‘Quintus had some trouble with his father’s debts, which have held him back for a while. Most fortunate, since it gave me time to wean him off some of his wilder notions. He might be sound on the problem of Spain, but he was less so on the path we Optimates must follow. I’ve often worried that everything I’ve worked for could fall apart but with Quintus committed to the cause and eager to carry the torch, I think I can rest easier at night, and so can you.’
Lucius fixed his son with that enquiring look, which demanded that Marcellus guess the conclusion to be drawn from that remark. ‘You do not see what I’m driving at?’
‘No, Father.’
‘What would happen if I dropped dead?’
Marcellus protested quickly. ‘Surely you cannot expect me to take such an event into consideration. It would be impious to contemplate your death.’
Even though he continued to smile, there was just a hint of asperity in Lucius’s voice. ‘You’ve inherited some of your mother’s sentimentality. I am mortal like other men. I will die and, given my age, I shall very likely do so long before you can think of occupying the higher offices of state.’
‘I hope that is not true, Father.’
Lucius looked at the low ceiling, his gaze dream-like. ‘So do I, Marcellus. I have often seen you in my dreams as you sacrificed your bull, then taking your place as senior consul in the Senate.’ He looked at his son again, and the eyes held something like love; at any rate it was an expression Marcellus had never seen before. ‘I don’t praise you, nor do I encourage others to do so, but both Timeon and Macrobius have furnished me with glowing reports of your progress. You’ve a long way to go yet and the path you will follow is strewn with pitfalls, but I want you to know that, at this moment, I am proud of you.’
Marcellus dropped his head, aware that he was blushing.
‘Quintus was here while they spoke and I think he was frankly amazed at their words, which is just as well, since if anything should happen to me, it is to Quintus you must look for assistance.’ Marcellus looked up again as his father continued. ‘As you heard I have promised to aid him to the consulship. He could well do it without my help, of course, given that he has talent and money, but you, of all people, will know what my blessing means.’
‘He cannot fail!’
‘I have offered him more than that. The Senate is full of aspiring and ex-consuls who lack either power or true dignity. I intend that Quintus will be different. He’ll inherit the task I have laboured at all these years. Not only will he become consul, but he’ll assume the leadership I hold. Men who are my clients now will become his, should I, either through death or illness, be unable to continue.’
‘Are you ill, Father?’ asked Marcellus anxiously.
‘I ache from increasing age, but no more than that.’ The boy’s enquiry had touched him and he turned away slightly, just for a second. ‘Back to the subject of Quintus. As a quid pro quo for my assistance, Quintus has taken an oath to assist you in turn. He will not seek to advance his own sons in place of you. Everything I have built, he will hold in trust, until you are old enough to assume responsibility.’
‘Will he keep his word?’ asked Marcellus. He didn’t trust Quintus, and the expression on his face made that plain.
He had rarely seen his father laugh, but Lucius did now, the thin body shaking with mirth. He bent down to the floor and when he returned to an upright position he held a small leather bag in his hand. Lucius untied the thong that held it closed, tipped it up and emptied a ball into his palm, holding it up, between finger and thumb, for Marcellus to see. The light from the oil lamps flashed in the object, multiplying and moving as Lucius twiddled with it.
‘I had this made for you, Marcellus.’
Unused to presents from his father, his expression was a mixture of surprise and pleasure. He had never seen anything like this glittering object. ‘What is it?’
‘I should have thought that was plain.’
‘It looks like glass.’
‘It is. And it is a perfectly shaped sphere.’
‘How did the glassmaker do it?’
‘Only the Gods know. Greek, of course.’
‘What is it for, Father?’
‘Is it not the same size as the leather ball with which you play?’ Marcellus nodded. ‘Then that is what it’s for. Macrobius tells me you are a winner at the sport, the best he’s ever witnessed, tells me that he’s never seen you drop the ball all the time he’s been tutoring you.’
‘Everyone drops the ball at some time, Father.’
Lucius frowned. ‘You’d best not drop this one, boy. If you do it could break into a thousand pieces.’
‘Then I can’t play with it?’
Lucius suddenly smiled again and sat back in his chair, his finger arched before his mouth in that familiar way, with the glass ball touching his lips. ‘Why not?’
‘I could be the best player in the world, but I cannot have a game without involving other people.’
Lucius nodded, still with that slight smile on his lips. ‘True!’
‘What I am saying is that I don’t need to drop the ball myself. Any one of my friends could be the one to break it.’
Lucius leant forward, holding the glass sphere up to the light again. ‘Imagine that this ball is you, your mind, your body, your future and your hopes.’ Marcellus looked confused. ‘You asked if Quintus could be trusted, said you cannot have a game if you don’t throw the ball to another player. If I was to say that I agree with you, there is no one to whom you can safely throw this object without fear of it being damaged, then I believe I would have answered your question about Quintus Cornelius!’
Cholon sat gazing at the blank sheet of papyrus before him. Outside his window, to distract him, the sounds of the teeming streets of Rome, along with the smells, wafted up; that, at least, was his excuse for not writing. But deep down he knew it was untrue, knew that his imagination would not furnish the words of the play he saw so clearly in his head. A child, born to a noble family, exposed at birth but rescued, who grows up to manhood and ends up a slave in the house of those very parents who disposed of him. The themes were clear in his mind too. The Romans were forever prattling on about nobility, as though it was something in the blood. He wanted his foundling to be an uncouth lout, so that when the family found him to be their own, they sought to disown him all over again. He had toyed with the idea of introducing a touch of Sophocles, having the boy sleep with his own mother, but that smacked of tragedy and Cholon very much wanted to write a comedy; a piece that would expose, through satire, the hypocrisy surrounding the high opinion in which the Romans held themselves.
He heard a slave shout the hour in the street, and laid aside his stylus, pushing from his mind the picture in which all Rome hailed him as a comic master. He was due to dine with Claudia tonight, to report on his trip to the south and the payment of Aulus’s bequests, and his mind turned to that villainous peasant Dabo.
‘What was the name of the baker? Decius. Donatus.’
There he was, again, talking to himself. He really must engage the services of a couple of slaves. Nothing like the presence of inferiors to keep you on your toes. Later that evening, as he sat opposite Claudia, listening to her tales of Titus, her grandchildren and the appalling way that Quintus treated his wife, he could not help thinking how attractive she was. Not that he harboured any desire for her himself, but it seemed odd to him that, given her independent means, there was no queue of suitors outside her door.
Thoas the Numidian was outside her door, listening hard to see if he could discover any more information. He had taken a fancy to one of the women who ran a wine shop near the market-place but unfortunately she had expensive tastes. Since his only source of coin was from Lucius’s steward, he needed a constant supply of information to maintain his suit. Callista, Claudia’s maid, sat alone in her mistress’s suite. She knew where her husband was, and what he was doing. Should she tell? If she did Claudia might send Thoas away, which was the last thing she wanted. Callista needed her husband back in her bed, demonstrating the same ardour he had shown when they first married.