for it.
‘So many men marry old crones for the sake of their fortunes these days. Even our hero of the Republic, Mark Antony. Fulvia!’ Dolabella shuddered as if chilled by a sudden winter frost. ‘Castrate me if I am ever so hard-up for money. Not my friend Nero. No second leavings for his marriage bed. But tell me, friend, do you intend to trade her off for another cousin once she’s twenty and gone to the dogs or will you keep her on a bit longer out of sentiment?’
Nero had no idea how to answer such talk. I don’t think anyone had ever confided in him about anything, least of all women. Certainly not in those terms. No matter. Dolabella could talk enough for both of them. He loved young girls. Not exclusively of course but well enough that if Livia had a sister looking for a husband he was freshly divorced and in the market.
In private, quite certain Nero’s spies were listening, Dolabella declared he envied Nero as much for the little filly he mounted and rode each night as for the fortune his family possessed. ‘What I wouldn’t give for one night with that delicious cunny, Dellius. One time. By the gods, one time! I’ll wager when a man plunges into her, she sizzles!’
‘Tell me, Nero,’ Dolabella whispered at dinner one evening, ‘did Livia weep on her wedding night? You lucky bastard! I bet she did. Is she still the bashful girl in bed or mad for the old thyrsus now she knows what it’s all about?’
Another time he said, ‘If you’re not happy with her, I’ll take her off your hands. I’ll be glad to pay you for the trouble of finding another wife.’
‘How much would you give for her?’ Nero asked.
It was a strange, cold question. I think he was joking, but who could tell with that dour soul? Dolabella laughed, all in good fun. ‘I’d make you king of Rome if you gave me an hour with Livia.’
‘I’ll have my coronation before I agree to it.’
‘What surprises me,’ Dolabella remarked one evening when the two men were deep in their cups, ‘is that you haven’t thought to take hold of your colleagues and shake them like the spoiled brats they are.’ Nero could imagine a crown on his head or at least joke about it; he could not fathom how he might bully his colleagues. They intimidated him, much as Dolabella did.
‘I don’t mean you ought to bother about them; they’re frankly not worth the trouble, but what a good many of them need is a sword in the guts, and for the rest the threat of it. By the gods, we need to cull out the bankrupts and banish every man who’s married to an ugly woman!’
‘My husband is too kind for that sort of thing,’ Livia answered. She was supervising the slaves as they served us, quietly listening to Dolabella’s rant. She spoke up, I believe, because her husband was too shocked to say anything.
‘That’s a pity,’ Dolabella answered cheerfully. ‘Here we have Rome’s last hope, and he’s too decent to do what is necessary.’
‘I don’t think it’s quite decency that stops me,’ Nero muttered.
A slave came to the villa one afternoon, this on the third or fourth day of our visit. He informed Nero that one of the estate’s herdsmen had spotted a wild boar in the mountains. Dolabella, overhearing the news, called at once for a hunt. Blinking and nodding in response, Nero answered, ‘Yes, that would be the thing to do.’
Dolabella suggested that Nero send invitations to the aristocracy and gentry of the neighbouring estates. By dawn next day we had gathered more than a dozen young men of quality. Most of the hunters were the sons of Roman nobility on holiday at their Campania estates. A few were indigenous gentry who knew the mountain trails well enough to lead the hunt.
To the considerable surprise of all, Nero’s bride expected to be included. I recall Livia arriving at the stables just as we were all preparing to mount our horses. Nero asked her what she thought she was doing. ‘I’ve decided to join the hunt,’ she
‘So many men marry old crones for the sake of their fortunes these days. Even our hero of the Republic, Mark Antony. Fulvia!’ Dolabella shuddered as if chilled by a sudden winter frost. ‘Castrate me if I am ever so hard-up for money. Not my friend Nero. No second leavings for his marriage bed. But tell me, friend, do you intend to trade her off for another cousin once she’s twenty and gone to the dogs or will you keep her on a bit longer out of sentiment?’
Nero had no idea how to answer such talk. I don’t think anyone had ever confided in him about anything, least of all women. Certainly not in those terms. No matter. Dolabella could talk enough for both of them. He loved young girls. Not exclusively of course but well enough that if Livia had a sister looking for a husband he was freshly divorced and in the market.
In private, quite certain Nero’s spies were listening, Dolabella declared he envied Nero as much for the little filly he mounted and rode each night as for the fortune his family possessed. ‘What I wouldn’t give for one night with that delicious cunny, Dellius. One time. By the gods, one time! I’ll wager when a man plunges into her, she sizzles!’
‘Tell me, Nero,’ Dolabella whispered at dinner one evening, ‘did Livia weep on her wedding night? You lucky bastard! I bet she did. Is she still the bashful girl in bed or mad for the old thyrsus now she knows what it’s all about?’
Another time he said, ‘If you’re not happy with her, I’ll take her off your hands. I’ll be glad to pay you for the trouble of finding another wife.’
‘How much would you give for her?’ Nero asked.
It was a strange, cold question. I think he was joking, but who could tell with that dour soul? Dolabella laughed, all in good fun. ‘I’d make you king of Rome if you gave me an hour with Livia.’
‘I’ll have my coronation before I agree to it.’
‘What surprises me,’ Dolabella remarked one evening when the two men were deep in their cups, ‘is that you haven’t thought to take hold of your colleagues and shake them like the spoiled brats they are.’ Nero could imagine a crown on his head or at least joke about it; he could not fathom how he might bully his colleagues. They intimidated him, much as Dolabella did.
‘I don’t mean you ought to bother about them; they’re frankly not worth the trouble, but what a good many of them need is a sword in the guts, and for the rest the threat of it. By the gods, we need to cull out the bankrupts and banish every man who’s married to an ugly woman!’
‘My husband is too kind for that sort of thing,’ Livia answered. She was supervising the slaves as they served us, quietly listening to Dolabella’s rant. She spoke up, I believe, because her husband was too shocked to say anything.
‘That’s a pity,’ Dolabella answered cheerfully. ‘Here we have Rome’s last hope, and he’s too decent to do what is necessary.’
‘I don’t think it’s quite decency that stops me,’ Nero muttered.
A slave came to the villa one afternoon, this on the third or fourth day of our visit. He informed Nero that one of the estate’s herdsmen had spotted a wild boar in the mountains. Dolabella, overhearing the news, called at once for a hunt. Blinking and nodding in response, Nero answered, ‘Yes, that would be the thing to do.’
Dolabella suggested that Nero send invitations to the aristocracy and gentry of the neighbouring estates. By dawn next day we had gathered more than a dozen young men of quality. Most of the hunters were the sons of Roman nobility on holiday at their Campania estates. A few were indigenous gentry who knew the mountain trails well enough to lead the hunt.
To the considerable surprise of all, Nero’s bride expected to be included. I recall Livia arriving at the stables just as we were all preparing to mount our horses. Nero asked her what she thought she was doing. ‘I’ve decided to join the hunt,’ she
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