The gardens of the mansion atop the mons Vaticanus were neatly kept and quiet...a perfect refuge from the city outside it's high walls. The clivus Vaticanus was usually busy with the cries of cake-sellers and other street merchants, drowned out here by bubbling fountains, cascades and the song of birds in the aviary. The mansion itself was relatively small, so far as modern villas went, only 50 rooms...it's owner preferred space around him rather than people...a trait carried over from his childhood among the Boii in Germania.

Yet, though small, the villa was finished with the best marbles, woods and frescoes, all reflecting the wealth of it's master. Antiques of citrus wood were numerous, as were items of ivory inlaid with amber and gold. The windows of the mansion were fitted with the finest glass from Gaul to further block out any objectionable sounds from without the walls. Today, those windows and all the doors were flung open to admit the summer breezes, fluttering the damask curtains of the library where the owner of this paradise pored over some maps.

"Sir, your lunch is ready," the servant said, bowing. The older man looked up and smiled...the light catching in the silver-gold locks of his hair. Nearing sixty, his long hair was as much silver these days as gold, while his moustache was entirely silver. Despite the tanned wrinkles of his face, the eyes of piercing grey were young and vibrant.

"Thank you, Silas...where is the mistress, just now?" his voice, like the eyes, bore no trace of age or hesitancy, though the faint accent of the north was still noticeable despite decades of life in Rome.

The slave, proudly bearing the silver ring denoting his status as chief steward, nodded. "She is in the garden, sir--feeding the birds. She asks you to excuse her--it seems one of the chicks has hurt itself falling from a nest, and she is tending to it."

"Young Theodoric is playing soldiers with several of the neighbors' children in the north garden, and Gerda is studying in her room." he added, before his master could ask. The number 'V' carved on his ring signified that he was the fifth of his family to hold the rank of chief steward...and he felt it his duty to anticipate his master's questions at all times. His master's next words, therefore, came as a surprise.

"After lunch, Silas, have the carriage brought around...I have a meeting at the palace."

Silas nodded, and quietly left...hiding his expression as a matter of course--to have done otherwise would have been an affront to his slave's ancestry. With the number of slaves dropping with each generation as manumissions or deaths claimed their numbers, being able to claim the status became ever more rare. So much so, that six generations ago, slaves were officially registered and issued cards declaring their status, and granted many of the rights of freedmen--all in the hope of increasing the numbers of landless poor to give up an almost meaningless freedom for a guaranteed job and a decent wage. While Silas could not leave his master's service without permission, there was very little else to distinguish him from the average roman citizen.

Why is the Master going to the Palace? He's been retired for many years?! Silas pondered that question as he summoned the driver to bring the carriage around to the front entrance. He knew that the master's fortune had been built up over generations by wily trading with foreign lands, and that these contacts had enabled him to occasionally do 'favors' for the imperial family--secretly, of course--yet those days were over...weren't they?

In the lower garden, he saw the Master approach his wife, taking her hand and kissing it gently. He saw them exchange a few words, then saw the Mistress hug her husband fiercely, as if about to lose him forever. Very curious! Silas thought. Had he only heard their words!

"Susa...I have to go to the Palace...it seems Titus needs me yet again."

His wife's greenish eyes looked at him, tearing for just a moment. She then sighed, and hugged him close for many minutes. When she released him, her voice was firm and under control; never would she allow weakness be shown to her dearest husband!

"Where, and how long, Friuderich?"

"I'm not sure, to either question, Susa. I'll know more when I return tonight."