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have some inkling. You know my little brother better than I do, and I respect your opinion. But do what you can to soothe his feelings. Perhaps you could suggest that my father will rely on him to send reports of how things stand in the city. You will realise this suggestion is ridiculous. Father depends on the information his brother Flavius Sabinus sends him. But if you can pull this particular wool over Domitian's eyes, then you will be doing me a service -which is of course your greatest pleasure, isn't it? The fact is that Domitian is not ready for military life. He may never indeed be suited to command.'
    Naturally I did as he asked, but I failed to convince Domitian. He saw that the reassurances I offered were the veriest nonsense, and guessed that I was his brother's mouthpiece.
    That's what Titus told you to tell me,' he said. 'He's determined to keep me in the shade. Well, he shan't succeed.'
    All the same, despite this petulance, it was in the shade that he remained. He became more moody and more disagreeable, sometimes going for days without speaking. 'I think he's forgotten how to smile,' Domatilla said.
    Only my mother seemed to understand him. She said he was like a bird with a broken wing. She felt sorry for anyone who had set his heart on something beyond his reach. When he visited us, he relaxed in my mother's company. It may even be that he felt a disinterested affection for her.
    I am weary and shall resume this letter later. But meanwhile the messenger has come to inform me that the boat is about to sail. So I shall send this now, as evidence of my willingness to help you -though I fear you will find it inadequate.
    VI
    Tacitus will be irritated that I sent him only an extract from Titus' letter. There were sentences too intimate for me to wish to disclose them to his disapproving scrutiny. But why I should wish Tacitus to think better of me than I think of him, especially since we shall never meet again, baffles me. Yet it is so.
    He is so suspicious that he may even think I have concocted that letter. But I have always hoarded correspondence and, though some has gone missing, much remains. When I was condemned to exile, I arranged to have several boxes of documents forwarded to me by way of my bankers.
    1 do not know how much that is private and not public I can bring myself to reveal to Tacitus.
    I have no reason to protect Domitian's memory, and yet I am reluctant to tell him all that I know about the late Emperor: for instance, that he once, at least, sought to bed his sister Domatilla. This happened later, when she was a married woman. I didn't hear of it at the time - I was soldiering in the East. But it was soon after my return that she told me - in her bed, as it happens. Since her confession came post-coitum, after our own act of adultery, when her hair lay on my damp shoulder, and her flesh was pressed against mine, I did not doubt her. I could not then doubt either that she had refused him, though, jealousy working in its crab-like fashion, I was subsequently for months tormented by the suspicion that she had not done so, but had lied to me, even while lying with me. And this suspicion was magnified by the vivid memory of a dream or nightmare I had had in the year of terror which Tacitus has asked me to recall.
    Was that dream a premonition? The thought tormented me or, rather, I tormented myself by indulging it.
    But, at the moment that she told me of her brother's criminal assault - with her soft lips mouthing my ear - I felt pity for Domitian rather than indignation. That he should have been so driven by incestuous lust, and yet denied what I had just enjoyed!
    Will Tacitus, or rather would Tacitus, for I shall not tell him, believe that? I don't think so. Human nature is too complicated for the schematic ways of historians.
    The truth is that Tacitus will present men and women as if they are capable of being understood. There is no other way of writing history perhaps. It is the historian's