"Ave Heliogabalus! Ave Heliogabalus!" the crowd roared obediently as the new emperor made his way through the foggy city, his procession being led by three gold-painted quadrigae drawn by ostriches. These elegant chariots contained half-naked young men, too drunk to be cold, who tossed handfuls of dried flowers to the people lining the streets. After the three quadrigae came a party of dancers and musicians, doing their best to perform in the daunting weather, but shivering in spite of their exertions. Behind these entertainers there was a large open carriage, gilded and jeweled, and drawn by six Iberian horses ridden by more handsome young men in skimpy Greek chlamyses; it was in this equipage that Heliogabalus rode, a golden laurel-wreath crowning him, his arms shining with bracelets, his body loosely swathed in all-but-invisible Coan linen; his genitals were painted golden-red, and he sat so that everyone could see. If he was cold, he gave no sign of it. Young as he was, there was already a cynical turn to his mouth and an air of decadence in his manner, as well as a willfulness in the set of his chin; he drank wine from a large golden goblet that was constantly refilled for him by the beautiful slave-a boy of nine or ten dressed as Bacchus-who attended upon him.

Behind him came a troupe of tumblers and dancers-all male-doing their best to perform on the slippery street; bruises and scrapes gave testimony to their lack of success. Next a contingent of Praetorians marched, their long pallia decorated with light-tan sundisks in honor of the Emperor and his Syrian god; the Praetorians' visages were expressionless. Then came a covered quadriga in which rode Julia Maesa, Heliogabalus' formidable grandmother; she was sensibly swathed in heavy silken stolae and pallae, and she wore a vast array of golden jewelry; she nodded to the gathered Romans but neither waved nor smiled, preferring the stern demeanor of a conquering general to that of grateful parent. Next to her rode her daughter, Julia Soaemias, in brilliant silks and an ostentatious display of golden jewelry. A company of city Guards followed after the Emperor's family, just as stiff and impassive as the Praetorians. Last came a line of condemned slaves, bound for the Flavian Circus and the next day's Great Games. In spite of the chilly drizzle, Romans were out in force to see the handsome youth who had risen so high. A few in the crowd, unfamiliar with the new name, cried, "Ave, Caesar!" and let it go at that.

"What do you make of him?" Vulpius asked Sanct-Franciscus as the procession moved past them. He had raised the hood of his pluvial. "Comporting himself like a Greek actor, and in this weather!"

Sanct-Franciscus shrugged, recalling other figurehead leaders he had seen over the centuries. "A puppet, but an expensive one."

"They say he uses the slaves to feed his eels, which are his favorite food," Vulpius said, rolling his eyes upward. "And that he sleeps on fresh rose-petals every night. Rose-petals! In winter! He slighted the Vestal Virgins two days ago! Truth! And all those young men!" Vulpius shook his head, disappointed in the new Emperor. "It's the foreign influence-meaning no disrespect to you, Sanct-Franciscus. Romans have a taste for luxuries and male flesh, of course, but not so obsessively or exclusively. Or so flamboyantly."

"These things may mean difficulties for him, in time," Sanct-Franciscus agreed. "It would seem he is ill-advised."

"Ill-advised: a courteous phrase. There's no sense of proportion about him, not a hint of dignity-" He stopped as a young man in Iberian clothing lurched into them, mumbled an apology. "Another one following the example of Heliogabalus," Vulpius grumbled as the youth shouldered away from him.

"Heliogabalus has certainly been indulged in his life, and expects the indulgence to continue and enlarge." Sanct-Franciscus held out his hand to judge the increasing damp while he went on, "Others will want to have the same license he is granted-on that point I think you are right."

"Yes. I fear so," said Vulpius, tugging at Sanct-Franciscus' long, pleated, dark-red sagum. "Come. The crowd will soon be unruly, and you and I will want to be away from it." He glanced over his shoulder and pointed to a scuffle that had broken out among a group of on-lookers just behind the line of slaves. "See? There'll be more of that shortly. The procession has a dozen more streets to traverse, and the people will probably become raucous as it goes along; the rain won't quell their spirits. Don't you think we should be away?"

"I do," said Sanct-Franciscus. "Perhaps it is best." He stepped back into the mouth of an alley-way leading toward the small, beautiful Temple of Isis, just at present with its columns wrapped in midnight-blue linen for the dark of the year.

Vulpius hurried ahead of Sanct-Franciscus, his breath making a thicker mist before his face. "It will be raining heavily by nightfall, not just this mizzle. Tomorrow will be wet as well-all the signs are for it."

"So it seems," said Sanct-Franciscus, curious why Vulpius was so eager to put distance between them and the procession; he was aware that possible riotous behavior was not the only reason: Saturnalia would begin in a few days, and the mood of Roma was aleatory already, and would only increase in capriciousness over the next several days. He followed Vulpius, his senses sharpened.

"I am pleased that you will attend our convivium on the last night of Saturnalia," Vulpius went on, his thoughts scampering.

"With the understanding that I will not eat or drink, I have accepted," Sanct-Franciscus said genially. "I thank you for your invitation: you are most gracious to a foreigner."

"Very well, no food or drink; if you must have it so, so be it, although I wonder at any custom that keeps a man from dining in the company of his friends. Still, you say it is the tradition of those of your blood, and you do well to honor it. You will send me word when you decide what sort of slaves you want to serve you that night. I can provide you up to three." Vulpius reached a wider street, one that led to the Porta Viminalis, and he paused, still uneasy. "I am afraid that this new Caesar has come with his own army of spies."

"I would rather think his mother has," Sanct-Franciscus observed wryly.

"Yes; and even worse," said Vulpius.

"Why does that trouble you?" asked Sanct-Franciscus. "There have always been spies in Roma."

"Yes. Yes. Yet there are spies, and there are spies." Vulpius went silent, then cleared his throat. "You must know that there are those who say that the Emperor's mother is determined to destroy all resistance to her son's rule before it can start."

"I have heard something of the sort," said Sanct-Franciscus; Roma had been rife with rumors since the death of Macrinus the previous June, and now, with Heliogabalus installed in his palace, the rumors had reached the pitch and incoherence of thunder; everyone had a theory about the new regime, and everyone believed all other theories were wrong, so that each bruited his own ever more stridently.

"She is a most determined woman," said Vulpius, starting to amble in the direction of his house.

"She must be, to have advanced so young a lad to the purple," Sanct-Franciscus agreed, keeping pace with him.

"They say she disapproves of the Vestal Virgins," Vulpius added, lowering his voice as a group of young men came down the street, their abollae pulled up to help them keep dry or to conceal their faces. "They say she wants to put an end to the Vestal Virgins, banish them or disband them."

"That would not surprise me. How could she want any women to have power that supersedes her own?" Sanct-Franciscus nudged Vulpius, encouraging him to move faster. "The mist is almost rain now."

"So it is," said Vulpius, glancing at the young men who had ducked into a curbside thermopolium calling for sausages and wine. "They will be rowdy by nightfall-they, and half the city, no matter how hard it rains."

"Did you expect otherwise?" Sanct-Franciscus asked mildly.

"No. But I am growing wary of rag-tag mobs of youngsters, who are being tolerated everywhere. The Emperor encourages license of that kind, and many youths are willing to accept what Heliogabalus provides. I would rather be commanded to repel barbarians than pander to the whims of those lads. Not that the Christians, with their bands of youths preaching virtue, are preferable. Those youths have their own kind of disorderliness: they chastise those they think lack their virtues." He stopped at the corner, pointing north. "Your way is that street; I am going this way," by which he meant southeast. "I'll see you in a few days, Sanct-Franciscus, when I shall thank you properly for all you have done for me and my gens this last year. If you think of any indulgence I might be able to extend to you-?"

"It isn't necessary," said Sanct-Franciscus, holding up his hand to stop the objection that Vulpius was about to utter. "But I am honored that you would include me in your celebration."

Vulpius nodded slowly. "Very well. But at least permit me to be the one to help you put your right foot forward for the coming year."

Sanct-Franciscus smiled, knowing how important it was to Romans to cross the threshold of houses and begin the new year stepping onto the right foot. "You may do so, and with my wholehearted appreciation."

This brought a smile to Vulpius' face. "You are a most admirable friend, Sanct-Franciscus. Roman or not, you have all the true virtues."

"What can I be but flattered," Sanct-Franciscus asked, shading his eyes with his hand as the first real raindrops began to fall. He stood watching Vulpius trudge away, his shoulders hunched in his pluvial and his arms folded to help keep him warm, for a wind had kicked up, frisking maliciously down the streets and tugging at signs, clothing, and rubbish alike.

When Vulpius turned the corner, Sanct-Franciscus set out, not toward the Temple of Hercules, but toward the Villa Laelius, where he was expected. His sagum was soaked through by the time Sanct-Franciscus presented himself to Starus in proper form, saying "Domina Laelius is-"

"-expecting you. Just so," said Starus, adding automatically, "Right foot," as Sanct-Franciscus crossed the threshold; the floor was quite warm, indicating the holocaust was at full burn. "Doma Ignatia is at home. Octavian has left to join his Christian friends to harangue those watching the procession." He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "And there are guests."

"Thank you," said Sanct-Franciscus, and handed him a denarius, quite a generous commoda, but not remarkable at year's end.

"Very handsome of you, Foreign Honestiorus," said Starus, and escorted Sanct-Franciscus to the covered colonnade around the atrium. "You know the way to Domina Laelius' chambers, I believe?"

"I do," said Sanct-Franciscus, and touched the wallet hanging from his belt beneath his sagum.

"Shall I take that and hang it in the kitchen to dry?" Starus offered.

Sanct-Franciscus unfastened the sagum and slipped it off, revealing ankle-length bracae and a knee-length, belted, long-sleeved Persian chandys in double-woven black wool ornamented at hem and sleeves with dark-red needlework; his peri were unusually thick-soled and made of tooled leather. "If you will."

"When you leave you have only to ask for it," Starus declared stoutly.

"Very good," Sanct-Franciscus said, and was about to go to Adicia's rooms when something more occurred to him. "Who is here-you said there were guests?"

"Oh, Domina Laelius' daughter Myrtale and her husband Forteus Quillius Antoninus Horaliens have come, with their two sons-Martius and Hilarius, nine and five. We have been in something of an uproar."

"They came for the procession and Saturnalia," Sanct-Franciscus guessed. "No wonder Doma Ignatia said the need was urgent."

Starus nodded, but wisely held his tongue.

Standing braziers and hanging oil-lamps lit the colonnade and the corridor beyond; Sanct-Franciscus smelled the incense burned in the braziers-a combination of sandalwood and amber-and guessed that Ignatia had ordered that as a tribute to her sister and her family.

"Sanct-Franciscus." His name was hardly more than a whisper, but it caught his attention, and he stopped where he was. "Over here." Ignatia was standing in the shadow of an alcove, dressed in palla and stola, with a ricinium over her head; all were in subdued shades of blue and gray, and unadorned, blending her in with the shadows. Her face was pale and there were smudges of fatigue around her eyes. "I need to speak with you before you see my mother."

"Doma Ignatia," said Sanct-Franciscus as he went to her side. "I came as soon as I could reasonably do so."

"Minerva and Fortuna be thanked," she said with relief and exasperation. "I fear my mother has had a difficult time of it these last three days-more than usual."

"Two grandsons can be demanding, can they not," said Sanct-Franciscus.

"Starus told you?" She saw him nod. "Yes. Glad as she is for this visit, and proud as she may be of Myrtale and her family, the boys are rambunctious and noisy, which is trying for her."

"Hardly unexpected," said Sanct-Franciscus.

"It is good you are here now; things are calmer than they were earlier, but my mother is ... is not doing well. Myrtale and Quillius have taken the children with them to the procession, and will probably not return until they have called on some of their friends. At least," she added, "that was their plan."

"I suppose this is a welcome respite," said Sanct-Franciscus.

She nodded. "I am sorry to say so, but my sister is an indulgent parent-she has no notion the toll her boys' wildness takes on our mother."

"How could she? Your mother is thrilled to have her grandsons here, is she not? Has she admitted that they tire her?" Sanct-Franciscus asked. "I reckon your mother has not told your sister of her response."

"No, she hasn't," said Ignatia, frowning.

"Nor have you," Sanct-Franciscus added.

"It isn't my place, as I have been reminded."

"Do you intend to speak to her?" Sanct-Franciscus could feel her hand tighten. "Or have you attempted to bring such things to your sister's attention already?" If she had, he knew she had not been successful.

Ignatia sighed. "No: I haven't. It would be useless to do so."

"So your sister may think that the vitality of the children is doing Domina Laelius some good, as any proud mother is apt to do." Sanct-Franciscus took her hand, noticing it was cool and her pulse was rapid. "You are in a predicament: if you speak to your sister about your mother's distress, your mother will be angry, and if you do not speak, she will feel ill-served."

"Very likely," said Ignatia dully.

"You would do well to leave the house for a while-attend the procession if you like: it will last another hour and more; or visit friends-" He broke off as he saw her flinch.

"I have few friends," said Ignatia. "Those I have have other engagements just now, what with the procession and the preparation for Saturnalia."

"Then have Philius drive you out for an hour or so. You must have a covered biga or a city carriage he can make ready." He turned her face upward, his enigmatic gaze holding her eyes. "For your own sake, Ignatia, give yourself an abatement in your duties. You have taken too much upon yourself."

"You say this as my physician?" Ignatia achieved a half-smile.

"As your friend," he countered. "I am your mother's physician."

She pulled her hand from his. "If it weren't raining, I would take your advice," she said.

"Then go to the Forum Emporiarum, and see what the merchants are selling for Saturnalia. The walkways there are covered." He, himself, had his clerks offering bales of cloth and platters of brass at bargain prices at the Eclipse warehouse.

"If I have time, I'll go tomorrow," said Ignatia. "If Myrtale and her family are out, and I go out as well, my mother will fret."

Although he knew this was probably correct, Sanct-Franciscus made one last attempt. "I will be here at least an hour, and at the end of my visit, your mother should have some time to sleep before your nephews return. You could have that time for venturing out. Have Philius bring the covered biga around for you."

"I should not," she said dutifully.

"Ignatia, you should," Sanct-Franciscus countered.

She thought about it a long moment. "I'm going to the kitchen to get a cup of hot wine. I'll make up my mind while I'm there." She took a step away from him. "You're sure she'll be asleep?"

"Asleep or dozing," he promised her.

Ignatia considered this. "My sister should return in two hours. I ought to be here when the family returns."

"You can be," Sanct-Franciscus said. "Tell Philius; he is a steady fellow."

"Yes. Yes he is," said Ignatia, and hastened off toward the kitchen, leaving Sanct-Franciscus to make his way to Domina Adicia's rooms.

Three slaves were attending on Adicia, who was sitting up in bed, swathed in a mafortium of Cappadocian goat-wool, her covers heaped around her, and her hands wrapped in fasceae. She looked up as another household slave came in bearing a ewer of hot water with curls of orange-peel floating in it, and did not at first notice Sanct-Franciscus standing in the corridor just beyond her door. "You fool!" she snapped at the slave, her words slurring a little. "It should be lemon, not orange."

"Cook is using the lemons for his stuffed fowl for the convivium," said the slave. "I could not demand he give me any of them."

"Excuses!" Then she noticed her visitor and she modified her tone to one less severe. "Still, cook is a very temperamental fellow. I will send word to him to procure more lemons for me."

"Do you want-" the slave asked, gesturing to the ewer.

"No. Take it away," said Adicia.

"Leave it here," said Sanct-Franciscus as he came into the room. "You know that the orange-peel will do you good, Domina Adicia. There is no reason to deny yourself the benefits of oranges because they are inferior to lemons."

Adicia made a snort of ill-usage. "I am forgotten in my own house. How can I permit the cook to deprive me?" She contemplated Sanct-Franciscus for a long moment. "You are rigged out strangely, but your garb becomes you. Is it that of your native land?"

"Not precisely," said Sanct-Franciscus. "The chandys is Persian, and the rest is Roman. The clothing of my people is difficult to procure." They had all but vanished from the earth two thousand years ago; their language and customs had followed the few survivors westward from the Carpathian Mountains into the north of the Italian peninsula, but were now so scattered and so changed that neither their descendants nor their tongue was that of his people.

She smacked the nearest pillow. "The cook! What am I to do about him? I ought to have him beaten: he shows insolence in his disrespect."

"I am sure that was not his intent," Sanct-Franciscus soothed. "He must be doing his utmost to feed your daughter and her family in a manner you would approve. Have one of your slaves go to the Forum Agricolarum to buy lemons; the farmers are there in spite of the weather, and they will have lemons to sell. They're going to be costly, but you will have lemon-water before your evening meal. Be patient a while longer, and your forbearance will be rewarded." His demeanor was calm and genial, but he could see that Adicia was determined to work herself up into a state. "You would not want to have to stay away from your family because your nerves were worn, would you?" He paused an instant, then went on, "I know you want to make the most of your daughter's visit, which you will not be able to do if you're too exhausted."

Adicia reached out to touch his hand. "You do understand, don't you? You know how much I have endured. My brother made light of it, didn't he?"

"You have had much to deal with," Sanct-Franciscus said, keeping his voice level and neutral; he laid his hand on her forehead. "You are heated, Domina."

"I have said so all morning," Adicia complained, giving a look of justification to the slaves in her room.

"I believe you have agitated your humors. You house is quite warm, and you have swaddled yourself in blankets." He felt her indignation in the sudden tightening of her wasted body. "If you were to allow yourself to release some of the heat you have bottled up within you, I think you might feel better."

"Do you?" she disputed in a tone of injury.

Sanct-Franciscus softened his tone. "It is an easy thing to awaken to the cool of the morning, before the holocaust has been stoked and lit, and to wrap yourself in blankets against the chill-you are prudent to do so, Domina Adicia, for beginning the day with cold in the bones is both painful and damaging. But through the morning, your house has warmed as the holocaust has been burning; the warming is gradual, and not readily detected, so that by now, you have become accustomed to defending against cold when there is little to-"

"How can you say that, when you, of all men, know that any chill is agony to me?" She glowered toward him. "First oranges instead of lemons, now this."

Sanct-Franciscus was unflustered. "I know you are troubled by the discomfort you anticipate, but I believe you may find yourself much more easy than you are now, for you will not be overheated."

"Have you come unprepared? is that it?" Adicia demanded. "Are you trying to coddle me instead of treating me?"

"No, Domina-nothing of the sort," he assured her. "But I want the anodyne I supply to have the best chance of providing you relief, and I fear that will not be possible if you are choleric."

Adicia struggled with herself, then looked up at him, offering him a coquettish smile. "You must always charm me from my unhappiness, Sanct-Franciscus. You are a magician. Whatever my brother pays you, it isn't enough."

He studied her face. "You are too kind," he said slowly; he did not mention he accepted no payment for his services.

She shifted the heaviest blanket off her, and motioned to one of the slaves to fold it. "I will try what you suggest."

"If you begin to feel cold, drink warm honey-water. It will heat you from the inside out, which is much the better way." He opened the wallet hanging on his belt and took out a vial containing an infusion of pansy, willow, and silkflower. "I want you to drink this with your orange-water. I think it will relieve your discomfort and allow you to rest." He handed her another, smaller vial. "Then drink this. I fear the taste is not very pleasant, but it will ease you." The contents was a syrup of valerian and poppies, not a strong solution, but enough to ensure Adicia's sleep for several hours.

"I am tired," said Adicia, as if announcing an accomplishment. "It is good of you to do this for me. You do concern yourself on my behalf, do you not?" She smiled again, dangerously near simpering.

The rain increased from a whisper to a purr, and the wind rose enough to tap the branch of a nearby tree against the roof.

"I am your physician. It is part of my responsibility to you to be concerned on your behalf." He kept all emotion out of his voice, including his own apprehension as he poured the tincture into the cup set out for her and added orange-water from the ewer. "This first," he said as he handed her the cup.

"Very good," she said, taking the cup and giving him a long, meaningful stare as she began to drink.

"All of it; I want you to have the most benefit possible." He tried to look confident, knowing she expected that of him.

She finished the orange-water and held out the empty cup. "There-you see? I follow your orders to the letter."

He took the cup and handed her the second, smaller vial. "Now this. Drink it quickly; it does not have a pleasant taste."

"That is true of so many medicines," Adicia said. "All right." She made a face as she swallowed the contents of the vial. "Most unsavory."

"As I told you." He took the vials and put them back in his wallet.

"What then?" she asked.

"Now lie back; not with all your covers, only with a few." He watched as she complied. "I will instruct your slaves as to how they are to attend you while you rest."

"Excellent," she said, starting to close her eyes.

Sanct-Franciscus saw the slaves exchange uneasy glances; he motioned them to move to the far side of the room, where he went to tell them, "She should be drowsy shortly. Keep her head and shoulders on pillows, and bring a basin of warm camphor-water so that she may breathe freely while she sleeps. She may be a bit groggy when she wakens-if she is, prepare a mixture of apple-juice and honey with a stick of cinnamon in it, and see she drinks it slowly. Do not give her any wine until she is fully awake." He saw their doubt in their eyes. "It is for her benefit that you do this. If she dislikes it, tell her you are doing as I instructed you. I will take the brunt of her displeasure."

"She will not whip you," said the tallest of the slaves, and was hushed by her companions.

"No; and she should not whip you, either," said Sanct-Franciscus.

The slaves said nothing, but the strongest woman folded her arms and stared down at the floor.

"Be prudent," Sanct-Franciscus suggested. "She is truly unwell, and getting slowly worse; that frightens her, which turns her temper sour."

"It certainly does," said the oldest of the three.

Sanct-Franciscus nodded in sympathy. "Then blame me. It is fitting that you do so."

"Because you are her physician," the strongest one said.

"Because she likes you," said the tallest at the same time.

The oldest shook her head. "No. It is because you feel for us," she said in growing astonishment.

Sanct-Franciscus was silent, but something burned in his dark eyes that revealed more to the three women than he realized: a penetration that commanded their esteem; he patted his wallet. "I will return tomorrow, before prandium." He did not wait to see the women acknowledge this, but turned and left Domina Adicia's chambers.

Text of a letter from Lucius Virginius Rufius to Marius Octavian Laelius.

To my sweet brother in our faith, at the season of the birth of our Savior, my greetings and prayers for your deepening devotion in the year to come, numbered the two hundred nineteenth since the birth of the Christ;

In this time when the pagans of Roma hold their salacious festival of Saturnalia, I ask you to join with us, to go about the city to exhort the people to repent their many, many sins and seek redemption in Jesus the Christ. A number of us have decided to spend the last two nights of the festival trying to keep men from indulging their fleshly desires, and to that end, we will carry short whips and staves with which we may drive our lessons home. Better we should face their condemnation in this world than the disapproval of our Savior in the next.

As we have done from time to time with the disgraceful women of the lupanar, we may now seek to demonstrate our faith to those Romans who are without any hope of Grace. This extends also to those calling themselves Christians but comporting themselves in a most unseemly fashion-those who hold their wives in common, and those who maintain that the mother of Jesus is of equal majesty as those who maintain that the mother of Jesus is of equal majesty as her Son. Their errors are the more egregious because they have been shown the truth and have perverted it for their own base purposes, following the tenets of teachers professing to be apostles but now fully discredited as false prophets. Gelasius Virginius Apollonius Metsari, my cousin, will be with us, of course, as well as Prosperus Rufius Ursinus and Erastus Arianus Crispenus, so you will be in good company.

Send me word by the slave who carries this whether or not you will join with us, and I will be thankful to God if you decide to come along.

In Christ and in fraternity,

Lucius Virginius Rufius