It was necessary to look into it, he decided, to make sure that nothing bad would happen.

In the morning, not enough sleep, sluggish, Marcus went to the tablinum, where along with important family documents were kept scrolls of books. That's how he found the dream book. What he needed was described by Artemidorus in the first part. He did not look for Sabina, but about his mother… Possess a mother from behind was not good, he read, which meant that the dreamer would turn away their mother, or reject their motherland, or would fail.

All of these, he was not categorically satisfied with; he did not want him to turn away from his mother, did not want to lose his homeland or something else, no less important. He was still a young man, although on the threshold of adulthood, it was too early for him to be alone.

But what about sleep?

There were not many people in the house, although the slaves had already gotten up and were making noise everywhere, carrying water, talking loudly. In the kitchen, the chef prepared breakfast and from there came the smell of charcoal. Marcus watched as this little curly Egyptian cooked pork porridge.

Marcus wanted to see his mother. For some reason, after a dream and prediction of a dream book, he had a fear that something would happen to his mother, and she would leave him. A stupid, strange thought that disturbed his heart.

In addition to the slaves, Marcus heard the voices of customers, coming to see Domitia Lucilla, get her benevolent look, and even better a few sesterces, which could be put into business.

Marcus suspected that many of them were rogues and not at all as unhappy, deceived by life, as they wanted to appear before his mother. They tried to cause pity with worn tunics, or a large family that was hard to feed, or other troubles sent by the gods. These worthless people would stand along the corridor and escort the hostess of the house—the generous owner of the brick factory, with the eyes of devoted dogs, a little sad and mournful.

He, Marcus, thought that clientele were useless and lazy parasites,35 which would be nice to get rid of and he would probably do it in due course.

In order not to meet them, Marcus bypassed the atrium, triclinium, walking through the corridors to his mother's room. At the entrance, he held his breath—now he would see her, alive, healthy, still affectionate. She must be busy with the morning toilet.

He was looking into the room and saw the truth! Domitia Lucilla sat in front of a large silver mirror that reflected her face and shoulders quite well. Near it were three slaves—Didona, Melissa and Feoksena, young Egyptian girls. One held a round silver mirror in front of the lady, another curled her hair with hot tongs, and the third dealt with the face of Domitia. Feoksena rubbed into the forehead, cheeks, and neck of his mother an ointment derived from the litter of crocodiles, which bleached the skin, and prepared paint from burnt date bones to paint the eyelashes of the mistress.

“Marcus, why are you standing on the doorstep? Come in!” his mother observed. “Do you want something?”

The son blushed, remembering his prior night's sleep.

“I wanted to wish you a good morning, Mum. How did you sleep?”

“I slept wonderfully!”

Domitia did not turn her head, but Marcus noticed that she smiles faintly. Mother was in a good mood today.

“Have customers gathered?” she asked casually.

“As always!” Marcus shrugged. “They came again for the innings.”

“Well, who doesn't like sesterces—we have a lot of them. Speaking of money…”