Rome, February 1st 54 AD.

White, thick snowflakes floated down agonisingly slowly in Rome, whitewashed by winter. The air was bitterly cold, so that his breath became visible as white vapour. Unobtrusively, Britannicus pulled Aura, shivering with cold, closer to him and tried to warm her with his own body. The traditional Roman mourning clothes were black but did not warm enough for the frosty temperatures.
Though her teeth ground together softly, she moved away from him a little and let her gaze roam uncertainly over the many people gathered in the atrium. Over her head, Britannicus caught his mother's gaze and she nodded unobtrusively at him. A little later, one of the nannies appeared beside Aura and tugged her cloak into place. Aura smiled gratefully at her slave and the trembling of her body subsided somewhat. Just as Britannicus was about to order a slave to bring her another, warmer cloak, the door to his great-grandmother's triclinium was opened and Britannicus unobtrusively took his little sister's hand.
Slowly they followed the members of their family into the dining room and immediately he remembered the few evenings they had been gathered here in his great-grandmother's house. In the otherwise welcoming room, there was only one cot, the bier of his great-grandmother Antonia, which would be carried across Rome in less than an hour.
As his gaze fell on their deceased great-grandmother, Aura's hand clung to his and he stroked the back of her hand reassuringly with his thumb, just as Mother had done with him as a small child. Tonilla stepped up beside him with Marcus, who immediately grabbed his twin sister's other hand. Drusilla and Aurelian clung to Mother, already crying silently.
Aunt Julia sat beside Father on the edge of the bier and murmured a prayer softly. Just as Britannicus assumed that all the members of his family were now gathered, two more figures entered the room with uncertain faces. A young man with flaming red hair, who had to be about the same age as Britannicus' best friend Marcus Clemens, was supporting a small woman marked by age. Aunt Agrippina and Lucius ran through Britannicus' mind and a lump immediately formed in his throat. Mother had said they would be here today. It had been Great-Grandmother's last wish. Yet great-grandmother had in no way wanted to make peace between his mother and his aunt. Britannicus knew only too well why his mother could never trust his aunt again. He himself could not forgive her either.
Automatically he took a step forward and shielded his sisters from his aunt's prying eyes. She did not deserve to even look at them. On his face was his calm, composed mask, which contained a hint of sadness befitting the occasion. Nevertheless, Aunt Agrippina flinched in shock as their eyes crossed.
Beside her, Lucius tensed and gave Britannicus a threatening look. Amused, Britannicus eyed his cousin, who was older but considerably smaller than he. He would win this fight any day.
Of those present, Aunt Agrippina and Lucius were greeted only by Aunt Julia with a faint nod. Father and mother ignored the two. Without even glancing at her, the inner circle of his family left the small room and after Aunt Agrippina and Lucius had had a chance to say goodbye to Great-grandmother in peace, the bearers entered the room and shouldered Great-grandmother's bier.
Immediately, the melancholy, slow melody that Britannicus had already noticed at several funerals sounded and the procession began to move. Without hesitation, Britannicus let go of his little sister's hand and took his place between his father and Uncle Claudius. A step behind them, his mother, his aunt Messalina and his cousin Tiberius lined up. Behind them followed his aunts and his siblings, as well as Lucius.
Worried, Britannicus glanced over his shoulder and was relieved to see Aunt Julia standing between Aunt Agrippina and Tonilla. The latter had taken little Aurelian in her arms and nodded imperceptibly to Britannicus. Immediately Britannicus concentrated on his role again and directed his gaze straight ahead.
The next moment he stepped over the threshold of his great-grandmother's house and joined her on her last journey through Rome. As soon as the light of the cold winter sun hit his face, Britannicus began to weep silently. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that tears were also running down the faces of his father and uncle Claudius. In the past few days, he had not cried a single tear over the loss of his great-grandmother and even now his tears were limited. His great-grandmother had grown very old, and it would not be appropriate for Britannicus to shed more tears over her loss than her own son who walked beside him. But here in Rome, mourning was not a private, quiet affair. His people carried grief over a loss into the public sphere. The members of his family were masters of staging, for his family lived for public staging and so they mourned, celebrated and prayed like no other family in Rome. The light of publicity was a great burden on his shoulders, but since he had been officially declared a man by Father, he had learned to bear it with dignity.
As Britannicus followed his grandmother's train and let his gaze wander over the mourning people on the roadsides, the wintry beauty of his city almost took his breath away. Immediately, his father's words ran through his mind: "From this day on, you will have only two choices: Either you can serve Rome, or you will be devoured by Rome." Great-grandmother had served Rome well and faithfully all her life. But Britannicus was not sure that Rome would not devour him one day. Rome was simply Rome. You couldn't really be sure about the outcome of something until it was already too late.
Britannicus ignored the uncomfortable feeling his tears left on his face due to the winter cold. Restlessly, his eyes darted to Father, whose mask of grief could not even wipe the cold from his face. As their eyes crossed, Britannicus thought he could see behind his father's public face for a heartbeat and could see the great tension inside.
Uncle Claudius and father had agreed that father would deliver the funeral oration for great-grandmother. Deep inside, Britannicus knew that this speech could have been given by him. True, it would have been very unusual because he was neither a living son like Uncle Claudius nor the pater familias of his family like his father. Through this speech, he would have been able to speak for the first time on the famous oratory stage on the Forum Romanum and prove himself to his people. Part of him was very relieved that this time the chalice had passed him by. But it was only a matter of time before he would have to take this last step into the light of day.

After a while they reached the Forum and the train stopped abruptly. Without haste, his father mounted the stage with the ram spurs of Rome's enemies, captured centuries ago, and he radiated so much dignity and power that Britannicus would have preferred to avert his gaze from him. How could he ever live up to his father and his name?
He listened attentively to his father's words and carefully observed the way in which they had their effect on the people. As if to fight the storm of his emotions, Britannicus closed his eyes, blocked out his father's clear, strong voice, and concentrated completely on the people's reaction. It was as if scenes from Cicero's textbooks came to life. Blinking, Britannicus opened his eyes and immediately all sensory perceptions pelted him simultaneously. Father had gripped the goodwill of his audience and with each successive word he led them closer to where he wanted them to be. Hardly an eye would be dry by the end of the speech and if it was, that person must have had a very strong dislike for the deceased.

For about two hours, the inhabitants of Rome, shivering with cold and grief in equal measure, listened to his father's speech. After his father had finished, the crowd broke into thunderous applause and chanted the name of the deceased. Instantly, he and his family joined in the shouts.
With emotion, Father put a hand over his heart and nodded to the people as if he had no more words. Then Father descended the few steps and reappeared in his place at Britannicus' side.
The wailers joined in their chants again and the next moment the procession started moving again. Their new destination was the traditional place outside the city walls where the dead were burned. The people believed that only then could the souls of the deceased truly cross the Styx.

After an hour they reached the open field and Britannicus was glad that his brothers and sisters were now at his side and that he no longer had to appear so detached from them.
When the pyre fire was lit by Uncle Claudius, Britannicus was able to pull his freezing siblings back to their places just in time before they could warm themselves on their great-grandmother's flames and thus cause a minor scandal. Father proudly patted him on the back, then they focused on the flames consuming the remains of their loved ones. On Father's other side, Mother stood, unobtrusively intertwining their hands. When she caught Britannicus' gaze, she smiled sadly at him.

Three hours later, Britannicus held the urn containing his great-grandmother's ashes in his hands and carried it to its final resting place in her family's mausoleum. There he placed it in the empty place in one of the many niches next to her late husband Drusus.
Before turning on his heel, his eyes flitted over the many urns already in place in some of the other niches. Each of them contained a member of his family. Over there stood Livia and Augustus, as his grandparents were very close to his father's already deceased siblings.
One day I will stand here too, the thought flashes through Britannicus' mind, and this seemed more comforting than he had ever thought possible.
As we speak, jealous time is melting away: pack up the day, trust as little as possible in the one who follows, he thought involuntarily. Horace was right, he had to use the time at his disposal. At the same moment, his melancholy fell away from him. Automatically he assumed a proud, dignified posture and left the final resting place of his family, the first family of Rome, with his head held high.

The next day Lucius loitered near him all the time and Britannicus could only follow the conversation of his friends with difficulty. Part of him had expected Lucius to leave the city with his mother after supper. But he stayed and it was only after three weeks that his subliminal presence bothered him so much that Britannicus put his name down on his father's list of clients for his morning salutatio.

Just as he was attending to his daily morning exercises, his mother entered the room and eyed him in surprise.
"You're already awake," she said before her lips twisted into a smile. "Good, I need to talk to you."
Panting, Britannicus jumped up from the floor and pulled on a fresh tunic. Out of the corner of his eye he registered the worried look Mother gave him from the side. She knew he trained every morning. Why was she so surprised?
He leaned casually against his desk with his arms folded and waited for her to continue. But she only eyed him from her deep, dark blue eyes. After a while she sighed and brushed a tangled strand of hair out of her face.
"Your Aunt Julia has pleaded for your cousin Lucius to continue his education with us," Mother finally explained, and Britannicus's eyes widened in horror. But Mother continued unperturbed, "His teacher Seneca has already arrived and will continue to teach him. I doubt if he will ever attend your classes. Yesterday I was listening to their lessons and now I remember why I didn't hire Seneca to teach you. I don't know what his mother told him, so I beg you, my son, keep it civil and don't let him provoke you."
Calmly, Britannicus replied that Lucius would not provoke him because he simply planned to continue ignoring him. Full of confidence, she stepped up to him and placed her hand on his cheek. Blinking, he looked down at her. In the past months, Mother had always had so much work at the university or with his younger siblings that they had hardly found time for each other. These small, precious moments of her undivided attention were a gift he appreciated.
"No, I want you to make him feel like he's your friend," she said softly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. His hair was far too long again. Surely he realised he already had two friends and he would never trust Lucius.
"You misunderstand me," she whispered, a new gleam entering her eyes. "It would be foolish to trust him. But it is wise to know one's opponent, don't you think? Perhaps I am mistaken, and Lucius is not a danger. If this is the case, then he will earn your trust and never abuse it. But if our gut feeling is right, then we need to know who we are dealing with."
Gently he leaned down to her and pressed a feather light kiss to her cheek.
"I won't let you down, Mum" he whispered in her ear, and she laughed that he never could. At that moment neither of them suspected how wrong she was.

Six months later, Lucius had secured a firm place in his circle of friends and even if, as Mother had foreseen, he was given individual lessons because of his lack of knowledge, Marcus and Titus began to let themselves go in his presence and speak openly. But Britannicus remained suspicious, even as he lulled his friends and Lucius into safety with every word and action.

About a week after Titus' fifteenth birthday, Britannicus noticed for the first time how Lucius began to change. Although the same rules applied to them, he noticed the lustful looks Lucius gave the young female slaves.
"Remember, if you impregnate one of them, you must marry her," Britannicus quietly admonished his cousin, who choked on his cup of wine. He calmly withstood Lucius' probing gaze and sipped from his own goblet. Unlike his friends, Britannicus disliked the taste of wine and helped himself to his parents' grape juice.
"They'll have to prove the child is mine first," Lucius replied coldly, throwing his head back with a laugh. But the laughter did not reach his eyes. Behind his back, Titus and Marcus exchanged worried glances. Then they nodded unobtrusively at Britannicus and at the same moment his heart lightened a tiny bit. Lucius had not yet managed to wrap his friends around his little sausage finger with his fun-loving nature. In future Marcus and Titus would be more careful. At least Britannicus thought so.

Despite the rules of the House, the shadows soon grew darker under his cousin's eyes and Britannicus had the uneasy feeling that Lucius had found a way to slip past the Praetorians' well-organised guard system and disappear into the depths of Rome. But because he lacked evidence, he did not inform his parents.

About three months before his seventeenth birthday, Marcus and Titus began missing training sessions with the Praetorians. Supposedly, they were too behind with their schoolwork and therefore spent half the night reading their books. Although Britannicus had a bad feeling, he let the matter go.

His seventeenth birthday began like any of his birthdays. Britannicus had barely finished his training when his siblings pounced on him and dragged him along to a gigantic breakfast. His friends were also present while his parents went about their duties.
After breakfast, Britannicus fooled around with his siblings and friends, enjoying his day off. That day he taught the twins how to defend themselves. Of course, they didn't stand a chance, but when they joined forces and clung to him, he played along. Laughing, he fell into the soft grass with them.
"Look, Britannicus!" exclaimed Aura enthusiastically, pointing up to the sky, "that cloud looks like an eagle!"
Shortly after, the rest joined them and for hours they watched the sky. It was good to just be themselves for a day. Starting tomorrow, Britannicus would accompany father to the forum every day so that he could learn from him.
Britannicus did not see his parents until the evening meal, at which half the senate was gathered to congratulate him effusively. When one of the older magistrates jokingly asked him when he would first be heard speaking in the Senate, Britannicus laughingly countered, "Probably not for another nine years, when the people elect me Quaestor."
The senators' laughter was warm and genuine because he had surprised them with his honesty. But Britannicus saw no reason to hurry. Father was still young and healthy. Why should Britannicus rush into politics and trample the rules of this institution? All in good time, mother always said, and Britannicus wanted to do everything right.

After the last guest had left the atrium and Britannicus had wished his parents a good night, all he wanted to do was fall into his bed and sleep. But halfway there he ran into Marcus and Titus, who unobtrusively signalled him to follow them. With a queasy feeling Britannicus glanced over his shoulder, but the corridor was empty. The next moment his friends darted behind a tapestry and Britannicus froze. He knew exactly where the tunnel behind this carpet led: through a small labyrinth directly behind the wall of the villa.
His heart began to race. He would have liked to turn back on the spot, but something held him back. Instead of trusting his gut, Britannicus ignored his feelings and followed his friends into the secret passage they had discovered on their forays as children.
Just as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Marcus stopped abruptly and listened intently, almost causing Britannicus to run into him.
"I didn't think he'd come," a voice mocked, and abruptly Britannicus's insides froze into ice. Lucius. 'Of course, he did. He was so stupid.
"It's his birthday today," Titus replied calmly, already wriggling out of his toga and pulling his tonic over his head. "We all deserve a bit of fun."
Wide-eyed, Britannicus watched his friends become members of the lower class. The cheap fabric of their tunics already looked like it would itch like hell on their skin. Cold and calculating, Lucius's eyes regarded him.
"Don't worry about it," Marcus assured him quietly, pressing a scratchy scrap of fabric into his hand. "Titus and I have been following him for months, keeping an eye on him for you. We haven't been caught once. You don't have to trust him, but you will always be able to trust us."
The blade of a dagger flashed as Marcus pushed the simple tunic aside imperceptibly. With a sigh, Britannicus peeled himself out of his carefully draped toga, dropped his silken tunic carelessly to the floor beside the shapeless heap of cloth that had formed his toga until a moment ago, and pulled the scratchy scrap of fabric over his head.
"By Mars, Britannicus!" exclaimed Titus in surprise. "How many daggers do you carry when you are invited to a relaxed supper with fine society?"
"Sufficient," Britannicus retorted pointedly, and his friends began to laugh at his overprotective behaviour. Only Marcus remained serious. He knew only too well why Britannicus preferred to be armed to the teeth.
As soon as he had straightened up to his full height, Lucius operated the invisible mechanism and the wall opened. With a pounding heart, Britannicus followed his friends out into the city. As soon as they stepped onto the busy streets, he wanted to pull a fold of his toga over his face so that people would not recognise him. But he was only wearing a plain tunic and in the mild temperatures a cloak would have been too conspicuous. To his surprise, people's glances slid past him as if he were air.
"It's good not to be the heir of Rome for a change, isn't it?", Lucius' voice whispered amusedly in his ear before continuing to drag him through the streets of his city. After a while Britannicus lost all orientation. He had never seen Rome like this before.
At some point they found themselves in a cheap tavern, drinking cheap wine and being ignored by most of the patrons. Flustered, Marcus and Titus looked around while Britannicus didn't touch his cup of cheap wine. Lucius was footing the bill, and something told Britannicus that Lucius was spending his father's money.
Perfectly calm, Lucius withstood his probing gaze. Even when one of the girls sat down on his lap and started rubbing herself against him. Just as Britannicus turned his head away in disgust, he noticed the other young girls crowding around them.
"Good to see you again, boys," one of the girls greeted her friends and when their eyes crossed, she cracked her light brown eyes open enthusiastically. Involuntarily, it flashed through Britannicus' mind that she was very beautiful.
"You have brought us a new face," she exclaimed excitedly. "What's your name, handsome?"
But before Britannicus could set up a snotty reply, Lucius spoke for him, "Today is his birthday, Kyra, and I expect he will be able to use your very special skills."
"I can certainly speak for myself, Lucius," Britannicus hissed irritably, stopping her from sitting on his lap. "I know what you're up to. But I must disappoint you. I don't need your help and I have no problem playing by the rules."
Lucius just rolled his eyes and Britannicus tried to find help from his friends. But Titus had already disappeared, and Marcus was too focused on the girl on his lap who had put her hand on his penis.
"Are you that scared of Mummy catching you?" sneered Lucius sardonically. "You think she's protecting you with her rules, but she's not my friend. She locks you up and denies you the joys of your youth. Tell me, do you really want to embarrass yourself in front of your bride just because you have no idea how to use your cock thanks to Mummy? Your father had countless women before your mother. So go on, have some fun already! There's nothing wrong with that! But please don't be a bore for at least one night, Gaius!"
Unresisting, Britannicus let the girl drag him to her small chamber in the upper part of the tavern. On the way up, he eyed his cousin irritably, who pushed aside his tunic so that the prostitute could go about her business in public.
Lucius had called him Gaius, not Britannicus, and in that moment he sensed that this one night would change his life forever from the ground up. For the first time in his life, Britannicus allowed himself to make a mistake.