“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.
“Ah, yes—you can just catch a glimpse of the elevated portion of the aqueduct, that eyesore your friend Claudius has inflicted on the city.”
Kaeso’s father cleared his throat. “We have much to do today, wife.”
“Indeed we do! I need to draw up the list of guests.”
“Then perhaps we should run along.”
“I’ll stay here for a while, if you don’t mind,” said Kaeso.
“Very well.” Herminia kissed her son’s forehead and swept from the room.
Kaeso’s father hung back for a moment. He tapped his foot against the loose floor tiles. “Don’t worry, son. We’ll find the money to fix the place up.”
“You forget that I have my own income, Father. Claudius pays me quite generously.”
“I believe it’s the state that pays you. The censor merely fixes your salary.”
“Of course, Father. Hadn’t you better join Mother before she grows impatient?”
Kaeso was left alone. His mother’s caustic remarks did nothing to deflate his buoyant mood. The gods were smiling on him. His work for Appius Claudius was more fascinating than ever, his wedding day was fast approaching, and the gift of a house from his cousin Quintus had not only surprised him, but had deeply moved him. He recalled one of Claudius’s favorite aphorisms, and said it aloud: “Each man is the architect of his own fortune.” Kaeso gazed out the window at the distant aqueduct. “If that’s true, then I must be a very fine architect, indeed!”
“I’m sure you are,” said a voice behind him.
Kaeso spun about. His father must have left the door ajar. An old man in a shabby tunic stood in the middle of the room. Kaeso stared at him for a moment, then furrowed his brow. “Titus Potitius?”
“So, you remember me?”
“I’m afraid I do. What are you doing here?”
“Your tone is very harsh, young man. That’s no way to address an elder—especially an elder kinsman.”
“What are you talking about, old man?” Kaeso drew back his shoulders, but in his chest he felt a sinking sensation.
“You and I have much to talk about, Kaeso.”
“We have nothing to talk about.”
Potitius cocked his head and peered at him. “You’re not wearing the fascinum today.”
Kaeso touched the empty spot at his breast. “I wear it only on special occasions.”
“Do you know where it comes from?”
“The Vestal Pinaria gave it—”
“But before that? Do you know from whom she obtained it?”
“No. But I know it’s very ancient.”
“It is, indeed—as ancient as the Potitii themselves.”
“What are you saying, old man?”
“I’m the paterfamilias of all the Potitii. I’m also the family chronicler and historian. I understand your cousin Quintus serves much the same function for the Fabii—keeping scraps of parchment
and scribbled notes about who was married to whom, and the names of their offspring, and who did what and when and how. Our families are so very old, and our ancestors accomplished so many things—great and small, wonderful and terrible—it’s hard to keep track! Sometimes I think it would be a relief if we all turned to dust, so the rest of the world could simply forget us and go on about its business as if we never existed.”
“I don’t think Quintus Fabius feels that way.”
Potitius made a croaking sound, which Kaeso took for a laugh. “I daresay you’re right. But imagine the things he must know! A family chronicler becomes privy to all sorts of secrets. He knows the things that no one must ever speak of—mysterious deaths, babies born out of wedlock, bastards sired on slave girls…”
“If you have something to say, say it!”
“Very well. You and I are kinsmen, Kaeso. You are a descendent of the Potitii.”
Kaeso’s mouth was suddenly parched. “How do you know this?”
“First of all, I could tell simply by looking at you. You favor my cousin Marcus more than anyone else, but with those eyes, that chin, and the shape of your mouth, you could pass as a son or brother to any number of my cousins. At first, I thought perhaps old Marcus had spilled his seed outside his marriage bed, but as I began to track down the truth, I realized that the connection was far more complicated and went much further back in time. Just now, as he was leaving, I took a good look at your father. He, too, has the look of a Potitius, but his features are less distinctive. For some reason, the gods decreed that the family traits should resurface full-blown in you.
“It was your precious fascinum that provided the key. Somewhere in the family chronicles, I knew I had seen a reference to a winged fascinum made of gold. It was worn by an ancestor of mine, also named Titus, who lived in the days of the Decemvirs. After that Titus, there is no further reference to the golden, winged fascinum, which disappears from the family history. However, according to family legend, Titus sired a child out of wedlock, and that child became a slave. As you can imagine, this is seldom talked about. But slaves are property, and Romans keep very thorough records of property, as thorough as their genealogical records! Through diligence, and a lot of pestering, and a bit of guesswork, I was able to trace the descent of that bastard child down to a slave called Pennatus. Have you heard of him?”
Kaeso swallowed a hard lump in his throat. “It was a slave called Pennatus who found my grandfather among the ruins left by the Gauls.”
“So it was! Did you know that this same Pennatus was trapped for several months atop the Capitoline with the Vestal Pinaria, who somehow came into possession of the golden fascinum, and, for reasons never explained, felt obliged to pass it on to your grandfather when he came of age? Now you wear the fascinum, Kaeso—and you are the very image of a Potitius! Do you begin to see how all these things connect?”
“Guesswork! Innuendo! You slander the memory of a pious Vestal! You have no proof of anything!”
“The gods know the truth about you, Kaeso. And now, so do you.”
Kaeso felt faint. The room seemed to pitch and sway around him. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Isn’t it always better to know the truth?”
“No!”
“What was it I heard you say, as you looked out the window? Something about being the architect of your own fortune? How can you build a lasting monument, a life of virtue and accomplishment, unless you begin with a firm foundation of self-knowledge?”
“You’re a stupid old man, Titus Potitius! You and your third-rate family have squandered whatever good fortune ever accrued to you. You’ve offended the gods by selling your birthright to the Ara Maxima. How dare you come to me with such a lie, suggesting my grandfather was the bastard of a Vestal and a slave!”
Potitius sighed. “This has gone badly. I never intended to offend you. Don’t worry, Kaeso. I’ll be discreet. What I’ve discovered is for your ears only. I haven’t even told any other members of the family.”
“Shout your lies from the rooftops, if you dare to! You’ll only make yourself a greater laughingstock than you already are.”
Titus Potitius shuffled toward the door and disappeared. Kaeso violently kicked at the floor and sent a loose tile flying against the wall.
That night, sleep was slow to come. When it did, Kaeso was haunted by nightmares more vivid and disturbing than any he had previously experienced.
One dream jarringly led into the next. In each of them he felt heartwrenchingly alone and bereft, the object of other men’s ridicule and disdain. At one point, naked and covered with sweat, he sat bolt upright in his bed and reached up to discover that he was wearing the fascinum, though he had no memory of having put it on. Angry and distraught, in tears, he tore the chain from his neck and cast the amulet into the darkness, only to see it come flying back at him! He shrieked in terror—and only then awoke, realizing that he had still been dreaming.
His mother and father stood at his door, staring at him; his screams had awakened them. He felt embarrassed to be naked before his mother, but there was nothing with which to cover himself. He looked again, and in his father’s place he saw Titus Potitius, clucking his tongue. “There, there, my child,” said the old man, “don’t be afraid of the truth…”
Kaeso was still dreaming.
When at last he did awake, he felt utterly exhausted. He squinted suspiciously at the sunlight that leaked around the shutters, afraid he might yet be asleep, trapped in another nightmare.
He rose from the bed. On trembling legs he shambled across the room and opened the box where he kept the fascinum. The sight of it repelled him. He should throw the awful thing away! But his father would expect him to wear it on his wedding day. To get rid of it now would only call attention to its absence. He slammed the box shut.
On the day before his wedding, Kaeso went to the house on the Aventine to make sure that all was ready to receive him and his bride the next day. In preparation for the ceremony, an altar had been erected before the front door for the sacrifice of the sheep and the taking of the auspices. Inside the house were the ceremonial chairs for the bride and groom, ready to be taken into the street for the open-air celebration. Both chairs were stacked high with dried garlands that would be used to decorate the doorway. Between them was the sheepskin rug upon which he would set Galeria after he carried her across the threshold, as if she were his captive Sabine. Kaeso’s heart sped up as he considered the momentousness of the looming event. By this time tomorrow, he would be a married man.
The house was sparsely furnished, but the floor tiles had been fixed and the whole house had been scrubbed clean. The little garden had been planted with new shrubberies and flowers, and the kitchen had been stocked with pots and pans. He saw the bed that had been placed against the wall, near the window—a new bed, larger than the one in which he was used to sleeping alone—and he felt a quiver of erotic anticipation. Galeria grew more beautiful every time he saw her; soon he would see her naked, and would be naked with her, and would possess her. Any hesitation he felt about the ceremony faded when his thoughts turned to the carnal pleasures that awaited him. He crossed the room, wanting to take a closer look at the bed.
A voice that was almost a whisper said: “The house looks very nice.”
Kaeso spun around. “What are you doing here? Get out!”
Titus Potitius stood in the doorway. “Can a kinsman not visit a kinsman on the day before his wedding, to wish him well?”
“You’re a madman. The gods have made you mad, as a punishment for selling your birthright.”
“Then we sold it for too little.”
“Appius Claudius should have thrown you out when you came begging. He shouldn’t have given you so much as a copper coin.”
“It’s curious that you should mention money. Along with paying my respects, that’s one of the reasons I’ve come to see you.” Potitius stood with his hands clasped before him and his eyes downcast. “Galeria�
�s family is wealthy. I presume she comes to you with a substantial dowry. As well, I think the censor must have arranged a very generous salary for you. You even own your own house! You are a most fortunate young man, to be of independent means at such an early age.”
“And you are an old fool, to have squandered everything at your age.”
“The travails of the Potitii began long before my time. How typical of our misfortunes, that one of the most gifted young men of his generation, who should be the scion of the family, does not even bear the name Potitius! Still, in a time of trouble, I am hoping that young man will hear the call of the blood in his veins and will help his kinsmen.”
Kaeso clenched his teeth. “What do you want from me?”
“A loan. Only that. A small loan, from one kinsman to another.”
“Why now? Why must you spoil a day when I should be thinking of nothing but my wedding?”
“My request has nothing to do with your marriage—although I’m sure the bride’s father would be shocked to learn that she is about to marry the descendent of a slave and a tarnished Vestal.”
Kaeso’s legs grew unsteady. He sat on the bed.
Potitius’s voice was gentle. “It’s a curious thing, that you should be a builder. Your ancestor Titus Potitius, the friend of Coriolanus, was a builder, too—did you know that? He was also the first to bring shame on the family. It would be a pity, if you should take after him in that regard, as well.”
“How much do you want?”
Potitius named a sum. Kaeso drew a sharp breath, appalled at the man’s greed but relieved he had not asked for more. It was agreed that Potitius would come to him in two day’s time and that Kaeso would pay him then.
Amazingly, despite his excitement at his impending wedding and the anxieties aroused by his unwanted visitor, Kaeso slept like a stone that night. He experienced no nightmares. He woke early, before the first cockcrow, feeling clearheaded and refreshed. He lit a lamp.
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