to the Senate, and it disturbed her; it was an advantage she was loosening her grip upon. Being part of the Senate almost demanded some degree of self-assuredness, and her brother had certainly been going to many more social occasions as a basic necessity in establishing himself. It was all terribly depressing. Hesta brushed her forehead with her middle fingers as servants went their ways in fulfilling the carnal dictates of the feastgoers. She tried to look inconspicuous.
Hesta was still in a slight daze as she made her way around a corner, and into a more compact, deserted corridor. She continued along the poorly-illuminated passage before settling down on a small stone seat fixed into an alcove in the wall. She lowered her head and squinted her eyes. Her head began to throb in pain as the small, quiet sound of footsteps began to resound in her ears, becoming evermore closer and closer, until she finally lifted her head, and smiled, before swiftly standing.
The figure moved faster towards her, before grasping towards her waist and pushing her backwards, kissing her passionately. After a while, Hesta began to push back in an attempt to restrain him.
“Don’t you want me?”
“It’s not a question of want, it’s a question of discretion.”
The man was clearly unsatisfied with this answer.
“Even being seen here is dangerous. For both of us.”
The man gave no response, but simply followed Hesta in slowly sitting down on the stone bench, before stroking Hesta‘s upper arm. There was a long pause.
“I couldn’t believe it when I heard you wouldn’t see me!”
Hesta was close to losing her temper.
“You’re talking like a love-struck girl! Don’t be so insufferably foolish! You know it’s impossible to simply cavort around in these kind of circumstances, Titus. Your wife is bad enough, but with all this talk of me… well, you know.” She gave a forced sigh.
“My uncle is absolutely set on it. Which is why you need to disaude the Imperial party of it’s merits.”
Now it was Titus’ turn for irritation.
“Don’t you think I’ve been doing that?”
“Yes, but slightly less dispassionately in future!” This was always the problem in relying on others, she thought.
They were so abysmally less capable than oneself.
“You’re in danger of giving yourself away, from what I hear.”
There was another pause.
“There are people who seem to be just as set on it as your Uncle.”
“Then you will have to disuade them! Or we will both be sorry.” Hesta said, with perhaps a tinge of desperation in her voice. Marriage to the Imperator offered so many possibilities, normally, but what was there to gain under the current circumstances? Romulus already had the ear of long-standing advisors, his mother mainly, and barbarian cohorts. And then there was her uncle.
This wasn’t her choice. And it wasn’t going to work. She knew it. Too many already grasped at Romulus, had already established themselves on that verdant pasture which was the Imperial favour, to the exclusion of newer settlers. She knew - she
felt it - that to become Romulus’ Augusta would be an empty honour - prestige without power. The prospect revolted and repulsed her.
Titus Orachus - Senatorial opportunist, head-strong idiot and source of so much valuable information for her. And now, possibly, her only hope to abort any notion of marriage. Once again, as so many times in her family’s recent history, they were but as corks on a fast-flowing river. Miscalculation had cost her father his life, and very nearly her family’s status. Prudence, caution, was bred into her.
Our time will come, she thought to herself.
She decided to change her approach.
“I get angry simply because I don’t see why these obstructions should force us into secrecy, Titus. And the talk of marriage is hateful to me, when I think of you. You have to realise that.”
“I do, it’s just that sometimes I wonder whether it’s worth continuing with this. But I know – I know how we…”
He tailed off. Hesta simply looked at him, smiling, sweetly and empathetically.
“I know you can convince Dives.”, she said.
Titus simply turned to her, and drew his head close to her neck, before kissing it, and fixing her gaze with a strong, apparently determined stare.
“I will. I will.”