Blinded by Paradise: The Rise and Fall of Hadrian

LATIN PROFANITY

When it comes to profanity, the ancient Romans had a vastly superior arsenal of words to choose from compared to those available to contemporary English speakers. Many Latin obscenities simply have no equivalent terms in English, and those that do usually end up losing their descriptive impact when translated. Furthermore, most of the obscenities in use during Hadrian’s time belonged to the family of low (mob) Latin rather than the high Latin or even Greek that was used among the aristocracy; so in many instances, the occurrence of low Latin in discourse among the aristocracy could be considered just as obscene as the obscenities themselves. Thus, the following Latin swear words and phrases have been utilized instead of their English equivalents whenever a momentary shift from high to low Latin is intended in the text:

PART I

ROMA

I. THE SHACKLED CROCODILE

Augustus 6–8

Twentieth Year of Trajan’s Reign

A pair of hands soon to be fifty years old took a goose-feathered quill from across a table and dipped it into an inkwell before entrusting the quill to a more youthful set of hands. A left forefinger from the older pair of hands uncurled and pointed to a spot on a sheet of vellum parchment. Begin here, said the woman as two olive-colored eyes locked onto a young man seated before her.

As the boy drew the quill across the vellum, the woman’s left hand twitched at her side, as if she were writing out the words herself. Her right hand, however, remained clasped behind her, fingernails imbedded in her palm. That was, until both of her hands lurched on top of his and she shouted out, Stop!

No. Let’s start again. The letters shouldn’t be so secure. They should look as if they have some—hesitancy—about them.

And so the woman grabbed the aborted sheet and set it aflame, letting it burn down to her fingertips. Then she took another parchment and placed it in front of the servant. Although this new sheet was as yet unsullied, her left hand pointed to precisely the same spot as before. Begin here, she commanded.

The servant’s hand scarcely got beyond copying the second line of text when the woman blurted out, Better! But your spacing between the words is too rhythmical. It should be very measured in one pairing, yet spurious in another. Yes? So, again.

Ma’am, if I may? asked the man with a hint of growth on his chin, gesturing to the document from which he was copying. What is wrong with the original? Your penmanship is impeccable.

I appreciate the compliment, replied the woman in a patronizing tone, though she quickly masked any further edge to her voice by adding in a tempered manner, It’s because it is impeccable that it won’t do. Not for this task. Then the woman leaned over and brushed her lips against the back of the boy’s hands as she continued on, No, this is one of those times when only a man’s hand will do. So we are depending, nay, expecting your hands to more than rise to the occasion.

The young man’s knees quivered as the woman’s lips lingered on his hands. It was only after she withdrew her mouth that he was able to regain his focus.

When the woman saw the servant dip his quill into the inkwell and attack the vellum with vigor, she concealed a grimace as best she could.

And so they tried. Again and again. And each time they progressed a little further, though never to a conclusion.

On the fifth attempt, as the woman was using a discarded sheet to light the candles surrounding her desk, the boy sputtered out in frustration, Ma’am? We started when the sun was still in the horizon. Yet here we are, in need of our own light now. How many times are we going to try this?

The woman was offended by the inappropriateness of his question. Until you get it right! she snapped back.

It was only on the seventh attempt that the young man was able to make it to the last of the words. And as he wrote out those final characters, the woman sneaked behind him and slipped her left hand beneath his tunic. She felt for his right breast, pressed her fingers into his tendons, and released her hold only after he completed the last stroke of his quill. Then she kissed him on the nape of the neck and whispered out in Gallic, Beautiful.

She pulled her hand from beneath his shirt and rolled the vellum up into a tight tube. Still behind him, she reached for the nearest candle and motioned for the young man to take it. Then she wrapped her right hand over his and guided him as he slowly turned the flickering white candle, letting its hot wax drip down onto the seam of the shaft of paper.

The young man eyed the congealing wax with a sense of relief.

The woman raised a hand to stamp the wax with the back of a gold ring she was wearing. Her hand froze in midair. In her haste, she almost made a mistake. A huge, irrevocable mistake. Without showing any apparent distress, she went over to an enamel box resting on a shelf and pulled out an overly large ring. After returning to her desk, she pressed this second ring into the soft milky wax binding the letter together.

Now, she sighed, we only need one more copy.

The young man, determined not to repeat his past mistakes, was able to produce a second document after only two drafts. It too was sealed as the first.

Once both rolls were lying safely on the table, the woman placed the oversized ring on one of her fingers. Then she made sure she burned the original document, the one with her writing on it. You will enjoy being an official scribe now, Gaius, instead of a valet, the woman said as she attached a silver-disked pin to the top of the servant’s tunic and placed a not so inconsequential amount of coins into his hands. Roma will greatly benefit from your elevated status.

Will she now? he coyly replied.

Yes, the woman responded as her lips imparted a kiss on his. But then she steeled her nerves and continued, Furthermore, I hear the isle of Melita is in need of someone of your talents. Roma will take great pleasure in knowing you are enjoying yourself in such an agreeable locale. So agreeable, in fact, you will entirely forget us here and our time together. Roma will never see your eyes again, and more importantly, never hear your lovely voice again.

Gaius’ first impulse was to let out a laugh. However, that was stifled when he saw the change in the woman’s countenance. Instead, a look of puzzlement came over his face and he felt an overwhelming urge to leave. Succumbing to this latter urge, Gaius seized the money and bolted out of the room, leaving the door wide open behind him.

One of the woman’s maidservants tried to take advantage of the opportunity to enter the imperial quarters. The woman would allow nothing of the sort and slammed the door on her servant. Crepida, she shouted through the door, fetch me the couriers Manius and Aulus!

My lady, Crepida shouted back, I think they’ve already retired for the night!

The woman eased the door open just enough for her chin and mouth to poke through. Crepida. I don’t think you heard me clearly. I said, ‘Fetch me Manius and Aulus right away.’ Then she slammed the door again.

Once she heard the sound of Crepida’s footsteps go down the hall, Plotina leaned against the back of the door, raised her head toward the ceiling, and closed her eyes.

Plotina was startled when she heard the sounds of knocks coming from the other side of the door. She must have kept her eyes shut for far longer than she had dared risk.

Augusta! It’s Manius and Aulus. You sent for us!

Plotina regained her composure and wedged the door open, but only wide enough to let herself wiggle through with her two precious documents. Deliver this with all haste to the Roman Senate, she said, handing over one of the sealed rolls to Aulus. And lest there be any doubt about its urgency, Plotina added as she placed some coins in Aulus’ welcoming hands, these will ensure you make it there before two fortnights have passed.

And you, my young Achilles, said Plotina as she gave Manius the second roll, Antiochia awaits your heroic delivery of this. Then she untied a pouch hanging around his waist and slipped in some additional coins.

If Manius and Aulus had bothered to compare their monies, they would discover that Manius’ apportionment was far heavier. However, since neither was willing to risk their small fortunes by tarrying in the least, they both left to make arrangements for their immediate departure—Manius by land toward the east, and Aulus by ship toward the west.

After dispatching the couriers, Plotina returned to her suite. She went over to her bureau and lit some jasmine-scented incense. Then she sat down on the corner of her bed. She placed her hands on her thighs, lowered her head, and took a few deep measured breaths. She watched a solid gold pendant necklace nestled between her breasts rise and fall with each breath. The pendant was an intricate figure of a crocodile shackled in front of a palm tree. The crocodile’s mouth was slightly agape and its tail was curled back over itself. The pendant was a symbol of her birthplace Nemausus and commemorated Emperor Augustus’ conquest over Antony and Cleopatra in Aegyptus. Plotina tired of looking at the pendant and raised her head. She stared toward the center of the door with a glazed look in her eyes.

The next morning Plotina was jarred awake by a servant rapping on the door, wholly intent on bringing a tray of food into the chamber. Although Plotina slowly made her way into the hall, she quickly closed the door behind her. Why don’t you take yourself a holiday? she muttered to the servant. There’s no need to trouble yourself here today. I’ll take this in myself.

The servant found the words hard to believe. So he left before the empress could amend her request.

Plotina placed the tray at the foot of her bed. She sat down on the same corner she occupied the night before and slowly picked at each item on the tray. Since an abundance of egg, meat, and snail delicacies covered the tray, it took her a considerable amount of time to consume just over half of the food. Grateful to get as much down as she did, Plotina went to the door, opened it up, and pushed the tray out into the hall. Then she closed the door and slid the metal bar through the hasp above the latch. After twice checking to make sure the door was secure, she retuned to her bed. Plotina lay down on her back and stared up at the ceiling.

This routine was repeated at lunch and once more at dinner. Both times Plotina handled the trays of food herself and dismissed the servants as before. And when the last meal of the day was over, Plotina changed into her safflower-dyed muslin gown and lay down on the bed, deliberately falling asleep on top of the flax and silk linens rather than beneath them. And on precisely the same spot as before.

The empress awoke the following morning and went over to her bureau. She looked into the mirror and unbound her plaited blonde hair until it was in noticeable disarray. Then she went to the door and without even so much as a muted tap, slipped the bar out of the hasp. She returned to the bed and drew back the curtains encircling it. She ruffled the linens where she slept. Then she clambered over the back of the bed and stretched her legs out in front of her. She took off the large ring she had placed on her hand two evenings ago and tossed it onto the other side of the bed, though she didn’t think to remove the other piece of jewelry still on her body, a thick golden anklet. Instead, she opened her mouth and forced a few fingers down her throat. As tears welled in her eyes, she let out a wailing scream.

Three servants burst into the room to ascertain what was wrong. The first—Crepida—started crying as soon as she saw her mistress in tears. The other two ran to opposite sides of the bed and pulled the sheets back. That’s when Crepida went into even greater hysterics, for there was Trajan lying rigid on the left side of the bed.

What’s happened to the emperor? the second servant shouted out.

Plotina wasn’t in a state to answer his question, for her mouth was choked with tears. Crepida didn’t help matters by screaming over and over, He’s dead! The emperor’s dead!

It was only after Crepida was escorted out of the room that Plotina was able to string together a few words about what happened to the emperor. It was the last remaining servant who found out that Trajan passed away early in the morning, for Plotina recalled, getting out of bed … around … the ninth hour of night … and at that time … Trajan was sleeping soundly … but when I awoke … and rolled over onto his …

Where is the emperor’s valet Gaius? pressed the third servant.

He was sent … by my husband, responded Plotina, on a holiday … just like the others.

The third servant was about to ask Plotina another question when the empress made sure she added, This isn’t fair. We were so enjoying the past few days together. This place brought back so many memories. We were reflecting on how happy we were … But Plotina’s voice trailed off when she looked over at her dead husband’s body lying motionless besides her.

It was decided that it would be best to get the empress out of the room, away from her husband’s body and that putrid rotting smell. Even so, it couldn’t prevent Plotina from catching a glimpse of Trajan’s corpse as it was being removed from the imperial suite. And when Plotina saw her husband’s lifeless body again, a trickle of vomit dribbled out of her mouth.

Was the empress sick from the shock of Trajan’s death? Or was it from eating two oversized servings of food at each meal for the past day and a half? Since nobody considered the latter a possibility, nobody even bothered to ask Plotina such a question.

II. THE HOODED HAWK

Augustus 9

Twentieth Year of Trajan’s Reign

The courier Manius immediately recognized the recipient of his delivery even though he never saw him before and even though he was more than a hundred feet off in the distance. General Hadrianus’ authoritative demeanor left no question as to who he was or the power he was currently wielding.

The general was standing beside an armored horse on the crest of a bramble-covered hill. As Manius drew closer he could see that the general was similarly protected with a set of armor. Clasped to the general’s chest was a silver breastplate covered with bronze and gold medallions commemorating past achievements. Over each shoulder were layers of additional, arching plates lapped one atop another. Beneath the armor Manius caught glimpses of a tan tunic that was bound by leather ties wrapping around Hadrian’s forearms. A sword and small knife hung from a belt around the general’s waist. And on top of Hadrian’s head was a bronze helmet with a plume of brown and white striped feathers protruding out the back. Because of the earpieces, chinstraps, and cheek guards accompanying the bulky helmet, the only features of the general’s face Manius could make out with any clarity were two silty-gray eyes methodically scanning back and forth across the land.

Manius felt a sovereignty emanating from the eyes, as if they were doing the thinking for the general and would alert his body if they detected even the slightest deviation from what they expected to see.

Indeed they would. It mattered little that the general’s troops had routed a Parthian legion on the battlefield below just a few hours before or that his scouts had repeatedly assured him his camp was safe from an attack by enemy reinforcements. Hadrian wanted to verify these reports with his own eyes.

At any rate, once Manius reached the general he presented the rolled-up letter he had kept secured to his body ever since the empress charged him with its delivery.

The general frowned when he took the letter, obviously annoyed by the intrusion.

Manius tried to figure out how to convey the letter’s urgency without distracting the general any further.

But Manius’ concern was unnecessary for when the general recognized the seal on the letter he immediately broke it open and scrutinized its contents just like he had the land moments before. Then he nodded to Manius. The courier was dismissed.

Hadrian mounted his armored horse and stared off toward the southeast horizon as if he hadn’t even read the letter at all. But eventually, a small tear welled in one of his eyes and a wide grin appeared on his face. He grabbed his horse’s reins and nudged his steed forward down the hill. Hadrian let out a loud whoop.

It was twilight as the general approached camp. He passed through a deep band of sharpened pikes protecting the compound and over a wood-planked bridge spanning a narrow trench. Hadrian looked on with admiration as he passed the imperial standards shimmering in the torchlight, their gold eagles emblazoned over silver backgrounds. He also saw a few of the defeated legion’s standards on display, debased by some choice graffito.

Once he was in the camp proper, Hadrian approached the legionnaires’ tents crammed together at the southern end of the compound. Each tent was a mere twelve feet wide by twelve feet long and housed an entire unit as well as their belongings. Hadrian’s thoughts, however, were not on things as mundane as tents. They were on that letter.

When the general’s horse trotted out into the open forum near the center of the camp, it prompted the troops sitting around rough-hewn tables to rise and let out a cheer. They were in the middle of their victory dinner—a bland mixture of gamey mutton, flattened bran dumplings, hardened cheese, and roasted chicory—all smothered beneath a nondescript gray sauce.

Hadrian threaded his horse between the tables so he could position himself to see all of his men at the same time. The general took off his helmet and set it in his lap. Then he pulled his sword out and raised it into the air. Today was for victory! he shouted out in a richly timbred voice. Tonight is for celebrating! And tomorrow—on the morrow we will bury the defeated. So let’s enjoy the night!

The general sheathed his sword and then reached into one of his pouches and pulled out a shiny bronze medallion. He held it between his fingers for a moment before flipping it directly toward a legionnaire. Hadrian thus marked the man as the most courageous soldier out in battle that day.

As cheers for the legionnaire began ringing out, the general dismounted his horse and strode over to the kitchen tent. He pulled the lead cook aside and instructed him to roll out a few barrels of the general’s own private reserve of wine to offer up to the troops. Tonight, there would be none of that watery Crimean wine his soldiers usually drank. Instead, they would all drink an aged Etruscan wine, one with real depth to it.

As soon as Hadrian’s men found out about this reward, another round of cheers rose up from the dinner tables. But by then, Hadrian was well on his way over to his own tent. There was another reward he would be bestowing that night. The general would be inviting an infantry unit over to his tent to have a private dinner with him in honor of the valor they showed during that day’s rout of the Parthians.

As Hadrian passed by all of the cavalrymen’s tents with their horses lined up outside, he thought about two different things at the same time: the first was that letter; the second was the armor all of the horses were wearing—armor similar to his horse’s, minus the hierarchical insignia. Hadrian took great satisfaction in knowing the armor played a significant role in their defeat of the enemy. Emperor Trajan had failed to understand the need to armor the horses, thinking it was just superfluous weight destined to drag the horses down. But with Hadrian’s persistence, he was able to successfully lobby the emperor to allow him to introduce this innovation within in his own legion. Certainly now the emperor will realize the advantage of providing armor to all of the legions’ horses, thought Hadrian.

When Hadrian arrived at his tent—really a group of four tents lashed together into one—he was greeted by a man named Licinius Sura. Licinius had been watching Hadrian as soon as he entered the forum, and that in turn had aroused a curiosity as to what his friend was up to. Licinius plied back the leather flaps of the tent for Hadrian to enter. A rush of stale, musty air came pouring out of the tent. Licinius lowered his head in a mock bow. All right, you’re in a rare mood, he said after they were both inside. What from?

Oh, this—I guess, replied Hadrian, who pulled a letter out from beneath his breastplate. It was that same letter from before.

Without even waiting for it to be formally extended, Licinius snatched the letter out of the general’s hands. He rushed over to an oil lamp and lit its wick in haste. Then he proceeded to read the letter aloud in a taunting manner.

General Hadrianus,

As your commander I have taken tremendous pleasure in watching you mature over the years. From an idealistic but headstrong youth, into a pragmatic but sage leader, strong physically but also morally, judicial yet merciful, learned but prudent. During this time, my wise but beautiful wife and I have eagerly but patiently waited for your experience to catch up to your outstanding moral virtues.

Your stellar leadership as a Legate in the Parthian Campaign these past few months has convinced us that to delay our small but important act any further would serve no purpose at all.

Therefore, I am proud to proclaim throughout the empire, from the soldiers serving in the field, to the citizens dwelling in the most humble of provinces, to the senators presiding in Roma, you are now an Ulpian. You are my beloved son.

Marcus Ulpius Traianus

Emperor of Roma

Sixth of Augustus

Well, ‘Mr. Ulpius,’ or should I say, ‘emperor-to-be’? scoffed Licinius, did Trajan really write this?

Of course he wrote it. It’s full of his stock but contradictory phrases, quipped Hadrian as he walked over to a corner of his tent to check on a dark, tawny hawk jessed to a lead stand. The bird sported a cream-colored mail and brown and white striped tail feathers. On its crown was a leather hood keeping it at bay, as well as its piercing eyes in check. Anyway, Hadrian said as he cooed to the hawk, his most productive footer to date, I think I’ll take the letter just as it is.

Licinius was about to offer a sly retort when a soldier asked permission to enter the tent. He was one of nine soldiers all nervously crowded outside the general’s tent. Despite an unspoken rule in the Roman army discouraging fraternization among the ranks, Hadrian frequently ignored this convention in order to reward merit over rank. And tonight was one of those occasions.

Are these the same bold men we saw out in the field today? Hadrian asked. Come on in! Consider this your tent tonight.

Licinius snickered when he saw the unit meekly file into the tent, stumbling over their feet. But when he saw the last soldier enter, he knew the real reason Hadrian invited the unit over. The last soldier was strikingly handsome, just the kind to keep Hadrian engaged during dinner. And no doubt later that night in bed. So Licinius turned to Hadrian and said, This should be an interesting evening. Excuse me while I go fetch a guest of my own.

Tonight is for the soldiers, Hadrian responded, placing a distinct emphasis on the word soldiers.

Now, as one of Hadrian’s oldest friends dating back to the time they were both liaisons to the Senate, Licinius was one of the few people who dared to reproach the general without a fear of reprisal. Furthermore, since Licinius was serving the army in a civil, and not a military, capacity, this made him even more prone to his recalcitrant behavior. And thus Licinius bluntly replied, Nonsense, I could use the entertainment. With that, Licinius left the general’s tent, leering at the ninth soldier on his way out.

While the soldier tried to stop from blushing after such an advance, the rest of the unit took their seats on the ground around a low table. After an ample amount of wine was poured, Licinius returned with his own dinner companion; it was Manius, the courier who interrupted Hadrian’s reconnaissance earlier that evening on the hill.

Only now did Hadrian realize that there was a certain sensitivity to Manius. He was too preoccupied before to notice such a thing. Even so, while Manius was an attractive specimen, he wasn’t nearly as seductive as that ninth soldier Hadrian couldn’t take his eyes off. Every part of him. From the soldier’s wavy layers of brown hair that were a lighter shade on top from the sun and a deeper color near his temples, to his wide sideburns cut close to his face and which were perfectly aligned with the bottom of his ears, to the way his eyelids curved over his hazel eyes in an enticing way, with little lines emanating from the corners of his eyes—lines that told Hadrian this man was seasoned enough to account for his actions. Hadrian also noticed a slight imperfection on the bridge of the soldier’s nose, probably from some past fight or battle. And his lips, though not generous, were still well rounded. And that drew Hadrian’s eyes to the dimple of the soldier’s chin, where he spotted a touch of dried-up blood, probably a remnant from the day’s combat.

Hadrian’s eyes started to travel further down the soldier’s body, down to the few wisps of hair curled on the man’s chest along the ridge of his tunic. Hadrian noticed the man’s shoulders were solid and his arms strong. And then there were his legs—the hem of his uniform ended well above his knees, revealing a muscular striation running up his inner thighs.

The soldier’s name was Marcius Turbo, the one who Hadrian marked with that medal out in the forum. For his part, Turbo was afraid of offending the general by displaying anything close to a ravenous appetite, so all he did was nibble at a slab of cheese during dinner. But in doing so, Turbo gave away more than he realized. For Hadrian knew that apart from sheer nerves, there was only one reason why a man would temper what he ate in his presence, and Turbo didn’t strike him as a man easily succumbed to nerves.

As for the rest of the unit, they were surprised to see the general eat the same bland concoction of food the legionnaires were consuming out in the forum. They became gladdened by their discovery, for it gave them a sense of pride to serve under a general who didn’t feel the need to take advantage of all the privileges afforded him.

Finally feeling at ease around Hadrian, the soldiers freely shared story after story about their collective heroism out on the battlefield. The majority of stories centered around Marcius Turbo and how he fearlessly came to his comrades’ aid time and time again. And every time Turbo’s name was mentioned, Hadrian seemed to listen to their accounts with a rapt attention.

When dinner concluded, Licinius and Manius rose and started to leave. That prompted the entire unit to rise in unison because of a lack of understanding as to what the protocol was in such a situation. But the general told the soldiers to remain where they were. There would be no twelve-foot by twelve-foot tent for them. He would be yielding his spacious tent to them that night as yet another reward for their performance out on the battlefield.

So the general bade goodnight to his guests and motioned for Turbo to accompany him over to his unit’s tent. As they made their way there, Hadrian cupped his arms around Turbo’s shoulders. It was now the general’s turn to regale Turbo with the stories he heard lauding Turbo’s courageous actions.

Turbo was embarrassed and didn’t know what to do other than keep his eyes on the ground and smile. No doubt his deeds were being distorted somewhat through the prism of the general’s eyes.

III. THE DISOBEDIENT HOUND

Augustus 16

Twentieth Year of Trajan’s Reign

Sabina called out for Thebae to come give her a kiss.

Thebae needed little prompting at all. She bounded over to Sabina, jumped up and lavished kiss after kiss on her mistress’ face, first on one side and then the other.

Sabina returned this display of affection by giving her dog a hug and kissing her on the forehead.

Thebae was Sabina’s wedding present from her aunt, who was acting on a hunch Sabina would instantly fall in love with the dog, given her affinity for animals.

Her aunt’s intuition undoubtedly proved correct. Sabina cherished her pharaoh hound. It was a striking creature. Its smooth, cinnamon-colored coat emitted a wonderful sheen anytime she petted it, something Sabina would incessantly do. Its nails were a similar color, as was its coat, nose, the rims around its mouth, and even its eyes. But the hound’s most remarkable feature was how unnaturally narrow it appeared in profile—so narrow it almost disappeared from view.

Still, what really endeared Sabina to her dog wasn’t its physical features, but its discriminating affect, something that had been evident in it even as a puppy. Thebae wouldn’t fawn over just anyone who approached her, as her littermates did. No, Thebae was downright standoffish. The dog needed to observe its siblings interact with someone before deciding how it should react.

It’s as if she’s evaluating one’s soul, her aunt was fond of saying, to ascertain whether or not one is worthy of her trust. But her aunt also knew if you could manage to win the dog’s trust, it would be won over completely. And in that respect the dog reminded the empress Plotina of her niece, which was why she knew it was inevitable they would end up bonding so closely to one another.

Anyway, once Sabina released Thebae from a second round of embraces, she stood up and asked her dog if it was ready for supper.

Thebae responded with a few subdued yips. Just hearing the sound of its own voice caused Thebae’s eyes to widen and its tail to wag.

Sabina felt guilty for allowing her dog such liberties, lest it provoke further outbursts she’d have no choice but to reprimand it for. For while Thebae was originally bred for hunting and preferred being outdoors, Plotina insisted her niece’s hound deport itself with a poised calmness inside. To achieve this end, Plotina put Thebae through extensive training exercises until all of its wild disobedience was beaten out of it. Indeed, Thebae’s subjugation was so complete, even its carriage had been altered.

Despite all this, Sabina couldn’t help but goad her dog on. Are you sure you want some dinner? she kept teasing. But Sabina didn’t have the heart to keep Thebae waiting too long, so she finally caved in and said, Tonight, we’ll be having quail.

Thebae licked its mouth in anticipation of a hearty meal as Sabina rummaged around in a large basket. Once Sabina felt a piece she knew her dog would like, she slowly lifted it out and placed it onto an ornately decorated ceramic plate. It was a breastbone. And the bone was barren. A few leg bones, some wings, and another breastbone followed this first bone onto the plate. They were all as equally meatless.

Sabina smiled as she set the plate down onto the travertine floor. Here you are, she said.

Thebae didn’t balk at the offering placed before her and devoured all of the bones in a few large gulps.

My, you’re hungry tonight! exclaimed a pleased Sabina. She opened up the basket and pulled out some more bones. This time, she didn’t bother with the formality of placing them on the plate. Instead, she fed the bones to Thebae directly from her hands.

Thebae snapped each bone down, and each time, a hacking velar sound would emanate from the back of its throat. Even so, the dog kept taking bone after bone out of her mistress’ hand.

Eventually the small bands of bare skin around Thebae’s eyes and nose darkened from the strain of suppressing so many chokes. Despite such discomfort, Thebae stared at Sabina with those trusting eyes of hers in expectation of receiving an even more abundance of food.

Finally, Sabina said, Well, that’s it Thebae. I’m afraid I don’t have any more quail for you tonight.

Thebae cocked its head to figure out if it heard Sabina correctly. When the dog realized it wouldn’t be getting any more food, it let out an alarming howl.

Sabina was unnerved by Thebae’s reaction and shouted out, to nobody in particular, Does anyone have any more quail for my dog? I need some more quail for my dog!

At just that moment, an old man in a tattered white toga entered the room. There was a wide swath of purple makeup smeared across the man’s face.

Sabina flinched.

The man pulled out a