Now, another matter. You must see by now, Livia, that it’s impossible for me to let Tiberius go on any longer as he’s doing. You must let me send him away. Yes, yes; I know all you’ve done for me, but it doesn’t justify your son in studied insolence. After all I’m supposed to be Proconsul and Pontiff and Augustus, and all that, and I can’t let him do it. Claudian pride? Well, I can only say that there’s no vacancy for Claudian pride in Rome just at present. Eh? What has Candidia to do with Tiberius? Oh, I see; you want to bargain. Very well, Candidia for Tiberius—only on these conditions. First, you must talk to him seriously about his demeanor—not as coming from me, you understand. Secondly, I put him on the list for foreign service. Oh, yes, you can make your mind easy. He shall have a big war, and a triumph, and all the fandangles. Also, I’ll throw in Agrippa; he shall go abroad and have no triumph, and I’ll try to keep Julia quiet. I’m a generous Jove—eh, Junicula? Give me a kiss, old wench. We’ve had some battering times together, eh? And if I’m not mistaken you’ve still something to hold your back straight on, eh? Eh? Eh? Adieu, my Empress. Send in Cleobulus, will you? And don’t forget Candidia—H’m. My excellent spouse was pleased with my little attentions. Also she was pleased with the idea of her Tiberius in high command; she doesn’t yet understand the value of interior lines in politics, my Augusta. I suppose she foresees her Tiberius crossing the Rubicon while we all sit tremulous in East Aurora—ha, ha! And yet she’s seen the Praetorians at drill every day these many years. Naturalists have greatly neglected women. Now, Cleobulus, my wig and my eye-brightening stuff. I always assume you don’t give away these secrets of the toilet, Cleobulus. If you do, the next wig will be the scalp of one Cleobulus, mysteriously disappeared. Now the gown. Not that, you nincompoop of genius. How often must I tell you I’m only plain Proconsul? That will do: now announce me at the levee. I wonder who’s here today. I’m glad the Roman Senators haven’t the political insight of that hair-dresser. Attius, precede me into the ante-chamber, while I have a look at the company. Gods, what an air the rogue has with him, and how very right he is, considering the way they grovel to him. A poor set of curs, I’m afraid, these nobles at Rome; yet I’m afraid I like them.