His last letter. “How old was he?” Nico asked.
“Fourteen when he went to the war. Fifteen when he died. He was hit by shot and knocked off the deck, they said. I hope it was quick. I hope he didn’t drown. He was so afraid of drowning.”
Nico’s extended family had been a chaos of clashing selfishnesses loosely held together by casual affection. Nico’s father had fought for him on several occasions, but in lean times he always ate his fill before his son had the scraps; Tante Anne had been equally likely to dispense kisses or blows. Nico and Eve’s allegiance had been born out of necessity, because nobody else ever put either of them first.
It had not been a cossetted childhood by any measure. In this moment, it felt like he’d been brought up in a fairy tale.
Titus pushed his unfinished plate away and rang the bell. They sat in silence as the plates were cleared and a bowl of cherries brought in, along with a second bottle.
“So,” Nico said finally. “Your other brothers were allocated professions, but your father set you to paints. Was there a reason?”
“Well, I used to draw as a boy. I wasn’t allowed a drawing-master, but I drew anyway when I could. So Father told me I would like to become a colourman. I would have preferred to go into the Church, actually, or I thought I would, but that would have cost far more than Father wished to spend, and the apprenticeship was cheap.” Titus picked up a cherry and turned it in his stained fingers. “I felt a little hard done by at first, but it turned out I liked working with colours, and having my own shop. Becoming an expert in my field. I think that’s why things feel rather difficult now: I have no idea how to be a rich man, whereas I was very good at making paints.”
“And you like colours.”
“I’ve spent a lot of time with them. And when you know something so intimately it’s like, almost, well—”
“Friendship?” Nico suggested.
Titus gave a startled laugh. “That is what I wanted to say! How did you know?”
“The waistcoat you wear now. When you saw the fabric, you seized on it with a happy certainty, like a man seeing a signpost to home. You feared to wear it, but youknewit.”
“It’s the blue. I know exactly how to make this blue. You are rather alarmingly observant.”
“I wanted to see what you liked.”
Titus’s lips parted slightly. Nico popped a cherry in hismouth, saw his eyes track the motion, and thought through the pleasant fog of wine,No. Stop this. Not fair.
He chewed, spat out the pip, swallowed the flesh. “Do you see much of your remaining brothers?”
That put a necessary and effective damper on the mood. Titus grimaced. “No. No, I don’t. I haven’t seen Vespasian since Father’s funeral. He took the will badly.”
“Ah.”
“I don’t know why he was surprised.For whosoever hath, to him shall be given, and he shall have more abundance, but whosoever hath not, from him shall be taken away even that he hath.I didn’t expect a legacy, but I did think some token of remembrance—five pounds to buy black gloves, even—”
“That is what you leave to the footman.”
“Well, Ves and I got Father’s affectionate wishes. Ves asked Augustus if he intended to keep it all, and Augustus said of course, and Ves simply exploded. He said if Augustus had stood with him, they could have stopped Father sending Hadrian to sea, called him a walking stomach seeking what he might devour, picked up his hat, and left the house for good.”
Nico mentally applauded Vespasian. “One may sympathise.”
“Well, yes, but then the next time I wrote to him, my uncle returned the letter. It turned out he had abandoned his position and profession, said some rather rude things, and moved away without a forwarding address. I don’t know where he is now. I haven’t heard from him in years.”
“Oh. I am sorry, mon ami.”
“It is a great shame, but there is nothing to be done. I did hope he might see my name in the newspapers and write, but I suppose he might feel rather conscious of his absence. You know, getting in touch with one’s brother only when he inherits a fortune.”
“It does not look well,” Nico agreed.
“I’m afraid he would rather not write than risk looking greedy. Which is absurd because I wouldn’t ever think that of him.”
There was something in the stress on the last pronoun. “Did Augustus write to you?” Nico guessed.
Titus’s shoulders sagged slightly. “A letter a few days after the news spread, and then another this week. He wants me to come and stay with his family. He has never invited me to his house before, not once, but now he would like me to know my nephews and niece, whom I will no doubt be pleased to assist in my new circumstances. And I should—be pleased to, I mean—”
“I would not myself be pleased at all,” Nico said. He had taken an instant dislike to this Augustus based entirely on the set of Titus’s shoulders, and now found himself ready for combat. “What will you do?”