Queen of the Night

critics might descend to, although that made little difference to Senator Valerius Carinus, descendant of a former emperor. Valerius Carinus had amassed a fortune as the owner of an extensive range of quarries throughout Italy. If the Severan Walls of the city needed new stone, the Temple of Serapis fresh glazed tiles, or the Portico of Octavian to be refurbished, Valerius Carinus was your man. His motto was Salve Lucrum – 'Hail Profit' – and he stayed true to this. His critics claimed he washed his hands with wine, bathed in milk and would only allow the rarest silk to rest against his skin. Most of the criticisms were untrue. Carinus owned the most fruitful vineyards in Campania and hired the best chefs, yet he was on most occasions frugal in his eating, breaking his fast every morning only on bread and boiled Attic honey as recommended by the great physician Galen. However, when it came to others, he was always generous, especially to his beloved only daughter Antonia, whose coming of age was being celebrated with the most magnificent party in the sumptuous gardens of the villa. The house itself was grand enough. Many of its chambers were self-contained suites with serving quarters, baths and other amenities. Nevertheless, the fragrant late summer evenings had convinced Carinus that the terraces overlooking the garden with its fountains, ornamental pools and shady nooks would be the best place for Antonia's party. He believed that the cool shade offered by the surrounding ivy-clad plane trees, the greenery of the box hedges and shrubs, the sweetness of the fruit orchards and the perfumed water leaping from the marble fountains were far better than anything else.
    Senator Carinus was now congratulating himself on this decision. He sat slightly drunk in his white marble bedroom, separated from the garden terrace by elegant folding doors, cradling his precious ivory goblet and staring down at the mosaic on his bedroom floor celebrating the glories of Pomona, Goddess of Autumn. He half listened to the music from the gardens and heartily wished autumn would soon come: when it did, the insidious heat of the day would break and they could all bask in a refreshing coolness. He staggered to his feet, patting the sleeping slave girls on their bottoms, and crossed to the door. He did not trust his stewards, drunken, ungrateful lot! He would visit his aviaries, make sure their doors were closed and that the lights in the elaborately carved pottery masks with their cut-out eyes were still flaring strong. Above all, he must check on his beloved but spoiled daughter. She was pampered, cosseted and very wilful, but there again, since the death of her mother, Carinus had indulged her every whim. The room swayed slightly. Carinus clutched the wall, feeling slightly queasy, and no wonder, since he'd drunk a great deal very quickly.
    Carinus sat down on a stool, chewing his lip. If the truth be known, he hadn't really wanted this party, not with those abductions taking place in Rome. Wealthy young men and women snatched from their home or a street in the city, kept bound in the dark and only released for sacks of gold and silver. Who could be responsible for creating such fear? So serious had the crisis become that a delegation of senators had visited the Imperial Palace. They'd bowed low, given tactful speeches, conceded that times were violent but pointed out that this surge in crime involved their precious sons and daughters! Carinus had joined the last delegation. Emperor Constantine, God's Chosen, had sat glaring with bulbous eyes as the representatives of the Great Ones of Rome had demanded that the kidnappings and hostage-takings cease forthwith.
    Constantine's wine-purpled face had deepened in colour as he fought to control his seething fury.
    However, Carinus and his colleagues were equally wary of Helena, the Emperor's powerful mother, sitting on a high gold-encrusted stool to the right of her beloved son. As usual, Helena had been dressed demurely in a long-sleeved dalmaticus or tunic edged with purple, sandals on her feet, an embroidered stole about her shoulders. The Empress' greying hair was bound up from her face in a thick plait wrapped round her head,in the old-fashioned style and pinned with a diamond. No oil moistened, no paint or powder gilded that long, severe face with its sensuous lips, high cheekbones and expressive eyes which had turned agate-hard as Helena listened to their representations. Her only sign