THREE DAYS BEFORE, the moon had been full, and now it floated through the sky, leaving a thin wake of clouds. The season was turning, bringing cold nights and the promise of rain.

Saint-Germain stood in the window of his bedroom, looking out at the tarnished silver of the night. His loose robe dangled half-open, caught at the waist with a carelessly tied sash. To his particular eyes, the night was filled with splendor that the brightness of the day hid. Now, in the time when owls hunted and cats slunk and scampered in the hills, the world seemed to be more truly his. Saint-Germain loved the night, was part of it.

"My master?" From the bed Tishtry's voice followed him and cut into his contemplation.

"Yes?" He did not turn, but he spoke affectionately to her. "Come to the window, Tishtry."

Obediently she rose from the bed and padded across the mosaic floor. "What is it?"

"Look at the night." His dark eyes saw far into the moon-shadowed dimness. He spoke distantly even as he put his arm around her shoulder. "There. By the orchard. There's a bat flitting like a bit of soot. Look at the trees-they're like storm clouds anchored to the soil. They're like us in that." He bent and kissed her shiny dark hair, but still looked out the window. "Oh, Tishtry, I haven't wanted to be cruel."

"Well, you haven't been," she said heartily. "You've been more kind to me than many." She was naked and the night was chilly, but her good nature kept her at his side, shivering faintly.

"Does it matter that I'm sending you away?" The darkness was familiar, but tonight it only served to reinforce his loneliness.

"From your bed?" She turned her head to rest it on his shoulder. "You know how I feel about this. It is my decision, not yours. You're the master and you're good to me. Your ways aren't my ways, but it's your right." She put her strong arm around his waist. "You've given me pleasure and you've been more than fair with me."

"Do you regret this?" His small hand touched the curve of her breast, her hip, with familiar affection.

"No. You don't just use me, the way some have. I won't say I wouldn't like it better if you functioned as other men-I would. You've known that all along. But it isn't that important, really." She was getting colder and there was gooseflesh all over her.

"Isn't it?" For the first time he looked at her.

"No, not really. Think how long this lasts, even your way. An hour, perhaps two, and all the rest are left open. I am in your bed twice in a month, certainly not more than a dozen hours. The rest of the time I'm with my horses, or in the arena or cleaning tack or one of all the other things I do in my life. Why should I trade all that for a dozen hours, no matter how pleasant?" She leaned forward and kissed him heartily. "I'll miss you, because you care so much for my pleasure."

The sad, ironic smile he gave her was lost in the darkness. He hugged her, then said, "You're freezing, Tishtry."

"It's getting cold," she admitted. "I'm fine."

Saint-Germain untied the sash he wore and drew her close to him inside his voluminous robe. "Better?"

"Of course," she said with an indulgent giggle.

He gazed out into the night one last time. "It's beautiful," he said dreamily.

"You always like the night better than day," she reminded him as she laid one hand on his chest.

"Night and I, we're part of each other." It had been that way for as long as his memories reached back. In legends, his kind were inexorably linked with the dark. At night, he had no need of his earth-lined boots, except to cross running water. At no other time did he feel the same relaxed surge of power, or the same elusive peace. "You will share the night, eventually."

Tishtry pressed her powerful, taut body close to his. "There are a few hours yet until dawn. Since this is the last time, shall we lie together again?"

He had always liked her forthrightness, however bluntly she spoke. Even when she had asked that there be an end between them, he felt neither regret nor rancor. It was impossible to feel those things with Tishtry. "Would you like that?" With one hand he smoothed back her hair as he bent to kiss her.

She shrugged and nodded at once. "I enjoy what you do. Since this is the last time, it would please me." She stopped and stared into his enigmatic eyes. "Why were you willing to let me go? Why did you accept? You are my master, and could have commanded that I stay with you."

"And have you unwilling?" The question did not surprise him, but he sighed anyway. "You have given me a great deal, Tishtry, and I know that though my ways are not your ways, or not yet your ways, you have learned to take pleasure in what we do. It was enough for me, and I like you. But I suppose now I've come to want...to need, something more. Not long ago it was enough to bring one to the height of fulfillment or terror. It satisfied me. I was, if not content, resigned. Now..." The word ended and he was silent.

"It's because of that patrician lady, isn't it?" There was no blame in the question, not yet. She waited while he sought for an answer to give her, that he could accept himself.

"If I hadn't been changing, Olivia might not have attracted me. I have lived long enough to accept change." Even as he said it, he knew it was not entirely true. He had never learned to regard loss as inevitable. There had been times when he had closed himself off from humanity, taking the aloof stance he had learned when he was a boy and a prince. Something always broke through, and there was the full weight and pain of grief to endure again. Olivia had surprised him, touched him before he was aware how deeply she moved him. The memory of their last meeting, more than two months before, filled his mind, an overwhelming presence. Every motion, every glance, every nuance of speech was vivid in his mind.

"Will you give me to Kosrozd?" Tishtry asked, wondering if he heard her.

"To Kosrozd? Why? Do you want him? Since he changed, he is as I am." He had thought she understood that.

"I know that. It seemed likely." She hesitated.

"What is it? Is there someone you'd prefer?" He lifted her chin up and smiled down at her. "As your master, the least I can do is see that you're properly provided for. Roman law requires that of me."

Now that she was in a position to ask a favor of him, she became shy. "I don't want you to think that I prefer a slave to you."

"But you do, don't you?" He held her a little more tightly. "Who is it, then? If it's in my power, I'll give him to you, and free both of you, if that's your wish."

"Free?" She made a sound not unlike a snort. "When my days in the arena are through, then I'll want my freedom, but until then, I'd rather have a master who is generous and kind than be cast out into the world with my skills and my teams and turn bondservant in order to support myself."

"All right then," Saint-Germain promised her. "When you are ready to leave the arena, tell me and I will free you and whatever man you wish, and see that you have a house and stables of your own." He hugged her impulsively. "Tishtry, you have been a joy to bed. I'm grateful to you, and I want you to know it."

"You don't have to tell me." She grinned because he had.

He pulled the robe tightly around them both, trying to hold off the melancholy that had got hold of him. "What do you want of me, this last time?"

"I don't know," she said rather slowly. "It would be nice to have something extraordinary, but I don't know what it would be." Her arms, strong from her life as a charioteer, held him increasingly forcefully. "I want...I want..." she murmured, her lips brushing his chest as she thought. At last she had it. "I want to lie atop you and have you move under me, so that nothing, not even your touch, can hinder my pleasure." She laughed at her own audacity, knowing that he might refuse her. She knew always, if he did not, that she was the slave and he the master, and that, given a free choice, she would have preferred a lover who used her as a man uses a woman, and who would give her children.

Saint-Germain's brows rose with amusement. "Very well, if that's what you wish." With his arm and his robe around her, he walked through the dark bedchamber. As they reached the bed, he stopped. "Tell me where you would like me to lie, and I will do it."

"Really?" No man had made such an offer to her, and the satisfaction of the moment was delicious to her. "I want you to lie back. You may have a pillow, if you wish," she added magnanimously. "Lie across the bed, so that your feet touch the floor."

He turned, dropping the robe at his feet, and sank back. "Like this, Tishtry?"

"A little higher, my master. That's better." She stood, studying him in the gloom as he lay back. "You must caress and kiss me until I tell you to stop." Fleetingly she realized this would be the only time in her life when she could order a lover so completely to her own satisfaction, and that certainly held her a moment, almost reluctant to continue for fear there would be too much pleasure and it would shake her resolve to leave him. Saint-Germain had been a considerate partner, willing to indulge her, anxious to gratify her as well as himself. She doubted very much that she would ever find a lover more expert in all things sensual but one. Expertise was not everything, and she had begun to feel the first touch of age within her, which, at twenty-eight, did not surprise her. It was time for her to establish herself with children, and she would never, could never get them with her master. Giving a tiny, fatalistic sigh, she decided to make the most of his offer for this last evening. Following the dictates of her senses, she said, "First I will lie so that our lips may meet and you will kiss me in many ways. I will tell you when to stop."

"Very well," he said gravely, though there was amusement in his dark eyes.

"And then I will tell you how we're to proceed." She announced this as if expecting a last-minute contradiction.

"As you like." His voice in the cool darkness warmed her with desire.

"If you think of anything more that I might like, you are to ask me if I want to do it. Let me decide everything." She knew she was postponing their lovemaking, fearing that the reality would be less than her imagination promised her. "I'm ready now."

His arms opened. "Then come to me, Tishtry."

Slowly, luxuriously, she stretched out atop him; her well-muscled, compact body was trained to respond to balance and movement so this new experience awakened her senses much the way that racing did when she stood on the backs of her horses as they galloped around the spina while the crowd roared above them. Saint-Germain was of trim, stocky build and his strength was, as she knew, enormous. She did not worry about crushing him or inadvertently hurting him as she lay on him. Her mouth touched his, lips parting.

She moved over him leisurely, lingering when his lips discovered another of those mysterious sites that produced a new spurt of delight or deeper satisfaction. She pushed herself up on her arms, arching her body away from him as her thighs responded to his gentle coaxing, spreading to admit his questing hands and kisses.

There was a sound in the garden, and for a moment both were tensely still, alert and listening.

"What was it?" Tishtry whispered.

"I don't know. Don't be concerned." He reached around her and drew her tight against him once more.

"I..." she began, feeling the exultation slipping away from her.

"Shush." His hands were amorous and sure, knowing precisely where to touch her to restore and inflame her desires. His mouth sought out the center of her passion, drawing new pleasure from her as water is drawn from a well.

For Tishtry it was difficult to speak, to breathe. She feared for that instant when the spasm finally released her-joyously feared that she would burst apart. Her eyes were half-closed and there was a sound in her throat between laughter and moaning. Her body became a vortex of fulfillment, and she was caught in the rapturous whirlpool that coiled and spun from that one pulsing point of almost unendurable pleasure.

When at last Tishtry fell beside Saint-Germain, her breath had nearly returned to normal. She lay beside him, silent, eyes on the pale, moon-clear night beyond the window. There were things in her mind that she wanted to say to her master, but she found words for none of them.

Saint-Germain understood something of this, and accepted her quiet. He relaxed, listening to the rhythm of the night that he knew so well. When he spoke to her, he said, "I will miss you, Tishtry."

She turned a startled face toward him. "I will miss you as well, my master."

"But you will not change your mind?" He did not expect that of her, but it was easy to ask.

"No," she said slowly when she had given the question her consideration. "That was...more than I've ever had. But I don't think I could stand to have it too often. You were something like those fig pastries the Egyptians make-the first and second bites are delicious as the food of the gods, but after that, there is too much sweetness, with the honey and the almonds and the cinnamon, and the dates are cloying instead of rich. If I did this too often, I would become like those Persian soldiers who eat the poppy dust. Soon there would be nothing in the world but the hunger, the craving, and all the pleasure would be gone, not only from this, but from everything."

Her insight surprised him. "It can happen that way," he admitted, remembering too many times when it had. There had been a time when that was no consideration with him, but that was before King Shalmaneser raised the walls of Nimrud, when he felt more rage than loneliness.

Tishtry reached blindly for his hand. "It will be strange, not to be the master's woman...."

"You are always of my blood," he said somberly.

"That is not the same. I don't know if I'll like the next one. There must be a next one, I suppose. For many reasons." She was suddenly, irrationally angry. "Why didn't you have more of us? Then I wouldn't have to get used to seeing another woman with you when there had not been one before. You've never met the patrician woman here."

"You've never objected to Kosrozd," he pointed out.

"Kosrozd is different. Once he changed, he did not lie with you. You told me that such things do not happen. When you change, you lie with those unchanged, not one another." There was an accusation in these words and she waited for him to try to mollify her.

He looked away from her, saying in a remote way, "I have never experienced it for myself but it was said when I was young, that if there is true acceptance and deep love, such things can happen. Those of my blood can lie together. I have never known of it. After all this time, I doubt it is possible, that kind of intimacy, but the wish for it still remains." It was an effort to turn his mind from such unfruitful speculations.

She had known him long enough to feel his pain, and she was aware that she had overstepped that unspoken limit behind which he hid his anguish. "My master," she said, contrite. "I did not mean..."

"I know." He turned toward her again. "Well, we must deal with this problem. What would you like me to do? Do you want to leave Rome?" he asked her gently. "You might prefer to be sent away. I have other estates, and you may live at any one you like with whomever you like, until you want to retire and be freed."

"If you wish to send me away," she said after a pause, her voice so small it was hardly audible, "that is your right. You may do with me as you will. And I would not blame you, truly I would not. But I would be very sad." She had no intention of weeping for this strange man. Romans despised tears, she knew, and though Saint-Germain was not a Roman, she had never seen his eyes moist.

"Of course I don't want to send you away," he assured her, feeling a touch of annoyance. Tishtry in general was a sensible woman. It had been her wish that they part. She had asked him to let her choose one of the charioteers or bestiarii who liked her and would give her children. Now this. He propped himself on his elbow and studied her. "Tishtry, tell me what is disturbing you." He said it casually, as if they were talking about the merits of his new harness design, but it was an order and he expected to be obeyed.

"Nothing," she said curtly.

Patiently he thought of her life, and from what he knew of her he formed his next questions. "Would you like to return home to Armenia? Do you still miss your family? Tell me." He touched her cheek where there was a trail of wetness.

Her answer was not direct. She had no intention of telling him that she had come to prefer Rome to the rugged hills of her own land. "The last time I raced, there was a scholar from Armenia who talked to me afterward. He was very pleased with my team and my skill. He asked a great many questions about my racing and training. He said that it had been a great mistake to have such a treasure sold to Rome." She was staring at the ceiling where the murals were almost invisible in the dark, picturing in her mind the bright glare of the Circus Maximus.

Saint-Germain felt himself grow cold. "An Armenian scholar?" he inquired casually.

"Very distinguished. He spoke with Necredes in Greek. You must not think that he was bent and gray, however-he was fairly young with a strong face." She wondered why it was so important that Saint-Germain know how much she was admired. It was more than the petty satisfaction she felt in making him jealous. "He was respectful and attentive."

"I'm not surprised," Saint-Germain said dryly. "Tell me, did this Armenian scholar have an accent?"

Tishtry laughed. "All courtiers have accents," she said. "The whole court speaks strangely."

That was true enough, Saint-Germain told himself. And it would be unusual for Tishtry to recognize whether the scholar spoke in the courtly manner, or whether there was a touch of the Persian in his words. He tried to convince himself that this was needless worry-that Led Arashnur had left Rome months ago. "Tell me more about this Armenian scholar: what kinds of questions did he ask you?"

"Oh," she said blithely, beginning to enjoy herself, "he wanted to know everything. He said he was going to make a report to the king, and I told him I had already appeared before Tiridates when he came to Rome to see Nero. That impressed this scholar, and he inquired about when I had come here, and how long I had been performing in the arena. I told him quite a lot about that. Even about that time Necredes wanted me to take my team through lions and you protected me when I refused. That impressed him a great deal, my master."

"Did it?" Saint-Germain asked ironically.

"Yes," she insisted. "I told him all about you. He didn't believe much of it."

"All?" he repeated.

She stifled a chuckle. "Well, not quite all. But it was enough for him to know that you don't abuse your slaves and that though you're not a noble or a citizen of Rome, you're still no one to meddle with."

Saint-Germain reached for a pillow and dragged it under him. "I'm grateful for that. I wonder why this Armenian scholar took so much time on such matters. Surely he can't be planning to include that in his report to the king."

"There aren't a lot of Armenians in Rome," she pointed out, her momentary pique entirely forgotten. She was pleased that the scholar had been so attentive, and wanted Saint-Germain to understand that this was no idle compliment she had been given. There were many men who admired her, and some who regarded her with avid, lustful eyes. The scholar had been different. He had cared about how she lived. "Try to understand, my master, that I was something new to him. My father and brothers often performed at the king's command, but that was years ago, before my brothers were sent to the army to train the charioteers for battle. Since then, not many of the court of Tiridates have seen the kind of demonstration I do. He was curious about it. He wanted to know how I came by my skill, who had bought me and why, and how I was treated. He wanted to know if there were others who had my abilities, and I said that so far none had been seen in Rome. No one has ever cared about that before."

"Ah." Saint-Germain kissed her forehead lightly.

"Should I not have spoken?" she asked, suddenly anxious.

"It may not have been entirely wise," he said after a moment. "Never mind, Tishtry. It's good to know that someone appreciates your skill. Be glad that he was good enough to tell you. In future, however," he added in a more astringent tone, "do not be too open with such strangers, even if they are from Armenia."

Tishtry turned to huddle close to his side. "I only wanted to praise you, my master."

He put his arm over her shoulder. "I'm flattered," he said with weary sincerity. "Yet be circumspect. With the Emperor in so much trouble, and the people of Rome ready to pull down the city walls if it will bring them grain, there are many who want to turn this to their own advantage. Strangers, even those who give you genuine compliments, may have hidden reasons to do so. Being strangers ourselves, we must be particularly careful, since if there is to be trouble, it will be our own first." He did not want his last night with Tishtry to end so badly. With an affectionate squeeze he took her in his arms. "I am being very cautious because I have learned that it is necessary. Don't be distraught." He kissed her again, more determinedly.

"Are you angry?" she asked, still very concerned.

"No. Why should I be? If anyone deserves anger, it's myself. Don't put too much stock in my worry." His hands followed the line of her breasts, her hips.

"Are we in danger?" She said it quickly, as if the question were all one word.

"Those like me are always in danger. In time we get used to it. When you have changed, you will learn."

Their next kiss was interrupted by a sound from the animal pens, some distance from Villa Ragoczy. Saint-Germain looked up sharply.

"What is that?" Tishtry asked as the distressed yapping came again.

"Something's bothering the wolves," he answered, frowning. The wolves had come from Carnuntum two months ago, and though nervous at first, had quickly learned to be calm.

The sounds increased, and over the sounds of the wolves there was added the coughing cry of leopards.

Saint-Germain rose and pulled his robe about him. "I'd better find out what it is."

"The keepers can do that," Tishtry said softly.

"If your horses were neighing, would you say the same thing?" He asked it gently, and did not expect an answer as he bent to pull on his soft high-heeled boots.

She had no argument to make, and in fact was growing alarmed over the noise from the compound. She drew herself into a ball in the middle of the bed as Saint-Germain rose. A moment later he strode from the room, calling for Aumtehoutep as he went.

Saddened, Tishtry pulled the largest pillow toward her and wrapped her arm around it, trying to recall the splendor of their last night together.

TEXT OF A LETTER FROM CAECILA MEDA CLEMENS, DOMITA JANUSIANUS, TO HER SISTER, ATTA OLIVIA CLEMENS, DOMITA SILIUS.

To Olivia, Domita Silius, familial greetings:

I confess I was amazed to have your letter of October 2, which did not arrive for almost two months, due to severe weather and difficult road conditions. The military dispatches traveled swiftly enough, you may be certain, but a letter such as yours, though you are the wife of a powerful Senator, must wait while the twelfth report of the least experienced tribune is hurried south. Also, there have been certain difficulties on the borders, but that is a state of life here in Lugdunensis. Lutetia is a fairly tolerable city, but there is little to be done to make it really acceptable. The winter begins early here in the north and since we were posted here after our father's and brothers' misfortunes, I've come to long for that splendid sun that shines on Rome with such profligate glory. Until you have lived in places like this, you can have no idea how truly delightful a place Rome is. To call it the very center of the world is not sufficient.

Which, my dear sister, is why I am puzzled by your request to visit us. How could you bear to leave Rome, even for so short a period as six months, and if you must come, why in the dead of winter, when there is little to do and nothing but hours of boredom?

I told my husband something about you, though I admit it has been very nearly fourteen years since I've seen you. I'm certain you're no longer that awkward child with the berry stains all over her best palla. Strange that I should remember that about you more than any other thing. Do you remember that holiday near Neapolis, visiting our mother's uncle? He had quite a grand estate (or so it seems in retrospect, though after Lutetia, a pigsty in Ostia or an apartment in the worst, most rat-infested insula behind the Forum of Augustus would be preferable to the grandest palace here) and it was near enough to the sea that we could go there for a swim. How long ago that seems. You could not have been more than eight or nine. It is a pity that we didn't spend more time together as children, I suppose, but it might have been awkward. I am fully twelve years older than you are, and it is not remarkable that our education took different turns. I remember what a shock it was to learn that our father had lost so much money and land. How fortunate that Silius was willing to offer for you then.

In your letter you tell me that your husband is unkind, though he's protected our mother and housed her in spite of the disgrace our father and brothers have brought upon us. It may not be a great pleasure to be wed to an old man, but in one of the letters he sent to my husband, he said he has never objected to your lovers. It's foolish to abuse so good a man, Olivia. You must learn to control your desires and work with your husband in partnership. He was unfortunate in his first two wives, and now you treat him shabbily. That is not the way you were raised. I know that, for we had the same nurse and tutors; Isidoros and Bion taught us our obligations along with Greek, you know. Though I haven't used the language in years, the principles they gave us have served me well here.

You cannot imagine how inconvenient everything is. Our villa is never warm enough for four months out of the year. We have a holocaust, of course, but it isn't adequate to the task of heating the rooms. And I will not have the ceilings lowered or open fireplaces put in rooms the way the natives do. The thought of a room with a great open hearth belching out smoke and flames into the room-Romans must draw the line somewhere! I've taken to ordering my clothes made of heavier fabrics, and the people here do make a fairly good woolen cloth. It dyes unevenly, however, and for that reason when we have a rare guest, I insist that we dress properly, no matter what the season. I will not receive a visitor in coarse wool-linen or cotton must be worn. Occasionally Drusus loses patience with me for this, and I must remind him that we are Roman patricians with a certain obligation to our position.

Though we have few messages here, there is a persistent rumor that Vitellius will be brought down. Is not Rome satisfied with this latest Emperor? How dangerous for you, to be close to it all. If that is what is really distressing you, I can certainly understand why you might want to be out of Rome for a few months until all is once again quiet. The last year or so, it seems we've barely had time to change the plaques at the garrison, and we must do it again for the new Emperor.

How different things were when we were in Antioch. There we had a chance for advancement, and there was talk of a great promotion for my husband. Nero had said that after a few more years in Syria and Greece, he would be ready to become a Senator. Now, there is not the least chance in the world of that happening. If we are fortunate we will be shuffled from Gallia to Britannia to Mauretania, and never be one step closer to Rome. Drusus could retire, of course, and he has estates near Syracuse, but everyone would know that he had capitulated, and I won't hear of it.

You have never seen my children, certainly, but I think I have reason to be proud of them. Hilarius is now twelve, and very precocious. One of Drusus' uncles will adopt him and see to his advancement. Fontanus is almost ten, and his tutors say that he has an excellent mind, far superior to the other children's. They want to send him to Greece, naturally, to study there, but I think his time could be better spent in Rome. My husband and I have yet to decide the matter. Perhaps Drusus should write to your husband and ask his advice in the matter. Maius is only six, and it is difficult to tell yet how he will turn out. So far he has shown a great liking for soldiers, but there is little else here to attract his attention. Flora is nine and with some effort on my part, she may become a beauty, but it will be work because she has no idea how to dress, and refuses to listen to me when I seek to guide her. If you're willing to have her with you in a few years' time, you may find she alleviates your loneliness as well as doing some good for the family. Salvina is seven, quite robust, which is not a thing I'd encourage in a girl. My baby is Cornelia, who is little more than two. A very well-mannered baby, though, in spite of her foot. The physician here is trying to treat it, for with a limp she may never hope to make a mark for herself in the world. It would be a pity if we had to marry her badly because of that little defect.

I was sorry to hear of our sister's death. Arianus wrote last year to tell us, and I was quite upset. Viridis and I were very close, you know, being only two years apart in age. Imagine being overturned in a chariot on the road to Patavium, getting little more than a broken bone, easily set, and then to have the arm go black, and be killed by fever. I was shocked. What was Arianus thinking of, to let her be treated by local physicians? They're all nothing more than incompetent butchers. Now only you and I are left, my dear Olivia. Four brothers and a sister have left this world too early.

Let me hear from you again soon. It has been years since your last letter, but I thought it was because of our disgrace. How ironic to think that if things had gone as our father wished, I would be in Rome now, part of a powerful family, enjoying the honors my husband had worked so hard to obtain. Yet I don't complain, as that would be a dishonor to our father and our Lares. Certainly, I wish it had been otherwise, but there is little to be done now unless you know of someone willing to help us. I won't ask you to talk to your husband for us, since you seem to be having a little trouble there just now, but when things are easier between you, a word or two would be appreciated. That is, assuming he continues to have influence when matters of the purple are at last decided and someone is Caesar for more than a year continuously.

How much I have written to you! It shows you how I long for your company. Let me counsel you, little sister-strive to be more tolerant of Justus. Men are vain, it's sadly true, but if we are indulgent and don't regard them too critically, they do reward us in the end, and we can then exercise our accumulated power without hindrance. Give that your consideration. These difficulties pass, believe me. By the time my letter reaches you, you'll be wondering why you wrote to me in such dejection. Husbands may be a burden at times, but at least you have Rome to amuse you, and for that, I admit I envy you.

Until I see you again, in Rome, the greetings of my family and myself.

Caecilia Meda Clemens, Domita Janusian

the twenty-first day of November

in the 821st Year

of the City, in Lutetia, Lugdunensis

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