But she was straightforward by comparison to the ladies he was meeting now. One or two of them had invited him to bed, but a lively sense of self-preservation had kept him free of such entrapments. Rome attracted the best of everything, and if he needed a woman, there were courtesans who demanded nothing of him but his money, and whose arts could banish anxiety, for a little while.
Moving in Roman society was like leading a cavalry charge across icy ground—exhilarating while it lasted, but you never knew when some treacherous bit would bring you down. Gaius wondered if Julia could have held her own in that company. And as for Eilan—it was like trying to imagine a wild antelope, or perhaps a wildcat, among a herd of high-bred racing mares to picture her here: both were beautiful, but different orders of being entirely.
“I understand that you served under Agricola in Caledonia…”
Gaius blinked, realizing that one of the older men was talking to him. He caught the flicker of a broad purple stripe on the tunic and straightened as if he were facing a superior officer, racking his brains to remember the man’s name. Most of his host’s friends were from the equestrian class; he had done well to get a senator here.
“Yes, sir, I had that honor. I had hoped to call upon him here in Rome.”
“I believe that at present he is residing on the family estates in Gaul,” the Senator said neutrally. Marcellus Clodius Malleus, that was his name.
“It is hard to imagine him resting.” Gaius grinned. “I had supposed he would be putting the fear of the gods into the enemies of Rome somewhere on the frontiers or bringing the Pax Romana to one of the provinces.”
“Indeed, one might think so.” The Senator’s manner warmed perceptibly. “But you might be wiser not to say so until you are sure of your company…”
Gaius stilled, thinking once more of icy ground, but Malleus continued to smile.
“There are many here in Rome who appreciate Agricola’s qualities, qualities that appear ever more admirable each time we learn of some mishandled campaign by one of our other generals.”
“Then why doesn’t the Emperor employ him?” Gaius asked.
“Because victory for Roman arms is secondary to keeping the Emperor in power. The more people clamor for Agricola to be sent out as General, the more our ‘lord and god’ suspects him. In another year he will be due for a major consular appointment, but as things are now, his friends must advise him not to accept it.”
“I can see the problem,” said Gaius thoughtfully. “Agricola is far too conscientious to fail deliberately, but if he does well, the Emperor will feel threatened by his success. Well, he will be remembered with honor in Britannia, whatever happens in Rome.”
“Tacitus would be happy to hear you say that,” said Malleus.
“Oh, do you know him? I served with him in Caledonia.” The conversation moved into a general discussion of the northern campaign, which the Senator proved to have followed closely. It was only as the guests were being herded to the gardens for a display by some Bithynian dancing girls that the conversation became personal once more.
“I’m giving a small dinner party three weeks from now—” Malleus laid a friendly hand on Gaius’s arm. “Nothing elaborate, just a few men whom I think you will find interesting. Would you honor me by attending? Cornelius Tacitus has promised to be there.”
From that day forward it seemed to Gaius that the superficial round of parties and entertainments that had begun to exasperate him took on a new dimension. It felt as if he were at last penetrating the veil with which Roman society protected itself against outsiders, and if it was only one segment of that society, and perhaps a dangerous one, even that was preferable to dying of boredom.
A few days later Licinius’s cousin, whose agnomen was Corax, took Gaius with him to the Games in the new Coliseum that Domitian was building on the site where Nero’s overwrought palace had once stood.