Within a short while, having paused in his travels only briefly at the Emporium to buy himself a handful of grapes and to hire a sedan chair, Addisonius Furius Camillus had returned from the port of Rome. After dispensing with the hired hands (who then vanished into the growing darkness), he trod forth in all his glory to the gate of his domus and rapt his knuckles upon the door for the porter. Unfortunately, as evidenced by the sound of snoring emerging from beyond the woodwork, the porter appeared to be in some sort of drunken stupor.

“Aesculapius!” cursed the lawyer. After repeatedly banging against the door in order to wake the fool up, he muttered: “Ridiculous. I can’t get into my own domus! What’s the good of a porter if he lies about utterly stoned in the atrium all evening?”

Still muttering in a distinctly annoyed fashion, Addisonius meandered about to the side of the domus and noted a light peering out of his brother Marcus’s window. He rather supposed that Dionysia must have already eaten with him and spent the rest of the time after her arrival speaking to him. As he moved closer, looking up at the window and preparing to summon Marcus, he unwittingly stepped forward into the path of a lingering and highly malodorous cloud of incense, no doubt reeking from out of his mother’s darkened room. He distinctly heard her and that obnoxious Parthian slave chanting away like mad inside their little hidden shrine-room, accompanied by the low hymns of the two slave girls. “Gods, how remarkably un-Roman,” snorted Addisonius with some disgust.

He soon afterwards sneezed as the cloying odor of incense finally irritated his keen sense of smell so much that his nose could no longer handle it. The window immediately flung upon at the report of his nose and the shutter caught him directly on the temple, flinging him backwards into the grass with a little cut developing on his forehead. As Addisonius sat up, clutching his ringing head, he noted the grim face of that blasted Parthian looking out at him. He immediately cursed with obvious and quite understandable irritation as the slave backed away from the window with an agonized look of embarrassment upon his face. The lawyer was about to voice his indignation when Marcus stuck his head out of his own window.

“Addisonius? What in the name of Quirinus are you doing out there on the ground?” asked the little fool, stifling a giggle.

“Never mind that, Marcus! Just get the front door open…” droned Addisonius, attempting to stand despite some initial dizziness.

“Oh, yes, right,” said Marcus, his head disappearing back into the cavernous depths of his room. The lawyer then directed his gaze back down in the direction of his mother’s room, but the Parthian had vanished from sight and the window had been closed once again. He could still smell the incense, but all was silent from within. Therefore, Addisonius sauntered about to the entrance in the front, waiting for the door to open.

When Marcus did finally get it open, he was laughing his bloody little head off, much to the annoyance of the stricken advocate. Addisonius merely growled; he was not in a good mood any longer. He even purposely tipped over the drunken porter’s stool as he walked by. He had the distinct desire to box the ears of a certain Parthian slave and confidant of his mother. He only hoped that the cut on his head wasn’t bleeding. As he strolled into the atrium, he noted the presence of Apelles lingering in the shadows, and the grim figure of his sister’s Celtic servant lumbering about behind his mistress.

“Dionysia,” the lawyer exclaimed, peering at his sister, “you look lovely, my dear, and you must tell me what has happened to you. I would very much like to speak with you and to share with you some news that might indeed be of interest. In fact, I would guarantee that…”

“Well, you look absolutely awful, brother!” sighed Dionysia, displaying some obvious shock at her unfortunate sibling’s appearance. “You have mud splattered on your toga and you look as though you’ve been clubbed by some ruffian in the suburba!” Here she was obviously exaggerating, but her point was clear enough. “And you’re bleeding! I should be the one asking you what has happened!”

Addisonius touched his forehead and noted flecks of blood on his fingertips. He would have hoped to look more presentable when greeting his sister for the first time in over a year (the brief encounter at the port that morning discounted). He very much wished to have his fingers put to good use in a vice around that Parthian’s throat.

“It’s nothing. To be ignored. Think nothing of it, my dear sister.”

“How can I ignore it? You must change your toga and bathe your head at least!”

“She is right,” added Marcus, with an unwelcome guffaw, “you look to be the scourge of the stables rather than the law-courts…”

Addisonius rolled his eyes, but complied. He retreated to his room where Apelles assisted him in putting on a new toga. One of the older slave women then presented him with a moistened cloth that smelled of herbs. “It’s for your head, young master,” she said. “It’ll do you good. Just dab it on your skull like so. There’s a good little fellow.” O, how the lawyer detested being treated as though he were merely one of the matrona’s children and not the head of the household…

Before too long, he had retreated with his siblings to his study where he sat behind his scroll-laden table asking questions of Dionysia. Mater was nowhere about; she never was these days. She had become something of a recluse of late, involving herself in the worship of all of those unsavory eastern deities like Isis or Mithra or Mater Magna. She ate away at his denarii with her strange taste for exotic perfumes and incense. What most annoyed him was that wherever she seemed to go, her detestable, hedonistic Parthian followed her. He never seemed to appear at all if she was not very close by.

“He was a cheat all along,” said Dionysia of her late husband in a not-terribly-mournful fashion. “It seems that from the moment of his arrival in Massilia he was misappropriating government funds there, stealing a bit of this and embezzling a bit of that, never acting in an upright manner in his business. I suppose that when the government caught on, it was a bit of justice, really,” she sighed. “It’s just a shame that they had to take everything! I was left with nothing at all, in the most disgraceful and compromising position! I never wish to be in such a predicament again, Addisonius! Never again. Why do you always find me such short-lived husbands?”

“Well…” Addisonius began, continuing to wipe his scalp every now and then; “I do suppose that Fortune hasn’t favored our choices of late…”

“Or EVER!” exclaimed Dionysia. “Two husbands in as many years! It’s a tiresome thing! You don’t know how much of a bother it is.”

“Yes, well…I hope the next husband shall be a better one…” he said in a low voice, almost hoping that she would not hear.

“The next husband? If I were ever to be wed again, why, I would prefer to at least have a little say in choosing him, whoever he may be. I know you would let me have my say, Addisonius, as you have always listened to me in the past like the most darling brother, I am sure…” said Dionysia, flickering her eyelashes, obviously hoping to make an impression favorable enough to convince him to allow her to make the next choice herself. “We’ve always gotten on so well together, dear brother, and I know you would not wish to have me married to a man whom I detest.”

“No…no…of course not, Dionysia, but…”

“Good! You do always understand me, Addisonius. You’re such a dear! For a start, I shall never marry an ugly man and be happy with him. Nor a terribly stupid one. I do detest stupid men so, and there are such a lot of them. I would never wish to marry a vile brute, you do understand!” As she said this, she suddenly recalled to mind that incident on the ship that she had felt so compelled to complain to him about earlier. “And speaking of vile brutes, let me tell you what manner of beast I encountered on the voyage home! Utterly disgraceful and embarrassing…”

“Dionysia, I have something of importance to tell you,” said Addisonius in one of his more commanding, though not at all harsh, voices. His sister immediately looked at him as though rather miffed at having her story interrupted. “I have already chosen a successor…I mean, a new husband for you.”

“What? But Addisonius, dear brother, I thought we had decided that we would…”

“…You shall like him very much, Dionysia. He is the perfect man for you, I am absolutely convinced!” said Addisonius. “He possesses all of the lofty virtues that you so adore in a man.”

“You always say that to me.”

“Yes, but this time I have thoroughly checked and am absolutely sure about the matter. You shall be happy with this man, I know it, and he shall treat you honorably. He is beyond suspicion, my dear…”

“Give me his name, Addisonius, brother…”

“Yes, yes, Addisonius, tell me who the next unlucky brother-in-law is to be!” said Marcus with a laugh. “I wonder if he shall be forced to fall on his sword here – or in Campania or Illyricum or some more remote province!”

“He is a good man, I know it. Perfect for you, Dionysia. You have even met him recently. I just spoke to him today about it, and I think he was enchanted by the idea…being an admirer of yours for as long as he can recall. He told me so himself.” It was a lie, of course, but it never hurt to make the fellow sound more appealing. Dionysia just looked at him quizzically. “He was on the ship with you. Marcus Livius Sulla Atrebas.”

Dionysia seemed to recognize his name, and she was not thrilled. At first, she sat as mute as a fish, her eyes widening with both shock and anger. Then, her lips began to quiver, and, shortly thereafter, agonized noises began to emerge from the depths of her throat. “That…that…beast?! If you had listened, I would have told you… He…he…he POISONED me! That reptile! He could have killed me and you wouldn’t have cared! I nearly set Arvandus on him to finish him off and cut his detestable throat! If all of the accumulated hail-stones of the heavens fell upon him at once and smashed him flat I would still say it was too merciful for him!”

Marcus laughed with his singularly musical voice. Addisonius wanted to bat him.

“Dionysia! The man is one of the finest citizens of this country I have ever had the honor of doing business with…”

“Yes, probably to clear him of a poisoning charge!”

“No, I bought him a Tusculan estate. He’s rich, Dionysia. He will make you wealthy again.”

“Wealth? What do I care of riches when I would have myself shackled to such a deviant? I thought you cared about my feelings, Addisonius! How can you do this to me?”

“I am the Pater Familias. I have decided that it is for the best, Dionysia. I had only your happiness in mind.” And with his money in mind, of course, but why spoil a wonderful pronouncement of love for his sister by bringing that in? “Do you think I would marry you to a man I don’t trust?”

“Every time…every time you have chosen me a husband, he’s turned about to be a snake in the grass! Every time! Can’t you ever find me an honest man? Ever? Are you utterly without sense?”

“Hardly, Dionysia, but…”

His words were cut short by an unidentified flying object smashing into his uninjured right temple, and sending him reeling against the bookcase. Apelles looked suitably horrified. Marcus looked quite pleased. Dionysia looked like she was an avenging fury. Addisonius just looked like he wished he’d stayed in bed that morning. The little olivewood stylus-case that Dionysia had hurled at him clattered to his feet.

“I thought I could trust you to…”

“Dionysia!” exclaimed Addisonius, shaking with anger. “By Aesculapius! My head was in enough pain already without having to be bombarded by…” But he noted she wasn’t listening. She was too busy yanking scrolls off his desk and hurling them to the floor. She was in a temper tantrum. He hadn’t seen her in one of her moods for years, and it was never a joy. She was always shredding something, tossing something, or banging something. “To your room, Dionysia! Take this away where I don’t have to hear it. Behave yourself! Really, you act like you never grew up. You should be absolutely ashamed of your…”

The door opened to admit one of Apelles’s comrades. He whispered something into the ear of the Greek. Apelles calmly nodded, and announced: “The wife of Falco Domitius has arrived to speak with you, master.”

“What?” asked Addisonius, his poor head still ringing like mad and his mind still focused entirely on correcting his exceedingly naughty sister.

“The wife of Falco…”

“Maria? Maria Marius?” asked Addisonius, surprised by the idea of the visit of an old acquaintance – if not friend – after all of these years…and directly in the middle of his sister’s outrageous outburst. He had always thought very well of Maria and her family. Her father had been his mentor after all, and her brother his best friend. “Oh bother… Well… Bring her in, by all means…but take Dionysia away first!” His sister scowled and stamped her feet as the servant dragged her off. “And you, Marcus, get out of here…make sure she’s quiet…”

Left alone in the room, he quickly gathered up the fallen scrolls and arranged them neatly on his desk. He grabbed the stylus container and placed it neatly into its allotted position, oblivious of the bruise that was appearing on his right temple now (which, combined with the cut on his left seemed to give him a rather more battered appearance than he would have liked). He snatched up one of the larger scrolls and held it in his hands in an attempt to make it look as though he were actually doing something of importance. It was most unfortunate, in his opinion that such a visit would occur at this time.