Marius leaned close to Gaius as he sat down again.
‘Protocol says I have to ask permission, but this is too fine a day to be polite to guards who couldn't cut it in the legions. Take us in.’ He signalled and again the horns blew all down the line. The gates opened and the crowd peered around, roaring in excitement. The noise crashed out at the legion and Marius' driver had to snap the reins sharply to make the horses move on.
The First-Born entered Rome.
‘You must get out of bed now if you want to be ready in time to see the Triumph! Everyone says it will be glorious and your father and mother are already dressed and with their attendants while you lie and drowse!’
Cornelia opened her eyes and stretched, careless of the covers falling away from her golden skin. Her nurse, Clodia, busied herself with the window hangings, parting them to air the room and letting sunshine spill in.
‘Look, the sun is high and you are not even dressed. It is shameless to find you without clothes. What if I was a male, or your father?’
‘He wouldn't dare come in. He knows I don't bother with nightclothes when it's hot.’
Still yawning, Cornelia rose naked from her bed and stretched like a cat, arching her back and pressing her fists into the air. Clodia crossed to the bedroom door and dropped the locking bar in case someone looked in.
‘I suppose you'll be wanting a dip in the bath before you dress,’ Clodia said, affection spoiling the attempt at a stern tone.
Cornelia nodded and padded through to the bathing room. The water steamed, reminding her that the rest of the house had been up and working since the first moments of dawn. She felt vaguely guilty, but that dissolved in the soothing heat as she swung a leg over the side and climbed in, sighing. It was a luxury she enjoyed, preferring not to wait until the formal bathing session later in the day.
Clodia bustled in after her, carrying an armful of warm linen. She was never still, a woman of immense energy. To a stranger, there was nothing in her dress or manner to indicate her slavery. Even the jewels she wore were real and she chose her clothes from a sumptuous wardrobe.
‘Hurry! Dry yourself with these and put on this mamillare.’
Cornelia groaned. ‘It binds me too tightly to wear on hot days.’
‘It will keep your breasts from hanging like empty bags in a few years.’ Clodia snorted. ‘You'll be pleased enough to have worn it then. Up! Out of that water, you lazy thing. There's a glass of water on the side to clean your mouth.’
As Cornelia dabbed her body dry, Clodia laid out her robes and opened a series of small silver boxes of paint and oils.
‘On with this,’ she said, dropping a long white tunic over Cornelia's outstretched arms. The girl shrugged herself into it and sat at the single table, propping up an oval bronze mirror to see herself.
‘I would like my hair to be curled,’ she said wistfully, holding a lock of it in her fingers. It was a dark gold, but straight for all its thickness.
‘Wouldn't suit you, Lia. And there's no time today. I should think your mother is already finished with her ornatrix and will be waiting for us. Simple, understated beauty is what we're after today.’
‘A little ochre on the lips and cheeks then, unless you want to paint me with that stinking white lead?’
Clodia blew air out of her lips in irritation.
‘It will be a few years before you need to conceal your complexion. What are you now, seventeen?’
‘You know I am, you were drunk at the feast,’ Cornelia replied with a smile, holding still while the colour was applied.
‘I was merry, dear, just as everybody else was. There is nothing wrong with a little drink in moderation, I have always said.’ Clodia nodded to herself as she rubbed in the colours.
‘Now a little powdered antimony around the eyes to make men think they are dark and mysterious and we can start on the hair. Don't touch it! Hands to yourself, remember, in case you smudge.’
Swiftly and dextrously, Clodia parted the dark-gold hair and gathered it into a chignon at the back, revealing the slender length of Cornelia's neck. She looked at the face in the mirror and smiled at the effect.
‘Why your father hasn't found a man for you, I will never know. You're certainly attractive enough.’
‘He said he'd let me choose and I haven't found anyone to like yet,’ Cornelia replied, touching the pins in her hair.
Clodia tutted to herself. ‘Your father is a good man, but tradition is important. He should find you a young man with good prospects and you should have a house of your own to run. I think you will enjoy that, somehow.’
‘I'll take you with me when that happens. I'd miss you if I didn't, like … a dress that is a bit old and out of fashion but still comfortable, you know?’
‘How beautifully you put your affection for me, my dear,’ Clodia replied, buffeting Cornelia's head with her hand as she turned away to pick up the robe.
It was a great square of gold cloth that hung down to Cornelia's knees. It had to be artfully arranged for the best effect, but Clodia had been doing it for years and knew Cornelia's tastes in the cut and style.
‘It is beautiful – but heavy,’ Cornelia muttered.
‘So are men, dear, as you will find out,’ Clodia replied with a sparkle in her eyes. ‘Now run to your parents. We must be early enough to have a good place to watch the Triumph. We're going to the house of one of your father's friends.’
‘Oh, Father, you should have lived to see this,’ Gaius whispered as they passed into the streets. The way ahead was dark green, with every spot of stone covered by rushes. The people too wore their best and brightest clothes, a surging throng of colour and noise. Hands were held out and hot, envious eyes watched them. The shops were all boarded shut, as Marius had said. It seemed the whole city had turned out for a holiday to see the great general. Gaius was astonished at the numbers and the enthusiasm. Did they not remember these same soldiers cutting themselves room on the forum only a month before? Marius had said they respected only strength and the proof was in their cheers, booming and echoing in the narrow streets. Gaius glanced to his right into a window and saw a woman of some beauty throwing flowers at him. He caught one and the crowd roared again in appreciation.
Not a soul pushed onto the road, despite the lack of soldiers or guards along the edge. The lesson of the last time had clearly been learned and it was as if there was an invisible barrier holding them back. Even the hard-faced men of Marius' own guard were grinning as they marched.
Marius sat like a god. He placed his massive hands on the arms of the golden throne and smiled at the crowd. The slave behind him raised the garland of gilded laurel over his head and the shadow fell on his features. Every eye followed his progress. His horses were trained for the battlefield and ignored the yelling people, even when some of the more daring landed flowers around their necks as well.
Gaius stood at the great man's shoulder as the ride went on and the pride he felt lifted his soul. Would his father have appreciated this? The answer was probably not and Gaius felt a pang of sorrow at that. Marius was right: just to be alive on this day was to touch the gods. He knew he would never forget it and could see in the eyes of the people that they too would store away the moments to warm them in the dark winters of years yet to pass.
Halfway along the route, Gaius saw Tubruk standing on a corner. As their eyes met, Gaius could feel all the history between them. Tubruk raised his arm in a salute and Gaius returned it. The men around Tubruk turned to look at him and wonder at his connection. He nodded as they passed and Gaius nodded back, swallowing down the catch in his throat. He was drunk with emotion and gripped the back of the throne to keep from swaying in the tide of cheering.
Marius