The Tribune's Curse Read Online Free PDF Page A

was usually far more painful than losing.
    The Nubians deposited us in the narrow street before the massive door of Milo’s house. The moment I stepped from the litter, I saw the effect of Fausta’s renovations. The entire block of apartments facing that side of the house was gone. Instead, the other side of the street featured a beautifully landscaped park, complete with fountains and pools in which swans paddled contentedly.
    “What happened here?” I said, gasping. “Was there a fire?”
    “Nothing of the sort,” Julia informed me. “Fausta thoughtthis dingy neighborhood was too cramped, so she had some of the tenements demolished. Milo already owned them, anyway. Isn’t it beautiful?”
    “It’s pretty enough,” I admitted. “But his whole point in putting the main door on this side was that the street was too narrow for his enemies to use a battering ram against it. They could build a siege tower in that park.”
    “It’s worth putting up with a little danger to live with proper dignity. Come along, the guests are gathering.”
    We went inside, and a whole horde of pretty young slaves of both sexes swarmed around us, draping our necks with wreaths of flowers, placing chaplets around our brows, anointing our hands with perfume, and scattering rose petals before us. This was another change. I’d never seen anyone but strong-arm men in Milo’s house before. His lictors had been dismissed for the evening, but the six
fasces
were ranged on stands by the door in token of his
imperium
.
    The atrium was changed as well. Fausta had knocked three or four rooms into one huge one, and had raised the ceiling as well and added a window of many small panes above the door to admit the sunlight that was now available owing to the demolition of the buildings across the street. The walls were painted with wonderful frescoes depicting mythological subjects, and the floor was covered with picture mosaics of outdoor scenes. Picture mosaics were a new fashion, introduced by the Egyptian ambassador. Around the periphery of the room were statues of ancestors. Her ancestors, not his.
    “Have you ever seen such an improvement?” Julia asked me.
    “It’s—different,” I admitted.
    “Fausta brought me here when she began the renovations.” She shook her head. “As if Milo really expected her to live in that dark old fortress! I came to visit often while the work was going on. It gave me no end of ideas.”
    I felt the first, small ticklings of trepidation. Fausta was a Cornelian, and Julia was a Julian, and Julia would have to go Fausta one better. At the very thought I began to tremble.
    “Ah, my dear, you realize that it may be quite some time before we can expect to live on such a scale—”
    She giggled, covering her mouth with a palm fan to do so. “Oh, Decius, of course I know that! These things take time. But sooner or later you must inherit from your father, and of course Caesar will favor you after your service with him, and you’ll have a praetorian province before long.” She placed a hand on my shoulder and kissed my cheek. “I know that it will be four, maybe five years before we can have a place like this. Come on, let’s see the rest!” Going shaky in the knees, I followed her.
    We were headed for the
impluvium
when Fausta found us. She and Julia went through the customary embrace and exchange of compliments while I dawdled, wishing Milo would show up. Fausta was as golden blond as a German princess, one of the few Roman women who came by the look naturally. Her gown was likewise of Coan cloth, and it was of a single, transparent layer, but Fausta had the bearing to get away with it. She carried herself so regally that she could walk through a room naked and only after she was gone would anyone realize it.
    “Come along,” Fausta said. “I’ve finally got the
impluvium
stocked. You must see it.” We followed her beneath an archway and into a vast area open to the sky. She had gutted the whole