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Authors: Francine Rivers
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senate.”
Marcus stifled his anger and put on an expression of sardonic humor. “So that I can become part of a class you have always mocked and disdained?”
“So that you can become part of the new order of Rome!”
“I am a part of it, Father.”
“But on the edge of power.” Decimus leaned forward and closed a fist. “You could be holding a good deal of it.”
Marcus gave a derisive laugh. “Antigonus has almost impoverished himself in his efforts to court the mob. You avoid the games, Father, but as you well know, financing them is a political necessity. Whatever the cost, the multitude must be appeased. By the gods, would you see your life’s work poured out on the sand in an arena you refuse to visit? Or shall we pour thousands of sesterces into feasts for those fat aristocrats you hate so much?”
Decimus curbed his temper, hearing his own oft-spoken words repeated back to him. It was a method of debate Marcus commonly used—and one which Decimus detested. “A time of great upheaval can be a time of great opportunity.”
“Oh, I agree wholeheartedly, Father. However, the winds of politics are too swift to change, and I’ve no desire to be blown away by them.” He smiled tightly and raised his goblet. “My ambitions lie in another direction.”
“To eat, drink, and enjoy life before you die,” Decimus said darkly.
Marcus breathed deeply before giving in to his rising anger. “And to make you richer than you already are.” His mouth tipped cynically. “If you want to leave a mark on the Empire, Father, do it in cedar and stone. Nero destroyed us with fire; Galba, Otho, and Vitellius with rebellions. Let the house of Valerian have part in raising Rome again.”
Decimus’ eyes darkened. “I would rather you sought the honor of becoming a senator than have to see you pursue money like any common merchant.”
“I would not call you common, my lord.”
Decimus slammed his goblet down, sloshing wine onto the marble table. “You are impudent. We are discussing your future.”
Marcus lowered his wine goblet and took up the challenge. “No, you are attempting to dictate plans you made without consulting me. If you want a Valerian in the senate, take the seat yourself. I’m sorry to disappoint you again, Father, but I have my own plans for my life.”
“Would you mind telling me what those plans encompass?”
“To enjoy what little time I have on the earth. Paying my own way, of course, as you very well know I can.”
“And will you marry Arria?”
Marcus felt his blood heating at the dry mention of Arria. His father disapproved of her free-spirited attitude. Annoyed, Marcus glanced away, then saw his mother and sister coming from the gardens. He rose, relieved to have an end to this discussion. He didn’t want to say anything he’d later regret.
His mother looked up at him in question when he came out to greet her. “All is well, Marcus?” she asked as he bent to kiss her cheek.
“Isn’t it always, Mama?”
“You and Father have been talking a long time,” Julia said from behind their mother, subtly prying.
“Just business,” he said and pinched her cheek lightly in affection. At fourteen, she was becoming quite a beauty.
Phoebe entered the triclinium , a spacious dining room with elegant furnishings and decorations, ahead of her son. Normally this room gave her a sense of pleasure as she entered it. On this day, however, she barely noticed her surroundings; her eyes were fixed on her husband. Decimus looked strained, the gray hair curling on his damp forehead. She sat on the couch beside him and placed her hand on his. “It didn’t go well?” she said softly.
Curving his fingers over hers, he squeezed lightly. He saw the concern in her eyes and tried to ease it. They’d been married for thirty years and, though their passion had long since eased, their love had deepened. “Marcus disdains the honorable pursuit of politics.”
“Honorable?” Julia laughed gaily
Marcus stifled his anger and put on an expression of sardonic humor. “So that I can become part of a class you have always mocked and disdained?”
“So that you can become part of the new order of Rome!”
“I am a part of it, Father.”
“But on the edge of power.” Decimus leaned forward and closed a fist. “You could be holding a good deal of it.”
Marcus gave a derisive laugh. “Antigonus has almost impoverished himself in his efforts to court the mob. You avoid the games, Father, but as you well know, financing them is a political necessity. Whatever the cost, the multitude must be appeased. By the gods, would you see your life’s work poured out on the sand in an arena you refuse to visit? Or shall we pour thousands of sesterces into feasts for those fat aristocrats you hate so much?”
Decimus curbed his temper, hearing his own oft-spoken words repeated back to him. It was a method of debate Marcus commonly used—and one which Decimus detested. “A time of great upheaval can be a time of great opportunity.”
“Oh, I agree wholeheartedly, Father. However, the winds of politics are too swift to change, and I’ve no desire to be blown away by them.” He smiled tightly and raised his goblet. “My ambitions lie in another direction.”
“To eat, drink, and enjoy life before you die,” Decimus said darkly.
Marcus breathed deeply before giving in to his rising anger. “And to make you richer than you already are.” His mouth tipped cynically. “If you want to leave a mark on the Empire, Father, do it in cedar and stone. Nero destroyed us with fire; Galba, Otho, and Vitellius with rebellions. Let the house of Valerian have part in raising Rome again.”
Decimus’ eyes darkened. “I would rather you sought the honor of becoming a senator than have to see you pursue money like any common merchant.”
“I would not call you common, my lord.”
Decimus slammed his goblet down, sloshing wine onto the marble table. “You are impudent. We are discussing your future.”
Marcus lowered his wine goblet and took up the challenge. “No, you are attempting to dictate plans you made without consulting me. If you want a Valerian in the senate, take the seat yourself. I’m sorry to disappoint you again, Father, but I have my own plans for my life.”
“Would you mind telling me what those plans encompass?”
“To enjoy what little time I have on the earth. Paying my own way, of course, as you very well know I can.”
“And will you marry Arria?”
Marcus felt his blood heating at the dry mention of Arria. His father disapproved of her free-spirited attitude. Annoyed, Marcus glanced away, then saw his mother and sister coming from the gardens. He rose, relieved to have an end to this discussion. He didn’t want to say anything he’d later regret.
His mother looked up at him in question when he came out to greet her. “All is well, Marcus?” she asked as he bent to kiss her cheek.
“Isn’t it always, Mama?”
“You and Father have been talking a long time,” Julia said from behind their mother, subtly prying.
“Just business,” he said and pinched her cheek lightly in affection. At fourteen, she was becoming quite a beauty.
Phoebe entered the triclinium , a spacious dining room with elegant furnishings and decorations, ahead of her son. Normally this room gave her a sense of pleasure as she entered it. On this day, however, she barely noticed her surroundings; her eyes were fixed on her husband. Decimus looked strained, the gray hair curling on his damp forehead. She sat on the couch beside him and placed her hand on his. “It didn’t go well?” she said softly.
Curving his fingers over hers, he squeezed lightly. He saw the concern in her eyes and tried to ease it. They’d been married for thirty years and, though their passion had long since eased, their love had deepened. “Marcus disdains the honorable pursuit of politics.”
“Honorable?” Julia laughed gaily
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