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the man away and sit up.
    The man put a hand on my chest. “Lay still,” he said. “I am the physician in the house of Lepidus. The leech will take care of the worst of the swelling and bruising. Otherwise, the eye will close up.”
    Gods, where was I? And who was Lepidus? Was he a friend of my uncle’s? The opulence of the gardens and courtyard indicated he likely was. Gods, did that mean that Uncle knew I was here?
    The day’s events flooded back to me. I sat up. “My things! Where are my things?” I cried.
    “The senator has them. They are safe. Your deep sleep has concerned us all, young man.”
    “It’s only because I stayed up all night traveling,” I mumbled distractedly.
    “I shall tell the senator that you are awake—just as soon as Master Mottled here,” he said, tapping the blood sucking creature on my face, “has had his fill.”
    He named his leeches? Gods. Maybe this was all just a strange dream. But my physical aches told me it was real. So did the memory of Prima’s harsh words, which cut more deeply. I closed my eyes in misery.
    I awoke to find the senator sitting beside me. He handed me a cup of honeyed wine, which I drank down in nearly one gulp.
    “Now,” he fixed me with that keen gaze, “do you wish to tell me what this was all about?”
    I groaned. “No. Not in the least.”
    “I thought as much.” He did not look surprised. “I did not identify you to your hosts, merely told them you were a friend’s son who was set upon. I suspect that the fewer who know about your ‘adventure’ in Pompeii, the better. Am I correct?”
    I sighed. “Yes.”
    He eyed me a moment more, long fingers tapping. “I also suspect that it might be best for you to head back to Misenum right away.”
    I rubbed my face gingerly and moved my jaw side to side, saying nothing. How could I go home again? Uncle would certainly disown me once he found out what I’d done. I needed to disappear. Maybe I could still sell his things and escape to an outlying province. That way, I’d never have to face my uncle’s expression of disappointment again. But then what? Gods, what was I going to do?
    “You know, your uncle is concerned about you.”
    “He is?”
    The senator nodded. “When I stopped at your villa on the way here, we had a long discussion. You had already left to visit the house of Julius Polybius.”
    For whatever reason, the thought that my uncle spoke with his friend about me made my throat go tight.
    Then the senator said, “I told him the problem was likely a girl.”
    “A girl? No. A whore.” A wave of shame and disgust washed over me as Prima’s words came back to me. What a fool I’d been! I put my head in my hands. “Will I always feel this stupid and weak?” I muttered.
    The senator leaned toward me. “Here’s a secret that few men will admit out loud. On the inside, most of us feel small, stupid, and weak no matter what our size or how old we are. You become a man when you realize none of that matters. Only what we do matters. A man of Rome will do his duty even when he feels broken inside.”
    I shook my head. “Men like you … like my uncle. I cannot imagine that you ever feel anything but strong and powerful.”
    He laughed. “Look at me! I’m a cripple of forty-three who looks sixty, feels a hundred, and stands shorter than you by half a head. I rarely feel strong and powerful. Actually,” he mused, “I’m not sure I ever have … but you would not know that, would you?”
    “No.” I had barely noticed his crooked shoulder or his modest height. What one noticed when meeting Senator Norbanus was his voice with its quiet ring of authority, and his gaze that could make even a man like Pansa squirm.
    “A man’s measure is not taken by his feelings, young Caecilius.” The senator’s tone was gentle. “He is measured by how he faces the world, and carries out his civic and family duties. Do you see?”
    I shrugged in misery.
    “Consider that long-armed reptile aedile