Indian silks. A faded mosaic depicted a stage with tragedians, and on the wall an old mask from a comedy stared back at us with its sightless eyes and ghastly smile. As we passed through the atrium, there were candlelit busts of the Julii, but no great statues of Octavian or his family. Aside from the blue-veined marble of the floors, there was nothing to indicate that this was the home of a conquering hero.
“This could be a merchant’s villa,” I whispered.
“Or a peasant’s. Where is the furniture?” Alexander asked.
But as we reached the triclinium and a slave hurried out to wash our feet, I peered inside and realized what Octavian had done. In every room a visitor might frequent, the crudest furniture had been used. But inside the summer dining room, where only his most intimate friends ever gathered, the tables had been set with silver egg cups and matching bowls. Maroon silk covered the dining couches, and lavender water trickled from a marble fountain. Because one side of the room opened onto a garden, long linen curtains blew in the breeze, keeping out the glare of the setting sun.
“He wants the people to think he’s humble,” I said critically in Parthian.
“Meanwhile, his friends are dining like kings,” my brother added.
The
nomenclator
announced each person’s arrival, and when it was our turn, I noticed that every guest in the triclinium turned.
“Alexander Helios and Kleopatra Selene, Prince and Princess of Egypt.”
There was a murmur of surprise, then the guests turned to one another and began to chatter eagerly.
“Just follow me,” Octavia instructed softly, and Gallia departed to take her meal with the household slaves in the atrium. As we crossed the room, I saw Julia stand up from a table in the corner. She was Octavian’s only child, but she looked nothing like him, and I assumed she had inherited her looks from her mother.
“Marcellus!” She smiled. She was wearing a tunic of the palest blue, and her dark gaze, cool and appraising, flicked in my direction. “Come,” she told him, and led him away, putting her slender arm through his.
When I made to follow, Alexander pulled me back. “We’re not eating with them. We’re at the next table.” He indicated the couchwhere Caesar was scribbling something on a scroll. We would be sitting with Livia, Juba, and Agrippa.
“Your guests of honor,” Octavia said.
Her brother looked up, and a faint smile touched his lips. “Very nice.” He meant our clothes. He rose to a sitting position and the others around the table immediately did the same. “Almost Roman.”
“They are Roman,” Agrippa pointed out.
“Only half. The rest of them is Greek.”
“But a stunning combination,” Maecenas said approvingly.
Octavian rose, and the entire triclinium fell silent. “I present to you the children of Queen Kleopatra and Marc Antony,” he announced. “Selene and Alexander have journeyed from Egypt to take part in tomorrow’s Triple Triumph, a celebration of my success in Illyricum, my victory in the Battle of Actium, and the annexation of Egypt.”
There was tremendous applause, and I refused to let my lower lip tremble.
“And tonight,” Octavian continued, “there will be an auction for each of these prizes.” He snapped his fingers and a group of male slaves wheeled twenty covered statues into the triclinium. Some were very large, but others were no bigger than my hand. An excited murmur passed through the room. “Bidding, as always, will be blind.” He smiled briefly. “Enjoy your meal.”
He returned to the table, and Octavia motioned that it was time for us to recline on the couches. It was impossible to get comfortable, and Juba smiled across the table at me.
“Just like a Roman now,” he said. “And I must say, a tunic suits you much better than a chiton. You’ve even donned the
bulla.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “It belongs to Octavia.”
“But you wear it so well.”
Octavia smiled.
“This could be a merchant’s villa,” I whispered.
“Or a peasant’s. Where is the furniture?” Alexander asked.
But as we reached the triclinium and a slave hurried out to wash our feet, I peered inside and realized what Octavian had done. In every room a visitor might frequent, the crudest furniture had been used. But inside the summer dining room, where only his most intimate friends ever gathered, the tables had been set with silver egg cups and matching bowls. Maroon silk covered the dining couches, and lavender water trickled from a marble fountain. Because one side of the room opened onto a garden, long linen curtains blew in the breeze, keeping out the glare of the setting sun.
“He wants the people to think he’s humble,” I said critically in Parthian.
“Meanwhile, his friends are dining like kings,” my brother added.
The
nomenclator
announced each person’s arrival, and when it was our turn, I noticed that every guest in the triclinium turned.
“Alexander Helios and Kleopatra Selene, Prince and Princess of Egypt.”
There was a murmur of surprise, then the guests turned to one another and began to chatter eagerly.
“Just follow me,” Octavia instructed softly, and Gallia departed to take her meal with the household slaves in the atrium. As we crossed the room, I saw Julia stand up from a table in the corner. She was Octavian’s only child, but she looked nothing like him, and I assumed she had inherited her looks from her mother.
“Marcellus!” She smiled. She was wearing a tunic of the palest blue, and her dark gaze, cool and appraising, flicked in my direction. “Come,” she told him, and led him away, putting her slender arm through his.
When I made to follow, Alexander pulled me back. “We’re not eating with them. We’re at the next table.” He indicated the couchwhere Caesar was scribbling something on a scroll. We would be sitting with Livia, Juba, and Agrippa.
“Your guests of honor,” Octavia said.
Her brother looked up, and a faint smile touched his lips. “Very nice.” He meant our clothes. He rose to a sitting position and the others around the table immediately did the same. “Almost Roman.”
“They are Roman,” Agrippa pointed out.
“Only half. The rest of them is Greek.”
“But a stunning combination,” Maecenas said approvingly.
Octavian rose, and the entire triclinium fell silent. “I present to you the children of Queen Kleopatra and Marc Antony,” he announced. “Selene and Alexander have journeyed from Egypt to take part in tomorrow’s Triple Triumph, a celebration of my success in Illyricum, my victory in the Battle of Actium, and the annexation of Egypt.”
There was tremendous applause, and I refused to let my lower lip tremble.
“And tonight,” Octavian continued, “there will be an auction for each of these prizes.” He snapped his fingers and a group of male slaves wheeled twenty covered statues into the triclinium. Some were very large, but others were no bigger than my hand. An excited murmur passed through the room. “Bidding, as always, will be blind.” He smiled briefly. “Enjoy your meal.”
He returned to the table, and Octavia motioned that it was time for us to recline on the couches. It was impossible to get comfortable, and Juba smiled across the table at me.
“Just like a Roman now,” he said. “And I must say, a tunic suits you much better than a chiton. You’ve even donned the
bulla.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “It belongs to Octavia.”
“But you wear it so well.”
Octavia smiled.
Similar Books
