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Senator Petronius was an education in civic government.
Before that night, Corvus had never met the man or even seen him on television. A plebeian's relationship with his senator was always a tenuous thing at best. Every six years, a district's patricians would put forward the candidate for a senate seat to be voted up or down by the plebiscite. Voting was mandatory and a "no" vote meant coming back to the polls six weeks later. If he stayed in the aristocracy's good graces, a senator had to be a sybarite on the level of old Caligula or a corpse to lose an election. At least once in recent memory, a senator had died and still been re-elected overwhelmingly to another six years term.
Being a drunk and a boor certainly wasn't enough reason for an incumbent to be removed from his seat. As a result, Senator Petronius was safe in his job until he was ready to retire or his liver lept out of his body and throttled him.
He'd been reasonably quiet during dinner, sinking deeper and deeper into his cups and occasionally saying something to the woman at his left in a low rumble unintelligible to the rest of the table. The woman, a pretty plebeian in her early twenties and Petronius's official mistress managed to teach Corvus a lot about the aphrodisiac qualities of power without saying a word to him. The smiles, soft touches, and strangely adoring looks she gave her batrachian escort were either genuine or impeccably rehearsed.
It wasn't until the men of power retired to the study for cigars and brandy that the old man addressed his host.
"I can't believe you didn't take the old cunt's job when you had the chance!" He stabbed the general in the chest with one finger on the hand holding his cigar. "Now, we're stuck with four more years of having to kowtow to her wrinkled, old ass unless your boss wants the job. We could have had a vote of confidence right there."
Corvus sipped his brandy and took a slow draw off his cigar. The senator was a fine one to talk about anyone's wrinkled anatomy. His whole body looked like an elephant's testicles. A glance around the room told him no one else was going to interrupt the man's diatribe, so he held his tongue and put down his cigar in a marble ashtray. He'd tried cigars as a plebeian, but these had a much higher marijuana content and went to his head quickly.
"I have no desire to be proconsul," said Gaius gravely. "Politics is a filthy business and one I gladly leave to those who enjoy it. I'll focus on keeping us safe from the damned Christians so that you're not interrupted at your work."
"Is that who blew up the train with Agricola's boy on it?" Petronius grumbled and puffed at his own cigar. "I haven't read the reports yet."
"It's not in the reports yet," the general informed him. "But, yes. Not only was it Christians, but home-grown ones. There's a cult in the northern interior. We want to move against them before we release the information to the public."
The whole room fell silent, suddenly listening very carefully to this new bit of information. Apparently, it wasn't something the general had shared very widely.
"Roman Christians? Unheard of!" the senator declared. "How on Earth did that happen?"
"We're going to have some very pointed questions for the ones we capture," said General Gallicus. "We suspect it's coming over with the slaves we're shipping back from Britannica. The ones we take in battle are put through a rigorous education program before they're brought here, but not all of our civilian traders are as thorough."
"Your new wife ran that program. Didn't she?" The senator was probably trying to look sly, but he looked more constipated.
The general just laughed. "Hardly. She was one administrator among many who oversaw the training of the new slaves we expected to be suitable for household service. She's probably part of the reason the problem isn't much worse than it is. There's no scandal here, Senator."
Petronius seemed unwilling to give up. "She tell you that?"
"She did," said the general. "And I believe her. Have you met my new son yet?"
He had at the beginning of dinner, but the old man turned around, looking puzzled. "You still making those? Mine never did me a damned bit of good."
The general laid a firm hand on Corvus's shoulder, standing next to him. "Senator Petronius, this is Corvus Gallicus. He's consented to become my son and to allow me to marry his mother."
Senator Petronius squinted at Corvus. "Ah, that sort of new son ... like Artemis from the head of Zeus. Have you got a brain, Corvus Gallicus?"
"Yes, sir," said Corvus evenly, refusing to rise to the bait.
"And do you believe your father when he says he doesn't want to be proconsul?" the Senator challenged.
Corvus considered the question, knowing this was a test like the ones his mother would spring on him from time to time to make sure he was paying attention to the world around him. He chose his words carefully. "I believe that whatever role my father chooses in the future, he'll be well served to have my mother at his side. She's an intelligent woman and an astute political observer. If he could only ask one thing of the senate, it was wise to choose the bride first and pursue the rest only once his household it secure."
Again, the room fell silent. Corvus felt like he'd answered well and given the opportunity for the senator to make a fool out of himself by fixating on the phrase "intelligent woman."
The Senator gave an explosive laugh that turned into a wet, wheezing cough. He medicated it with a healthy dose of brandy. "I remember your mother from the last war, boy. She was quite the famous whore."
Corvus didn't even flinch. He'd been hearing that one on the playground from before he knew what a whore was. "She was a free hetaera in service to New Rome. That's where she met General Gallicus."
Outmanoeuvered, the senator pointed a finger at Corvus, still holding his glass. "I like your fire, boy."
"That's good," said General Gallicus. His voice was even, but there was a faintly sardonic smile on his lips indicating that clearly enjoyed the news he was about to deliver "Because he'll be taking your seat after this term, Senator."
The old man opened his mouth to protest, a seemingly involuntary reaction to being told he was being phased out. He closed it again and scowled at the general, but eventually gave a faint nod. "So be it. I wasn't saving it for anybody."
Corvus tried to moderate his consumption during the long evening. But so much of what happened was political maneuvering, requiring a deep understanding of the participants, that he found himself sipping and smoking more than he meant to. When his father finally gave him leave to go, he managed to get good and lost in his own house until it finally occurred to him to ask one of the ubiquitous legionnaires posted throughout the house where his damned rooms were.
When he staggered into his antechamber, Clover rose from her desk and came over to guide him to his bedroom. Without being asked, she started to strip Corvus out of his clothes. He raised his arms and lifted his feet as required before falling into bed in only a pair of boxer-briefs. Clover stood at his bedside, "How else may I serve?"
"C'mere," Corvus gestured for her to join him on the bed and pulled her close when she did. He kissed her with vigor and felt her hand wrap around his organ, but no matter what they did, he never got more than half-hard. Eventually, he called on her to stop her efforts.
Clover smiled down at Corvus so softly that his nascent embarrassment withered away unformed. "Strong drink can raise a man's desire, but suppress his ability - even a young, virile man like yourself."
Corvus grinned at her. "I'm young and virile."
Clover kissed his lips softly. "You certainly are, Corvus."
"Will you stay?" he asked. "I don't care that we can't do anything more tonight. I just want to sleep with you at my side."
She kissed his bare chest. "I will stay."
But some time later with the moon high in the sky, Corvus woke to see her in silhouette as she pulled on her clothes.
"Where are you going?" he asked, balanced on the edge between drunk and hungover.
"Your father sent for her." Malcolm stood in the doorway, just out of Corvus's easy sight. "Calvus Acilius has asked your father for the use of her."
Corvus lifted his head. "But, I wanted her to spend the night with me." He remembered Acilius - a man of middling years, middling height, middling politics, and middling hair.
Malcolm gave a faint nod. "And your father wants her to go to his old ally, Calvus Acilius."
"Shit," Corvus let his head flop back onto his pillow.
Clover leaned over him and kissed him softly on the lips. "I'll return as soon as I can."
Corvus clung to her in a fierce hug for a long time before letting go. He wanted to demand she stay, but knew he would only make a scene. Where Clover went wasn't her choice. "I'll talk to my father in the morning."
She gave him an unreadable smile. "As you wish."
Corvus did end up discussing the subject with his father the next day, but not in the morning. He woke with a low, throbbing pain in his temples that turned vicious and threatened to bring up the contents of his stomach when he moved his head. When Gunda stepped into the room to ask if he needed anything, he described his predicament. She sat on the edge of of the bed and massaged his forehead with remarkably powerful fingers until he felt well enough to sit up. After that, she offered to fetch him a purgative, but he opted for coffee instead.
After his second mug, he sent the kitchen-slave to fetch clothes, but sent her away when she offered to dress him. Even in his current state, it was easier to dress himself. Besides, he felt so fragile that it seemed even the lightest brush against his skin might leave a bruise.
He stepped out onto the patio where he'd eaten the previous day. It was empty, but he barely had time to register that fact before a pair of slaves were carrying the dining table into place and fetching chairs. He collapsed into one gratefully. Even behind his sunglasses, the light seemed unusually cruel this afternoon. A spread of breakfast foods were already on the table when it was placed in front of him. He gestured to plates of fresh fruit, juices, and the coffee pot, grateful he didn't have to speak.
He ate in peace and silence for some time before his father emerged from among the colonnades trailing military officers in his wake. At the edge of the patio, he turned to face his entourage, speaking in a low, rumbling voice whose meaning didn't carry as far as the breakfast table. By the time he sat at the table, only Malcolm was at his side. The steward handed him a thin sheaf of papers and withdrew.
Gaius poured himself a cup of coffee, opened the folder he'd been handed, and read through it. He didn't look in Corvus's direction and took his eyes off the papers in front of him only long enough to give some signal to the slaves who hovered nearby, sending them further into the shade.
Corvus ate fresh fruit and drank his coffee, hoping his slowly improving headache would go away completely before he had to speak.
"You acquitted yourself well last night." His father laid down the folder and closed it. "It's always wise to grow quieter as you become besotted. It's a lesson not all men learn, even with great age."
Corvus blinked at his father. Any hope that his inebriation had gone unnoticed dissolved. "I'm ... glad I didn't make more of a fool of myself."
Gaius gestured for food. "As a man of power, you walk a very fine line. If you abstain from vice, you become a slave to virtue. And no free man would willingly be led by a slave."
Corvus rubbed his eyes, suspecting he was being led to a more subtle discussion than there was room for in his skull this afternoon. His civics class had read a speech by one of the old, great orators of New Rome called, "How free men make themselves slaves." But, it had been all about becoming a slave to vice. He'd never heard the phrase, "slave to virtue."
Still, it seemed like a response was expected, so he tried to piece together a coherent one. "So, you counsel moderation?"
"Most of the time," said Gaius. "Occasional excesses are warranted if only to let us know where our limits are."
"And so we don't become slaves to moderation," said Corvus, taking a small bite of cantaloupe.
Gaius's surprised laugh lanced through Corvus's skull. "Well put. Some men become slaves to moderation and it guarantees their successes are never more than moderate."
"Like Calvus Acilius?" Corvus asked.
"A perfect example," agreed the general. "In a room full of so many more important people, he must have made a remarkable impression of unremarkability for you to remember him."
"You sent my body slave to him last night." Corvus tried to make it sound casual.
"Did I?" The general frowned. "I doubt I handled it directly. Malcolm usually handles all such requests for hospitality. Which one is she?"
"Clover." Corvus wondered if the man was being deliberately obtuse or if he just owned so many slaves that he couldn't keep track of them.
"Ah, yes. Did you require her services last night? I would have thought you'd be out like a light by the time the meeting broke up."
And there was the trap. He had been asleep when Clover was sent for. What had he lost by having to go back to sleep without her? He searched for something acceptable to say. "I was. Forgive me if I don't know the protocol of such things."
Gaius shook his head. "No, you're probably right. There are advantages to having a single slave know your routine and your preferences. Malcolm practically runs the day-to-day matters of the house for me without intervention now. Would you like Clover to assume those duties for you for now?"
"I would, General." Corvus inclined his head slightly. "Thank you."
"You're going to need your own household in your district before you stand for Petronius's office. Malcolm is looking for an appropriate estate there now. Hopefully, he'll find something in time for me to make it a wedding gift to you."
An estate as a wedding gift? Even among the patricians, that would be noteworthy. Corvus took a moment to find his composure. "Thank you, sir. That's exceedingly generous."
"I don't want anyone to doubt the sincerity of your adoption," said the general. "I've never been able to have a son of my own, but all the victories in the world turn to ashes if there's no one to pass on the spoils to."
It was the first time they'd spoken of the adoption in any but the most general of terms. Corvus actually found himself choking up a little at the honor this great man was bestowing on him. He'd assumed that he was merely tagging along, part of the package that came with marrying his mother. But General Gaius Gallicus, liberator of the Eternal City, genuinely wanted Corvus Tullius to be his son.
"Thank you, sir," Corvus said quietly. "I'll do my best to deserve the honor of being your son."
The general paused for a long moment, then cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the flow of emotion around the table. "Yes, of course. You should be looking for a steward for your new household - someone to handle all of your affairs. If you can find one among my slaves, I'll make them part of the gift."
"Thank you, sir," Corvus said again. "Would Clover be suitable for the role?"
"Possibly," said the general. "But, don't give her the job just because she's your favorite. Showing too much fondness for any one slave is always bad form, but it can be seen as a character flaw if you indulge her because of it. Make a decision when you're ready to move."
Corvus wasn't entirely sure what to make of the seemingly conflicting advice his father had given him that morning or how to apply it to his current situation. Given a number of possible interpretations, he settled on the one he liked best: that he should enjoy whatever interlude he had before the serious business of being a patrician kicked in because that interlude wouldn't last forever.
For him, that mostly meant spending time with Clover. As a patrician and the son of a powerful general, any number of diversions were available, but having once seen the result of choosing excesses of intoxication over more basic pleasures, he decided he greatly preferred the latter.
For two weeks, he explored the extent of General Gallicus's estate. Clover hadn't been part of the household much longer than Corvus had, so they ended up exploring together. The perimeter wall enclosed a huge amount of undeveloped tropical forest, lightly interspersed with paved and unpaved roads. If they'd been on foot, they could have walked for a day or more without seeing another soul. But, they commandeered a pickup truck sometimes used by the gardeners and took it along those roads to see what they could see.
Tucked in against the jungle were a number of buildings not visible from the house. They found a half-dozen barracks, two of them actively housing soldiers of General Gallicus's legion, the others neat and empty like they could be used at a moment's notice. Corvus wondered why his father would need so many barracks and came to the obvious conclusion that he would only have them and keep them in such good repair if he thought he might need to house that many men at some point. That begged a whole different set of questions, but he decided that the purpose couldn't be too nefarious or someone would have warned him off from exploring.
In truth, he was less interested in the barracks than in the cluster of guest houses connected to the main house by a short paved road. They clustered around a man-made pond and stood just far enough away from everything else to appear completely isolated.
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