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And yet what was the meaning of this dream? So wrong, disgusting and nasty. First Sabine, then his mother. Marcus tossed and turned, he was hot, he could not sleep, and he remembered the artist Diognetus. He, like Hadrian, taught himself to subordinate his feelings to himself, to manage them, to be able to look at himself from the outside. Well, he looked: a young man who had mastered the empress, and then his mother!

His face burned with shame, and he thought about how good it was that it was night, dark, and everyone was asleep. No need to explain why he wasn’t asleep, why his cheeks and forehead were red. He suddenly remembered that his mother has a book by Artemidorus from Ephesus, which she often looked into because it was called “Dream interpretation.” Mother discussed her dreams with him, with friends, with Regin, because dreams, as well as signs, the Romans used to unconditionally believe.

It was necessary to look into it, he decided, to make sure that nothing bad would happen.

In the morning, not enough sleep, sluggish, Marcus went to the tablinum, where along with important family documents were kept scrolls of books. That's how he found the dream book. What he needed was described by Artemidorus in the first part. He did not look for Sabina, but about his mother… Possess a mother from behind was not good, he read, which meant that the dreamer would turn away their mother, or reject their motherland, or would fail.

All of these, he was not categorically satisfied with; he did not want him to turn away from his mother, did not want to lose his homeland or something else, no less important. He was still a young man, although on the threshold of adulthood, it was too early for him to be alone.

But what about sleep?

There were not many people in the house, although the slaves had already gotten up and were making noise everywhere, carrying water, talking loudly. In the kitchen, the chef prepared breakfast and from there came the smell of charcoal. Marcus watched as this little curly Egyptian cooked pork porridge.

Marcus wanted to see his mother. For some reason, after a dream and prediction of a dream book, he had a fear that something would happen to his mother, and she would leave him. A stupid, strange thought that disturbed his heart.

In addition to the slaves, Marcus heard the voices of customers, coming to see Domitia Lucilla, get her benevolent look, and even better a few sesterces, which could be put into business.

Marcus suspected that many of them were rogues and not at all as unhappy, deceived by life, as they wanted to appear before his mother. They tried to cause pity with worn tunics, or a large family that was hard to feed, or other troubles sent by the gods. These worthless people would stand along the corridor and escort the hostess of the house—the generous owner of the brick factory, with the eyes of devoted dogs, a little sad and mournful.

He, Marcus, thought that clientele were useless and lazy parasites, 35 which would be nice to get rid of and he would probably do it in due course.

In order not to meet them, Marcus bypassed the atrium, triclinium, walking through the corridors to his mother's room. At the entrance, he held his breath—now he would see her, alive, healthy, still affectionate. She must be busy with the morning toilet.

He was looking into the room and saw the truth! Domitia Lucilla sat in front of a large silver mirror that reflected her face and shoulders quite well. Near it were three slaves—Didona, Melissa and Feoksena, young Egyptian girls. One held a round silver mirror in front of the lady, another curled her hair with hot tongs, and the third dealt with the face of Domitia. Feoksena rubbed into the forehead, cheeks, and neck of his mother an ointment derived from the litter of crocodiles, which bleached the skin, and prepared paint from burnt date bones to paint the eyelashes of the mistress.

“Marcus, why are you standing on the doorstep? Come in!” his mother observed. “Do you want something?”

The son blushed, remembering his prior night's sleep.

“I wanted to wish you a good morning, Mum. How did you sleep?”

“I slept wonderfully!”

Domitia did not turn her head, but Marcus noticed that she smiles faintly. Mother was in a good mood today.

“Have customers gathered?” she asked casually.

“As always!” Marcus shrugged. “They came again for the innings.”

“Well, who doesn't like sesterces—we have a lot of them. Speaking of money…”

The Domitia fell silent as Feoksena began rubbing the ointment, making circular movements with her palms across the mother's face. When she finished, Domitia continued.

“Perhaps your sister Cornificia is ripe for marriage. I found her a beautiful fianc'e from a good Ummidius family—Gaius. The wedding must be next year when she grows up a little bit. I wanted to ask you about the will. We need to think about how to provide it with the means.”

“If she gets married, then I will give her the inheritance left from my father,” Marcus said judiciously, “I'll have enough of my great-grandfather's possessions. And you can bequeath your fortune to her, too, without mentioning me. Then Cornificia won't look poorer than Ummidius. I hear the Quadratus are a rich surname.

“Okay, I'll think about it,” Domitia agreed. “Do you know who I called to our family celebration on the occasion of your acceptance of toga virilis?”

“Emperor Hadrian?” Marcus joked.

But mother didn’t accept the joke.

“No,” she replied earnestly, “Hadrian is now in Syria, suppressing the Rebellion of the Jews. I invited Empress Sabine, who gives us the highest patronage, your aunt Faustina with Antoninus, Regin, and second great-grandfather, Annius Verus. Perhaps there will be more of my relatives from Narbonne Gaul. You've heard about them.”

“So much? I thought we were going to do a modest rite.”

“Oh, Marcus, it's already much more modest than I expected. But in Rome now cool, many of the respected people get sick or sit at home, warming their asses with the braziers, or have gone to warmer lands where they have villas.”

The slaves at this time finished the morning preparations and moved aside. A gray-haired slave appeared on the threshold of the room, looking after the house, his name was Decimus. Lucilla got him at one time from her deceased husband, and she kept him for herself, however, believing that she was not mistaken. Decimus was intelligent, partly educated—knew Latin writing, and by nature was quite calm.

“Domina, the customers have come together and want to pay their respects to you. In addition, the chef informed me that breakfast is already cooked.”