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say one could get letters—and legions—to and fro to the Provinces in a matter of hours: flying horses! Well, then, they’d be under the same power too, and no different.’
    â€˜In the same fear and shame as we are.’
    â€˜Yes, but mark you, Crispus, the Empire’d be that much more efficient. The Imperial administration that much more unified. No rebellions possible. Can’t have it both ways. See, Crispus?’
    Balbus, who had been calming down, swirling the wine round in his cup, broke in: ‘I’m not so sure, Gallio; is it all so damned efficient? What about the finances? Romecould live on what she made and took—well, in the usual way!—under the Republic. If you were a citizen that meant a decent security. But an Imperial Court with all the trimmings is a different matter; it’s upset the balance of things. It has to be fed and paid for, with imports all the time, and I’m not sure if that’s going so nicely. Here in Rome, half the citizens are on the dole. And I’d like to know just how the Exchequer are paying for these pageants and parades and cardboard imitations of the Olympic Games that are got up to keep their minds off reality!’
    Crispus sighed. ‘We all need to have our minds taken off reality these days. It’s nice to think of those two young people starting life together. Though I could have wished your Candidus hadn’t chosen to go into the Praetorians.’
    â€˜He’d set his heart on it,’ said Balbus, ‘and it’s certainly a career. When the old ways of looking at things are breaking down—the continuity of the family and all that—well, young people want to make their own lives. We shall have to see the astrologers, Crispus, and get them to fix a day.’
    Gallio grunted. ‘Astrologers! Mean to say you believe in that sort of nonsense, Balbus?’
    â€˜Well, my dear fellow, there’s a lot in it, y’know—’
    â€˜Lot of moonshine. Well, good night, Crispus, and thanks. Coming, Balbus? Yes, of course I’m walking. Think I’m going to be carried about in a litter like one of Nero’s nancies? You don’t know old Gallio!’
    When he had seen his two old friends off, Crispus went along to bed, still sighing and shaking his head and wondering if it could be true that the Emperor was no better than the rest, that something was really wrong, so badly wrong that it could not be put right by going back—back to the manners and decencies and truthfulness and civilisation of Augustus—or farther. The slaves, however, waited to clear up, and Lalage was waiting to be paid. Hearing Crispus call for his personal servant to give him the usual ten minutes‘ bedtime massage, Argas came back to the dining-room. But by then Beric was there again, sitting on the end of the couch in his old place and glaring across the table at the other couch where Candidus had been. He shouted at Argas to get out and keep out. Argas who had seen what happened, thespilled wine and the blow! Argas shrugged his shoulders and went out. ‘No good,’ he said to Sannio, ‘the Briton’s there. And a nasty temper he’s in.’
    â€˜Well,’ said Sannio, ‘the little cat’s done the dirty on him. Sitting there as if butter wouldn’t melt in her claws. Oh my, oh my!’
    Phaon was crying, clutching and rubbing himself where Tigellinus had pinched him. ‘I hate him!’ he said, ‘I hate him, I’d like to kill him!’
    Argas caught hold of him. ‘No, you don’t,’ he said, ‘you don’t, Phaon.’ And he whispered some words to Phaon which seemed to calm him down. The slaves yawned. They would have liked to go to bed, but they knew they’d catch it if they left the clearing-up till morning. Lalage was talking in a corner to Manasses, quite low, about something which seemed to interest them both. Sannio made a