Chapter 1

‘Good morning, sweet child!’ Marcellus tipped back his sister’s head, noisily kissed her between the eyes, and tousled her hair, while Bambo, his big black sheep-dog, snuggled his grinning muzzle under her arm and wagged amiably.

‘Down! Both of you!’ commanded Lucia. ‘You’re uncommonly bright this morning, Tribune Marcellus Lucan Gallio. I thought you were going to a party at the Club.’

‘Ah—my infant sister—but what a party!’ Marcellus gingerly touched his finely moulded, close-cropped, curly head in several ailing areas, and winced. ‘You may well be glad that you are not—and can never be—a Tribune. It was indeed a long, stormy night.’

‘A wet one, at any rate, to judge from your puffy eyes. Tell me about it—or as much as you can remember.’ Lucia scooped Bambo off the marble lectus with her foot, and her brother eased himself onto the seat beside her. He laughed, reminiscently, painfully.

‘I fear I disgraced the family. Only the dear gods know what may come of it. His Highness was too far gone to understand, but someone will be sure to tell him before the day is over.’

Lucia leaned forward anxiously, laid a hand on his knee, and searched his cloudy eyes.

‘Gaius?’ she asked, in a frightened whisper. ‘What happened, Marcellus?’

‘A poem,’ he muttered, ‘an ode; a long, tiresome, incredibly stupid ode, wrought for the occasion by old Senator Tuscus, who, having reached that ripeness of senescence where Time and Eternity are mistaken for each other—’

‘Sounds as if you’d arrived there, too,’ broke in Lucia. ‘Can’t you speed it up a little?’

‘Don’t hurry me, impatient youth,’ sighed Marcellus. ‘I am very frail. As I was saying, this interminable ode, conceived by the ancient Tuscus to improve his rating, was read by his son Antonius, also in need of royal favor; a grandiloquent eulogy to our glorious Prince.’

‘He must have loved the flattery,’ observed Lucia, ‘and of course you all applauded it. You and Tullus, especially.’

‘I was just coming to that,’ said Marcellus, thickly. ‘For hours there had been a succession of rich foods and many beverages; also a plentitude of metal music interspersed with Greek choruses—pretty good—and an exhibition of magic—pretty bad; and some perfunctory speeches, of great length and thickness. A wrestling-match, too, I believe. The night was far advanced. Long before Antonius rose, my sister, if any man among us had been free to consult his own desire, we would all have stretched out on our comfortable couches and slept. The gallant Tullus, of whose good health you are ever unaccountably solicitous, sat across from me, frankly asleep like a little child.’

‘And then you had the ode,’ encouraged Lucia, crisply.

‘Yes—we then had the ode. And as Antonius droned on—and on—he seemed to recede farther and farther; his features became dimmer and dimmer; and the measured noise he was making sounded fainter and fainter, as my tortured eyes grew hotter and heavier—’

‘Marcellus!’ shouted Lucia. ‘In the name of every immortal god! Get on with it!’

‘Be calm, impetuous child. I do not think rapidly today. Never again shall I be anything but tiresome. That ode did something to me, I fear. Well—after it had been inching along for leagues and decades, I suddenly roused, pulled myself together, and gazed about upon the distinguished company. Almost everyone had peacefully passed away, except a few at the high table whose frozen smiles were held with clenched teeth; and Antonius’ insufferable young brother, Quintus, who was purple with anger. I can’t stomach that arrogant pup and he knows I despise him.’

‘Gaius!’ barked Lucia, in her brother’s face, so savagely that Bambo growled. ‘I want to know what you did to offend Gaius!’