The Raven and the Rose by Doreen Owens Malek Read Free Book Online Page A

enamel intaglio. The intricately frescoed walls, the hanging tapestry depicting Minerva springing full grown from the brow of Zeus and the waist high Greek urn painted with a scene of the mythical Minotaur filled out the room’s decor. He smiled at his friend Septimus as he joined the two other men.
    “Greetings, Septimus. I must say I am dismayed to find you in such miserable surroundings.”
    Septimus laughed. “Quite a change from those rainy camps in Gaul where we shivered under canvas, eh?” he said.
    Marcus nodded, accepting a cup from another servant who appeared instantly from a side door. “Where is the rest of the company?” he asked.
    “Already in the dining room with my wife,” the Senator answered. “Septimus thought it would be more pleasant to have a short time alone here before joining the crowd. He says you’re something of a celebrity and often get pawed by admirers.”
    “Septimus exaggerates,” Marcus replied shortly, taking a sip from his cup.
    “Oh, I don’t know,” Gracchus said. “My wife conducts a sophisticated salon and she’s invited half of Rome here tonight to view the conquering hero. You might be considerably more popular than you had anticipated.”
    Marcus shot Septimus a desperate look which communicated volumes.
    “Now, father, don’t scare him off, you’ll give Marcus the impression he’s going to be the centerpiece at dinner,” Septimus said hastily.
    “Am I ?” Marcus asked pointedly.
    “Of course not, please pay no attention to my father. You’re here as my guest to enjoy yourself and nothing more,” Septimus said jovially.  
    “How do you like the wine, boy?” Senator Gracchus asked Marcus.
    “Very good,” Marcus replied.
    “How would you know, Corvus, you never drink,” Septimus said, grinning.
    “You could drink less, it wouldn’t hurt you,” the Senator observed sharply to his son.
    “Oh, I could never aspire to the perfection enjoyed by my friend here,” Septimus responded, taking a long swallow of his wine. “He is a true Greek in spirit, faithful to his family name. ‘Everything in moderation.’”
    “Except warfare,” Senator Gracchus said.
    “And love,” Septimus added sagely. “Isn’t that what young Horace says?”
    “Oh, that stripling Horace, another friend of Brutus. I am tired of that gang and their mouthpiece, Cicero,” the Senator said.
    “But you will stay on good terms with them, as well as with Caesar’s group,” Septimus said, smiling wickedly. “My father remains neutral in all political controversies, Marcus. That is how he hangs on to his money.”
    “A wise course,” Marcus said.
    “But you are Caesar’s partisan, I understand,” Gracchus said to Marcus.
    “He was and is my general, Senator Gracchus. I owe him a soldier’s loyalty.”
    “He’s much more than a general now,” Gracchus said. “In our country politicians have always done military duty. I remember when Cicero was consul of Cilicia before the late Sejanus took over that territory. But Caesar aspires to more, he already calls himself ‘Imperator’.”
    “Any victorious general may claim that title,” Marcus said testily.
      “True, but it is also an indication of his ambitions. When he shared power with Crassus and Pompey he was more amenable to compromise. Now that he is alone I’m afraid the time will come soon when we all have to choose sides, and that will be a very bad day for Rome.”
    The Senator’s wife entered the room and said, “Here you are, Marcus, everyone has been looking for you. And how handsome you are in your uniform!”
    “Good evening, Lady Gracchus,” Marcus said.
    “I told him not to wear his toga because I wanted the women to see his legs,” Septimus said impishly.
    “Septimus, you are not amusing,” his mother said sternly, motioning for the men to rise. She was a handsome woman in her late forties, wearing a sleeveless tunic of coral silk with a deep, rounded neck which left her slim arms bare. The