*To happiness then!' he cried. We crashed our bronze wine-cups together and drained them, and refilled them from the jar, and drank again.

Tascus, Romulus and Equitius, meanwhile, were discussing at the top of their voices where to go next. Tascus favoured old Phason's place, up by the theatre; Equitius was for taking a turn by the river before the crowds gathered, to decide on a vantage place to watch the bonfires. So we argued, and drank, and laughed, and drank again. Even in that crowded rowdy tavern we were the loudest, shouting out to one another, banging down our cups when they were empty, and bawling out for the serving-boy.

Romulus had heard there was music and dancing in the forum, and so, in the end, we decided to go there. By then Hesperus was risen, shining like a beacon low in the pale dusk sky, and when we reached the forum the torches were flaring high in their cressets along the wall of the long colonnade. There were pipes and flutes and tambourines. Someone pulled me into the throng of dancing people, and for a while, reeling and leaping, I lost sight of the others. But then I felt a hand on my shoulder, gently urging me away.

I turned. *Come,' said Durano, his face lit by wine and firelight, *let's walk awhile.'

We edged out of the press, our arms slung around one another, and at length came to the city wall. Then we climbed the foot-worn ragstone steps to the high walkway. From the top Durano pointed, saying, *See there.'

I looked out. I had forgotten the bonfires. They had been kindled in the age-old tradition, and were blazing up into the star-flecked sky, yellow flame and rising red-glowing embers, dotted across the dark land, with tiny hopping figures dancing around them.

*A fine sight,' said Durano, drawing me close.

I agreed, and for a while gazed out in silence.

Perhaps it was no more than an effect of the wine a" for I had drunk a good deal a" but, as I stood looking out from the walls, a surge of joy ran through me, clear and pure, like a note of music. I felt my soul straining against the tether of my body, like something shining and entire. Wishing in some manner to share what I felt, I leaned to Durano and kissed his cheek. He smiled; and after a short pause he returned it.

We stayed for some time, alone in the warm night, until eventually a crowd of drunken revellers came stumbling and shouting along the walkway, and the perfect thread was broken.

*Come on,' said Durano, frowning at their noise, *let's go and look for the others.'

We found them in the thick of the dancing still, reeling and stumbling and laughing a" and very drunk. Seeing us they pulled us in. I do not know how long we remained, leaping about and falling; but by the time we moved on, my head was spinning and everything was warm and hazy and amusing.

Burly, ugly Tascus led us on, pressing ahead through the crowded streets towards the quarter behind the theatre, shouting out that the time had come for better things than dancing.

I knew from my own private investigations this warren of alleyways and courtyards a" and its reputation too. To be sure, there are taverns in abundance. But it is not for drinking that the area is known.

We pushed and stumbled our way along the street. For some reason Durano was reluctant: but we all urged him on with the usual lewd jokes, and soon we came to a garlanded two-storey house, painted with curling vine-stalks, and lit outside with flaring torches.

*Oh, by the Mother, not Phason's,' cried Durano.

*Come on!' yelled Tascus and I together, pulling him in.

We entered a low smoky crowded room. There were tables, each with its own little lamp, shaded with a cover of fretted earthenware a" the kind of thing one sees in eating-houses, when they want to give themselves an air of something special.

I had never been inside Phason's before, but Tascus and Romulus were clearly well known, and as we pushed in among the tables they shouted greetings to friends, and slapped shoulders, and grabbed proffered hands. Some of the patrons were busy at dice or knucklebones; but for most it was the girls that were the attraction.

Phason himself came bustling from the back. He was a large Syrian with a black bush of beard and jangling bracelets. With a good deal of elaborate greeting he conducted us to a free table, and clapped his fat hands for the serving-slave. The wine came quickly, and with it the girls, wearing low-cut dresses of see-through orange silk, open at the sides. One squeezed in between Tascus and Romulus. The other pushed Durano along the bench, then edged in next to me.

*Hello,' she said, reaching across me to fill her wine-cup and mine. *My name's Brica. What's yours?'

I told her. She was emaciated and grey-skinned, with red-painted lips, and cheeks smudged with carmine. She looked as if she were sickening with a fever.

As she wriggled in beside me, her tiny dress rode up. I noticed she had a large yellow bruise on her thigh, high up near the groin. She reached out and began toying with Durano's close-cut fuzz of hair, plucking and smoothing the little soft tufts, saying it was like a puppy's. Durano flinched. He seemed not to like this; after a moment, when she did not cease, he removed her hand.

Then, pouting, she turned back to me.

*That's a nice name,' she said, making eyes at someone across the room. From her hot body came the odour of cheap perfume, and female sweat.

I made some answer and drank. Across from me, Romulus was laughing like a man possessed, though no one had said anything funny; and Tascus's thick face was a mask of concentration as the girl beside him jabbered some nonsense about her earrings. His thick, hairy hand, I noticed, had slipped beneath the table, and was moving slowly in her lap.

I rubbed my eyes. My head was spinning from the wine. Now that I had sat down, I could feel a vague rising sickness in the pit of my stomach. I asked myself why I could see nothing beautiful in these women, when the other men clearly saw so much.

The girl had hooked her calf around mine. I could feel her sharp toenails scratch my skin. She kept giggling and pulling faces at her friend opposite. I glanced at Durano, wishing he would talk to me. But his head was down and he was looking glumly into his wine-cup.

Over the weeks I had known them, along with all the other jokes, there had been the usual banter about women. Tascus and Romulus were the worst. Durano, at such times, said little, though once I heard him say, when Tascus was holding forth, that he was all talk and no action. As for me, I had my own reasons for silence, never having mentioned a" not even to Durano, with whom I was closest a" that I had never been with a woman.

It was not that I had not thought about such matters. Once I had even ventured alone to one of the city's many whorehouses, to test myself against what was to be found there. But, after a cup of rancid wine, Albinus's prurient fantasies had come swimming into my head, and even before the girls came to join me I had got up and walked out, tossing a coin onto the table as I left.

Afterwards I told myself I had other things to think about than women; and this was true, or partly true.

The girl Brica kept filling my cup and urging me to drink. And I drank, for it took the edge off my uneasiness. I cannot recall how I ended up upstairs. I remember seeing Tascus, lolling drunkenly in the dim-lit passageway, with a girl on each arm; I remember the smoky corridor, hot and noisy and crowded. And then I was in a lightless room.

I looked around, blinking. In the corner a tiny lamp glowed under a shade of blue glass. The air was heavy with the smell of sweet incense. I shook my head to stop it spinning, and as I turned I saw a movement. A slender figure had stopped in front of the lamp; I realized I was not alone.

I shivered, though it was not cold. I think I spoke out; but the touch of a hand in mine silenced me, and drew me down to a shadowy, tousled bed.

I reached out and felt an arm and naked shoulder. A mouth came up to mine, and a little darting tongue forced itself between my lips. Then a hand rested on my thigh, and began gently, expertly pushing up under my tunic. I closed my eyes, and felt my reeling senses start to respond.

I do not know how long it was before I opened my eyes again. Only a few moments. I saw the blue lamp and a three-legged bedside table; and then, slumped in the corner, its dead painted face staring up at me, a child's doll. It came into my clouded consciousness that the girl had offspring. Well, I thought, no surprise there. Yet it troubled me all the same, and I pushed the thought from my mind.

The girl shifted, touching my body, pulling herself up, intending, I think, to position herself on my lap.

The shock of realization, when it came, hit me so hard I gasped out loud. It was all I could do not to strike her away; but forcing myself to be gentle I eased her off me and stared. Between my strong hands she was trembling, like a small bird when you cup it in your palms.

*What is wrong?' she said, the first words she had spoken.

Then I knew.

Pointing to the corner I managed to say, *Whose is that?'

*Oh,' she said brightly, *that's Poppaea. She's mine. Do you like her?'

*Yours?' My voice was shaking.

She returned her hand to my groin, grasping and impatient, eager to complete what she had started. I leapt back as if scalded.

*What is it?' she cried, and there was a new harshness to her voice, *am I not pleasing?'

I stared, straining to see her in the gloom. *How old are you? Tell me how old.'

*Why, ten next birthday,' she answered. *Mother says I may have a sister for Poppaea if I'm good.'

*You're nine,' I whispered. I reviewed in my mind the moments that had passed, as a man might consider the bites he has taken from an apple, before he found the worm lurking in its core. *But where is your mother?'

The child gestured at the wall behind. In the silence I could hear, through the partition, a rapidly creaking bed, and a man grunting, and a female's bored encouragements.

A wave of nausea and grief swept over me. I brought my hand up to my eyes, as if to block out what my mind saw.

*What is it?' she said, pawing me. *What is wrong?'

*Don't touch me. I have to go.' I pushed her away and stood. She grabbed my arm, but I shook her off. In a little plaintive voice she called behind me, *Don't say I didn't please you. Please don't say; or they will beat me.'

I halted then, and punched the tears from my eyes with the flat of my palms.

*Never fear, little one,' I said. And then, remembering what she was at, I reached in my belt for a fistful of coins.

*Here!' I said. *Take this. Take it and show them, and tell them that you pleased me.'

In the passage outside I paused, gathering my wits, such as were left to me.

The air was rank with lamp-smoke and stale incense. From downstairs I could hear raucous laughter, suddenly devoid of merriment or joy.

I could not bring myself to face the others. I stepped the other way, along the dimly lit corridor, looking for an exit at the back. As I went, a crone emerged from an alcove and jabbed out an obstructing arm. She must have been waiting there.

*You were quick,' she said, eyeing me suspiciously. *Was she no good? Or,' she added, leering and showing black teeth, *was she too good?'

I felt my fists tighten. It is a wonder I did not strike her. She looked at me, and opened her mouth to speak; but whatever she saw in my face made her blanch. Then, before she could utter another word, I had shoved past her. By the time I heard her angry, crow-like voice I was halfway down the back stairs to the street.

Outside I paused, leaning forward, resting my hands on my knees. My eyes were burning, not with tears, but with fury.

Presently I stood up straight and looked around. I was in a narrow alley behind the tavern. There were piles of rubbish. The air stank of rotting food and urine. On this side of the building there were no welcoming torches burning, but I was used to darkness now, and I hurried away before anyone came looking.

I cannot recall what path I took. Soon I came to a quiet square of old shuttered houses, with a tall ancient oak growing in the middle.

There was a stone bench beside it, and I sat. My hands had started shaking. I could taste the child's tongue in my mouth and saw, if I closed my eyes, the grimacing painted face of the hideous doll. I spat, then wondered why.

After some while, when I had regained a little self-command, I got to my feet and walked on; and when I passed a tavern I went in and downed a cup of wine, and then another, and then a third.

But what I was feeling was not to be cured by wine. Eventually I stumbled out, my head spinning, and threw up at the nearest corner.

FIVE.

THAT SUMMER, BALBUS'S SHIPS began to arrive. From Spain they brought olive oil and preserved sauces; from Sicily wine in tall pitch-sealed amphoras; from Italy marble, and little straw-packed boxes of Etrurian jewellery.

His greatest pleasure, however, came on a sleek trader from Egypt. It was the smallest ship of all those he had chartered, but it bore the richest cargo: Arabian frankincense; Indian saffron; essence of violets and hyacinth and cedar; unguents in alabaster, precious lotions, and finely blended oils, all prepared to the closely guarded recipes of the perfumeries of Alexandria.

In that one summer, even without his other business interests, his fortune was made.

Ambitus too returned, on the ship bringing Count Gratian's furniture from Africa. I went down to the wharfside to greet him, and to hear his news.

Gratian, though he came of rough Pannonian peasant-stock a" or perhaps, as Ambitus said, because of it a" had a passion for fine furniture and precious artworks. He collected them like a jackdaw. He had purchased crystal goblets and jewel-encrusted caskets from Asia, paintings from Athens and Constantinople, antique wine-kraters from old Corinth; and, from wherever he found them, gilded tripods, mahogany chests, and fine marquetry cabinets. He had acquired, in short, beautiful objects from across the empire, treasures indeed that an emperor would have been pleased to own a" which is why he kept them at a discreet distance from the court.

Gratian had begun life, I learned, as a common soldier in the ranks, and it is doubtful he would have risen so high, except that as a young man he possessed a particular skill in wrestling.

It was this that got him noticed. One day, during a bout, a senior officer partial to wrestlers was watching; and thereafter Gratian was singled out and promoted. He was found to be able; he had risen fast.

Now, in grizzle-haired middle age, with a distinguished army career behind him, he preferred to forget his rude beginnings, and adopted the outward trappings of a gentleman.

News of the upturn in my uncle's fortunes spread around the city, even without Lucretia's careful sowing. Suddenly the house was full of well-wishers and old friends, who felt it was time to renew their acquaintance.

Lucretia gloried; Balbus was civil, thanked them for putting themselves out, said he was pleased to see them again after so long, and told them he hoped they would excuse him, but he had work to do.

That summer a new obsession had seized my aunt. She had conceived, from her friends, that a family of quality must possess a country villa. She nagged and wheedled, reminding Balbus that trade in land was slow and prices still depressed after the terror of the Saxons. There were excellent bargains to be had, which in a year would cost half as much again.

She was shrewd as a stoat. She knew the right bait to bring in her quarry. She had heard, she said, that there was a perfect villa for sale, out west, in pleasant rolling country. Balbus could return to London easily by river whenever he chose; meanwhile she would take up residence, and decorate, and entertain. What could suit him better? But he must hurry and make up his mind: already she had heard from Volumnia that there were others interested, and such a bargain would soon be snapped up.

She got her house, of course. Then Volumnia reminded her she needed furniture, and it all began again.

All this I shared with Ambitus, amid much laughter. But I did not tell him about Durano and the others, and when he eyed my muscled arms and broad shoulders and asked what I had been doing, I said I had exercised a little, and quickly changed the subject.

Since Midsummer Eve I had stayed away from the little back-street gymnasium with its red-painted porch. Like many a self-deceiver, I scarcely acknowledged what I was doing, even to myself. I persuaded myself that it was only this or that petty chore that held me back, and I should return tomorrow, or perhaps the day after. But, as the old wives say, tomorrow never comes, and each day away made returning harder.

I felt shame, and self-disgust; and, with it, some unclear notion that my friends had contrived to make a fool of me. I was, I told myself, no better than Albinus, for all my wishing otherwise. Night after night I lay awake in my bed, stifling in the summer heat, trying to remember and dissect every detail of how I ended up in the child's room. Surely I did not go there of my own accord, knowing what lay within. But the more I tried to recall what had happened, the harder it became, like a man who reaches into a pool, trying to touch his own reflection. I reminded myself, truthfully and with relief, that little had taken place, and I had fled as soon as I knew. But I started to have bad dreams.

They began with some pleasing image, of a pretty girl or a" worse still a" of my mother; but they always ended the same, with the staring doll and the child in the room, pawing and pleading, trying to thrust her squirming body upon me.

I would cry out, and jolt awake wet with sweat, and find the sheets coiled around me, or in a heap upon the floor. Then, lest the dream return, I forced myself to lie awake, staring up at the roof-beams, fearing sleep.

I remembered the tales of the snake-haired Furies, daughters of Night, older even than the old gods, who pursue men for crimes too terrible to mention and drive them into madness. Could it be that I had awakened them? Was I guilty, deep within my secret soul? I was like a man who in an unexplored cellar of his house finds a door that leads far below, to a fearful pit he had not conceived of. I saw that door in my mind's eye, and stared at it transfixed. But I dared not open it.

Such thoughts haunted me, filling my nights. By day a semblance of perspective returned, and I knew I missed my friends, Durano most of all.

I reminded myself that, out of all of us, it was he who had resisted going to the tavern; and how I had joined with Tascus, Equitius and Romulus in urging him on against his will. I asked myself what kind of man I was, that I should blame him, when it was I who was at fault?

And so finally, one afternoon, goaded by remorse, and recalling some sense of the justice I owed to others, I made my way to the baths to find him.

Nothing was changed. The sour-faced attendant was still in his cubby-hole at the entrance. The old men were still at their dice-games beneath the colonnade.

But Durano was not there.

I went next day, and the day after, and each day for a week. Finally, on the last day, I ran into tall, placid Equitius in the changing-room.

*Where have you been?' I cried. *Where are the others?'

He frowned at my shouting. Out of all of them, Equitius was the one I had conversed with least. Indeed, he had so little to say that I had even thought him rather simple. But I learned, this day, that I had been wrong.

*Well where were you?' he answered shortly.

I told him some nonsense about having been busy; and when I saw in his face he did not believe me, I resented it.

*Durano is not here,' he said, returning to strapping on his sandal, *nor are the others. The army is transferring out. He left with the advance party. He would have come to tell you, if he knew where you lived.'