Unlike Drusus with his bad-tempered impatience, Livius smiled broadly in genuine pleasure.
He gestured me to follow him through the interior of his immense house, the guard trailing us, and out to the peristyle garden. The thick walls of the surrounding house kept out the brisk December wind and drizzle, and two lit braziers warmed whatever winter air managed to penetrate the space.
A cushioned bench reposed under citrus trees now heavy with fragrant lemons. Scrolls strewn across the bench and a half-empty wine cup on the table next to it told me Livius had been reading here when I’d arrived.
“Sit, sit.” Livius swept away scrolls and snapped his fingers at a servant who lingered on the edge of the garden. This servant hurried away and returned with another cup of wine, which he filled from an elegant blue glass pitcher.
I sat gingerly on the bench, unused to cushions under my backside. Even when I entertained in domii on Rome’s hills, I was usually left standing when I wasn’t demonstrating my skills. I was only invited onto cushions when the lady of the house wanted a closer look at me.
“What brings you to the Oppian Hill?” Livius asked after I’d taken a refreshing sip of his rich wine. “I heard you opened the Saturnalian games, yesterday. I’d assumed you’d be there for the entire festival.”
“I did not go to compete,” I said, then decided I did not want to explain why I’d capitulated to Aemil’s request. “I came to this hill to visit Ennius Fabricius Drusus.”
Livius blenched. “Jove, why? I will warn you, Leonidas, do not try to become one of his clients. Drusus is the most ungenerous man I know, as well as the most unpleasant.”
Then why was this ungenerous man gathering so much money to, as Cassia speculated, give it to another?
I glanced at the guard, who’d remained, though the servant had retreated to a discreet distance. I did not blame the guard. Livius was a wealthy man, and I was a trained killer.
“You will have to tell me in front of Junius,” Livius said, following my gaze. “He will insist on standing where he is, and I can’t possibly lift him.”
Junius did not react, remaining like a boulder in his spot.
Deciding to trust Livius with the problem, I launched into my tale, starting with the commotion at the games and Nero’s demand that I assist Drusus. I omitted the name of the boy who’d actually robbed him and finished with Cassia’s worry that Drusus was up to something.
To my relief, Livius didn’t press me for the identity of the thief, but let me finish the tale, his eyes filled with interest.
“I came to ask whether I can sit in your vestibulum for a while and keep an eye on his house,” I said. “Cassia is usually right.”
“She is indeed.” Livius’s voice held respect. “You may of course watch from here, but I have a better idea. My guards can find out much about who comes and goes at Drusus’s house, and probably already know most of his visitors. True, Junius?”
Junius solemnly nodded.
“Arrange it,” Livius told Junius. “Meanwhile, Leonidas, you will remain as my guest, and we’ll have a meal, to celebrate Saturnalia. I was about to eat alone, but it will be much more enjoyable with a friend, do you not think?”
Chapter 7
I’d dined in lavish homes on the Roman hills before, where the man or lady of the household and their guests reposed on couches around a long table in the triclinium, while servants carried out dish after dish for all to sample.
Most people believed wealthy Romans always ate in this way, but the couches and strange and exotic dishes were in truth only for lavish banquets, when the head of the household wanted to impress his guests.
By contrast, Livius’s servants brought a square table out to the garden and placed carved wooden folding stools on either side of it. The stools held thin cushions, more unaccustomed luxury for me.
The servants gave us a simple meal of bread and a savory meat stew, fresh greens in a salad, and sweet pastries formed into the shape of long-necked birds, dusted with sugar.
If the last were from the shop in front of Drusus’s house, I definitely would purchase some to take home to Cassia. They were sweet without being overwhelming, flaky and tasty.
As we leisurely finished the meal, Livius asked about what had happened in my life since we’d last spoken.
I’d done little more than work on the warehouses in the Emporium that Gnaeus Gallus was constructing for Livius himself, which were almost finished. Gallus had recently asked me to help him with plans for a series of shops at the base of this very hill.
Livius listened with interest. He owned much property in the city, often purchasing crumbling or abandoned buildings and refitting and reconstructing them. He’d then charge a handsome rent for new tenants, though I’d discovered he was kind to those who’d lived in the buildings forever, allowing them to stay at their previous rate.
He also asked about Cassia, hoping she was well. Most people who met Cassia were taken with her, and Livius was no exception.
I realized as I answered that if Cassia did catch the eye of a man like Livius—maybe even Livius himself—she could leave our cold, hard rooms for a softer, more comfortable life.
She might either become the wealthy man’s favorite, or if he had true affection for her, he’d free her and marry her. A patrician might be ruined if he married a lowly freedwoman, but a wealthy freedman like Livius could do so without trouble.
