I kissed her breasts.
"Yes," I said, "that excites you."
She aroused me quickly. Our coupling was intense, energetic, violent. Longina was all eagerness. She took the lead. This time it was I who drifted into indifference first. She leaned over me and bit my neck. She lay on top of me. I put my arms around her, held her close, kissed as if our bones would bruise each other.
She was a wonderful animal. I was still alone, in a valley, as the thin light of the winter dawn crept upon us.
"Where is your father?" I said. "I must speak to him."
"In Campania, on his estate. Why must you speak to him?"
"Because I am lost," I said. "Because we are perhaps all lost."
"Husband," she said, "husband, husband, does any of that matter? Feel my belly. Soon, in a few months, you will feel our child stir there."
For two days, perhaps three, I lingered. I remained at home, with Longina. She held me with desire and an affection that was almost love. We Romans have never been uxorious. We are brought up to respect our womenfolk but we do not in general permit them any part in public life. Those who push themselves forward, and insist on being regarded as worthy of political consideration — women like Servilia and Calpurnia — are properly resented. They easily become objects of mockery. Longina had no such ambition. But what she wanted from me was what I could not honourably give. She was afraid for me. She would have had me abstain from public life, withdraw into a domesticity which all my peers would have regarded as contemptible.
"You know," she said, between kisses, "that I married you because my father told me to do so. I disliked you at the time. I found you remote and chilly. Besides, I adored Appius Pulcher even before I knew you. Of course he was never my lover before I was a married woman, because everyone knows that a lady has to be a virgin at the time of marriage, and I was very strictly brought up. But I still adored him, and when you went to Spain, I admitted him as my lover. And then you came back, and found us together, you remember."
"Yes, darling, I remember."
"And oh…" she put her arms round my neck and pressed herself upon me, "that morning I saw the difference between a boy, a pretty boy who was great fun, and a man who had achieved great things. And you made me feel a woman, not just a girl. And then you encouraged me to flirt with Caesar, yes, you did, don't try to deny it, and of course I was flattered, and, as you wanted me to, I went to bed with Caesar. Well, who wouldn't?"
"Who hasn't?"
"All right, quite so, but for a few days I hated you and despised you because you seemed to me to believe that Caesar's continuing goodwill towards you was more important than anything that there might be between us. But… Caesar… after the first time… do you know, husband, husband, husband…" Her tongue sought out mine…
(I torture myself with these memories, of her warmth, her presence, of which I dream in my nights which are ever more empty of all but despair… not fear, for I shall not admit that… but despair, of ever again… Artixes, with whom I try to amuse myself; in whose being I seek to recover something of sunshine… is nothing of comfort, when I recall, as I nightly do, Long ina's embraces… lost… sacrificed… on account of… what? Duty? Ambition?)
"Husband"… hours later, in bed, warm, together, sticky with passion and happiness. "Husband, Caesar has had too many women, you know, too many, to feel anything for them. They are a convenience. He used me, as you might use, I don't know what, I have no gift for words, but there was a contempt in his treatment of me… do you think the Queen of Egypt feels that too…?"
"I think the Queen of Egypt is a girl who is in full charge of her own life, whose ambition is boundless, and who can out-Caesar…"
"Well, I couldn't. Whenever he left my bed, I felt diminished. Not because he had gone but because of the way he had finished with me. And the day came when he returned and I said 'no'. And do you know how he responded? He laughed… He laughed. Why do you think he did so?"
"You tell me."
"Because that is how Caesar has to treat any rebuff. Another man would be angry, but Caesar will not stoop to anger. He has to maintain his superiority. So he laughed. And the glance he gave me… horrible. Then he threw a jewel into my lap and left. Husband, Mouse-husband, I love you, do you know that…? There, I've said it. I swore I never would. To tell someone you love them puts you in their power. But, please, please, please…"
Please what? What did she mean? I knew even then, and I knew' even then that she was asking what was beyond me, and what, if I had acceded, would have caused her in time to despise me.
For this is something I have learned: that we love most what is denied us. That winter I adored Longina, I adore her memory still; and it is because I could not do as she wished. I could not give her what she asked for, my submission to her will; and if I had done so, she would have turned away from me. She loved me, had come to love me, for my virtue. And my virtue would have fled if I had submitted to the indulgence of uxoriousness.
There is only one character who is wholly contemptible in Homer, and that is Paris, who allowed his passion for Helen to unman him. And I think Helen came to despise Paris, as all who read the Iliad despise him.
Wasn't the intensity of those days in December all the greater, all the more invigorating, all the more delightful because we both knew that the gods decree that men and women must demand of each other what the other cannot in honour give?
Our idyll was broken. It was broken first by a letter I received from Octavius in Greece.
Mouse:
Rumours reach me which are disturbing. You will understand that I must speak carefully for it is foolish to give credence to rumour. Nevertheless certain rumours, which are persistent, threaten my future career, in which I know you continue to take a lively and affectionate interest. Maecenas, whom you dislike, is a wise counsellor as well as a fruitful source of gossip, and the word that reaches him is that the paternity of a certain child may be acknowledged. Very evidently, if this were done, which naturally appears improbable, my own position would be impaired. My uncle is of course the most honourable of men, and would not, I am certain, contemplate such an acknowledgment which has, I am certain, no basis in truth. Yet these rumours persist. Since your counsel is properly so highly valued by all parties concerned, I cannot believe that any action would be taken without prior seeking of your advice. Therefore, I write to you, not in any trepidation, but rather because rumour is insidious; it can lead to unpredictable consequences, which, however unpredictable, could nevertheless be to some extent anticipated as being to my (and perhaps even your) disadvantage. I can well understand that the lady in the case has powerful reasons for urging the course of action which is rumoured. Can I beg you to make any enquiries that may prudently and sagaciously be undertaken? Would it, I wonder, be wise for me to abandon, my studies, delightful and stimulating as they are, and return forthwith to Rome to protect my interests? Naturally of course I shall acquiesce in whatever is determined, and if I have to seek another route to fortune, then I shall do so with all the resolution and intelligence at my command. But I wish to take no action now which you, as my valued friend and adviser, would deem precipitate, unwise or unnecessary.
I send you warm greetings and the assurance of my affection.
Octavius
I wondered, of course, who had been kind enough to pass on the rumour that Caesar contemplated the acknowledgment of Caesarion as his son. Despite the suggestion that it came via Maecenas, I couldn't help but suspect Calpurnia. I could see that she might consider it in her interest to stir up trouble between Caesar and his nephew and presumptive heir. It could only help her campaign to bring the rumours about Caesarion into public notice, for the more discussion there was, the more Caesar would realise how offensive the Roman nobility would find it if he even hinted that he might make a half-foreign bastard his heir.