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 fiancé 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.”

“It's beautiful!” Domitia responded, and Marcus pointed out, “Take the money for distribution! After breakfast, I'll go to your other aunt Annia, Ummidius Quadratus wife. We will talk to her about the marriage of our children in the near future.”

“Not so near future,” Marcus retorted. “As Cornficia grows up, a lot can change.”

“These things are not done hastily. You'll learn that. I mean, you'll understand how important it was to prepare yourself thoroughly for events like this in your life. And time? It flies fast. ‘Time takes away everything!’” she quoted her beloved Virgil, and turned to Decimus, “Let the nomenclator36 be ready, he will go with me.”

“Why do you need a nomenclator, Mom?” Marcus was surprised. “Today it is cool, and it is unlikely that you will push the curtains of the palanquin to see those who come to meet.”

“You know your mother is naturally curious.”

Rome loved holidays, solemn processions, triumphs. There were many of them, for different tastes and frets, and almost all of them were connected with the Gods. Every step of the citizens of Rome from birth to death, accompanied by them, guarded, helped the genius living inside each person.

In March, only one holiday was celebrated by all—The Liberalia. It was important because the young men on this day removed the toga praetexta and dressed in toga virilis, as if replacing children's life with adulthood. However, it was seen as a simple matter, as if with a change of clothes, it was easy to change not the status, but the internal perception of the world. Marcus, brought up in conversations with Greek teachers, whose attitude was deeper and wider than the Romans, seemed strange.

His fellow tribesmen against the background of the Greeks looked more pragmatic, purposeful and material, which had its advantages in the conquest of other peoples. But these down-to-earth people were not known for the exuberant flight of poetic fantasy, which owned the people who gave such great poets as Homer. The Romans were infinitely far from the thoughtful reasoning of Aristotle and Plato, who created the philosophy of their civilization.

Liberalia were not only associated with the ritual of transition of young men into adulthood. For many, Lieber sounded almost like the word freedom,37 though Lieber and Libera were just a married couple—a symbol of fertility and its strength. Therefore, the Romans loved this holiday, which allowed them to make funny obscenities and be slightly dissolved, for a short time avoiding the rigors and rituals of ordinary life. And, moreover, the importance of Liber was that he helped a man free himself from the seed during love games, and his wife Libera did the same for women.38