“As censor, I believe you have the authority to approve this transaction.”
“And if I do, what will people say of me? ‘There goes Appius Claudius, abusing his office again! It’s not enough that he packs the Senate with his low-born friends and fixes the elections; now he’s tinkering with the most ancient religious rites in the city!’”
Potitius sighed. “I realize that the decision would be a difficult one for you—”
“On the contrary! I wholeheartedly approve of your idea.”
“You do?”
“Absolutely. The old-fashioned notion that certain priesthoods and religious rites should remain under the exclusive control of a particular family is obnoxious to me. Any religious function that affects the entire state should be in the hands of the state. The people’s religion should be controlled by the people. For that reason, which has nothing to do with your family’s financial woes, I entirely approve of your offer to cede authority over the Ara Maxima and the Feast of Hercules to the state. Toward that end, I’m sure I can arrange for just compensation to be paid to your family.”
“Censor, I can hardly express my gratitude—”
“Then don’t, at least not yet. As I warned you, there will be some who rabidly oppose this change. They’ll accuse me of impiety and abuse of my authority. They’ll defame you and your kin. You must be prepared for their aspersions.”
“I understand, Censor.”
“Very well. Before we can proceed, I must ask if you truly represent the will of the entire family. From the census rolls…” Kaeso heard a rustling of scrolls. Claudius grunted. “I see that your numbers are smaller than I supposed. Can this be right? There are only twelve separate households of Potitii remaining in Roma, comprising some thirty males who carry the name?”
“That is correct. Our numbers have dwindled along with our fortunes.”
“And you have authority to speak for them all?”
“I am the paterfamilias senior to all others. The matter has been thoroughly discussed within the family and decided.”
“Very well.”
Claudius called for a secretary, to whom he issued some instructions. He exchanged some parting pleasantries with Titus Potitius and escorted him from the room. As the two of them stepped into the antechamber, Claudius saw Kaeso and smiled broadly. Kaeso saw that Potitius had gray hair and a gray beard to match his elderly voice, and was wearing a toga that had seen better days. The old man gave Kaeso a passing glance, then stopped short and stared at him.
“Do I know you, young man?” he said.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” said Kaeso.
“Allow me to introduce Kaeso Fabius Dorso,” said Claudius, “a young fellow with a wonderful head on his shoulders. He’s helping me build the new road and the aqueduct. And this, Kaeso, is the venerable Titus Potitius, paterfamilias of the Potitii.”
“One of our most ancient families,” said Kaeso, simply to be polite.
“We made our mark on the city in its early days,” said Potitius. “Now it’s the turn of families like the Fabii to make their mark, as I’m sure you will, young man. But I must say…” He peered at Kaeso, squinted, and shook his head. “You do remind me of someone—my cousin Marcus, who died some years ago. Yes, you are the very image of Marcus when he was a young man. The resemblance is uncanny! You even sound like him. I wonder, is it possible that the two of you are somehow related? I recall no marriages between the Potitii and the Fabii in recent years, but perhaps—”
“I think not,” said Kaeso brusquely. “I’m quite sure there’s no family connection between us.”
“Kaeso, your face is as red as a roofing tile!” said Claudius.
“I feel warm,” muttered Kaeso. “It must be the wine I drank at cousin Quintus’s house.”
“Ah, well; the resemblance is merely a coincidence, then,” said Potitius, but he continued to stare at Kaeso. At last he lowered his eyes, only to stare at the fascinum that hung on a chain around Kaeso’s neck. Kaeso had decided to wear it that morning to mark the occasion of his betrothal.
“What’s that?” said Potitius.
Kaeso stepped back, irritated by the man’s scrutiny. “It’s a family keepsake. The famous Vestal Pinaria gave it to my grandfather on his toga day. Surely you’re seen a fascinum before.”
“Such trinkets are usually made of cheap metal, not gold, and this one appears to have sprouted wings—most unusual! Yet it seems oddly familiar. Yes, I’m sure it stirs some memory, but of what?” Potitius scratched his head.
Kaeso was beginning to seriously dislike the old man. Claudius deftly took Potitius’s arm and steered him toward the vestibule. “I’m sure you must be eager to get back to your family and tell them of the success of your proposal,” he said. “Farewell, Titus Potitius. The door slave will see you out.”
“Farewell, Censor, and thank you!” The old man took Claudius’s hands and squeezed them. Before he turned away, he shot a last, curious gaze at Kaeso and the amulet he wore.
“An unpleasant fellow,” said Kaeso, after Potitius was gone.
“A bit scatterbrained, but harmless,” said Claudius.
Kaeso winkled his nose. “He imagines we’re related.”
Claudius shrugged. “I’m related to him myself, if rather distantly. The connection goes back to the early days of the Republic. A daughter of the very first Appius Claudius married a Potitius, but the fellow turned traitor and fought against Roma with Coriolanus. For a long time there was bad blood between our two families. But all that is ancient history now, and the Potitii have fallen on such hard times that one can only pity them. But come, Kaeso, let’s speak of happier things! Unless I’m mistaken, you’ve come to share some good news.”
Kaeso told him of his betrothal. As the two of them celebrated with a cup of wine, Kaeso pushed the unpleasant encounter with Titus Potitius from his mind.
“What a large vestibule!” declared Kaeso’s mother, stepping inside the front door of the little house on the Aventine.
“Mother, this isn’t the vestibule. There is no vestibule. This is the house itself.”
“What? Only this one room?”
“Of course not. There’s a garden in the center of the house—”
“That little plot of dirt, under that hole in the roof?”
“And there’s another room at the back, which serves as a kitchen and pantry. Behind that is a cubby for the slaves to sleep in, though I don’t suppose we’ll keep more than one apiece; they’ll have to sleep on top of each other, as it is.”
“Well, I suppose it won’t take much to furnish the place!” At forty, Herminia was still a pretty woman, but she had a tendency to make unpleasant faces that spoiled her looks. “Really, it’s hardly worth it for you to move out of the family house into such cramped quarters.”
“Nonsense!” said Kaeso’s father. “Cousin Quintus’s wedding gift is very generous. It’s not every pair of newlyweds who can celebrate the ceremony at their own house. It needs a bit of fixing up, to be sure—”
“I hope Galeria likes a challenge!” said Herminia.
“It’s the location I like best of all,” said Kaeso.
“The Aventine?” Herminia made a particularly unpleasant face. “Well, at least you’re on the north slope.”
“Come see the view from this window. Be careful of those loose floor tiles.” Kaeso flung open the shutters. “Spectacular, isn’t it?”
“I see a great clutter of rooftops,” said Herminia dubiously.
“No, Mother, look there—between those two houses.” Kaeso pointed.