Blood Games

WHILE THE THOUSANDS of Romans jammed into the Circus Maximus paused for an hour, the Master of the Games and many of his slaves were busy putting the last of the tarred beams into place so that the arena could be flooded. The Master of the Games had had a difficult day, what with a disastrous chariot race where three of the four chariots had ended up tangled together, horses screaming, men moaning, while the fourth chariot made all seven circles of the spina. The battle between pygmies and ostriches had gone well, but had not been long enough, which had annoyed the people watching. Three women condemned for murdering their children were staked spread-eagled on the sands and raped by carefully trained leopards. Now there was little more than an hour to get the arena ready for the aquatic venation. He sighed deeply and turned to shout orders at his assistants.

In the imperial box, musicians were playing to the Emperor and his family while they ate a light meal of pork ribs cooked with honey and spices, fruit, and scallops broiled with bacon. Titus and Domitianus sat as far away from each other as they possibly could, saying little.

"You're not being wise, my sons," Vespasianus said as he licked his fingers. "Rome watches you here, and if they see behavior like this, word will have it by tomorrow that there are plots being laid against both of you. Rome does not like civil wars." He poured himself a generous amount of wine diluted with pomegranate juice.

"It's awkward, being here today," Titus said to no one in particular. Sun had browned his body and bleached his hair so that in the softened light under the Circus awning, he seemed to be made of gold, an illusion he chose to enhance by wearing a short sleeveless tunica of brass-colored silk. "Franciscus has been something of a friend to me."

"Clever of him," Domitianus said with an insinuating smile.

"Because he didn't befriend you-" Titus snapped back, turning on his brother.

"Stop it, both of you," Vespasianus interrupted them patiently. "The man is a foreigner and there is reason to believe that he could be a danger to Rome-"

"But most of those allegations are unsupported," Titus protested with a vehemence unusual in him. "If he's guilty, let's find out and settle it quickly, otherwise we're executing him on Domi's whim."

"That's it, isn't it," Domitianus said, flushing slightly. "It's that I want it done, because I think he's dangerous. If our father had decided that Franciscus was a threat to Rome, you would have gone along with it, but when your younger brother is the one to bring the charge..."

Titus was glaring now. "No matter what he's done, throwing him to the crocodiles is unnecessary. He's not a slave."

"I wish," the Emperor said plaintively, "that you would find something else to argue about. You're both being fools. Titus, I know that Franciscus did a few favors for you, and I know you don't like it when Domi intrudes into your jurisdiction, but you must admit that the man is suspicious."

"Not suspicious enough to execute this way," he insisted petulantly. He stared around the Circus, then at the musicians, and he gestured to them as if to prove a point. "Who do you think found these for us? That was Saint-Germain. You can't execute a man with his imperial gifts watching."

Vespasianus chuckled. "It's happened before, my son."

Behind them there was a flurry of activity and a moment later Cornelius Justus Silius stepped into the box. "You sent for me, Caesar?" he said to Vespasianus, nodding to Titus and Domitianus.

"This trouble with your wife is lamentable," Vespasianus said with a raising of his brows.

"She still hasn't been found. I've set a dozen of my slaves to looking for her. I fear...I fear that she has done something desperate. I have sent messengers downriver in case they should find her."

"Suicide?" Vespasianus said, mildly surprised. "I didn't think that a member of the Clementine House would behave so. If she wanted to die, she would have done it properly, with witnesses, instead of leaving things so uncertain." He was very definite now. "A noblewoman doesn't throw herself in the Tiber like a common whore. The search must continue. But I warn you, Justus, this must be resolved soon. Lesbia wants a husband this year. It's nothing to me if your wife wants to kill herself rather than be executed by the state, but it must be conclusive." He tapped the marble arm of his chair. "Submit your complaint to the Senate tomorrow and they will grant you a provisional divorce, and authorize the prosecution of your wife when she's found. That I will approve."

Justus made a sour attempt at a smile. Once again he was being forced to submit to new demands. He gave a quick, covert glance at Domitianus. "I have the documents prepared. All I need do is have them delivered to the Curia."

"Do that," Vespasianus said cordially, but there was no attempt to make this other than an order.

"Excellent, excellent," Justus said, trying to make it seem that he was anxious to obey.

"When we find her," Vespasianus went on, his bright, shrewd eyes meeting Justus' light brown ones, "I hope that she is well. It is awkward for a man to have two demented wives. It makes others think poorly of his judgment." The warning was plain, and Justus knew it would be folly to ignore it.

Domitianus came to his rescue. "A woman who has lived the way that Domita Silius has appeared to live must be demented, Father. A woman who lies with slaves and gladiators and refuses her husband, who tries to poison him, what can we think of such a creature, but that she is mad?"

Justus decided to say nothing. He stared at his crossed arms.

"That's for the Senate to consider," Vespasianus said. "Make sure the documents are sent tomorrow." This was clearly his dismissal.

"I'm honored that you concern yourself with my welfare," Justus said slowly.

"That's what you want, isn't it?" Now the shrewd eyes were narrowing, measuring Justus.

"Of course, but as you must know, Caesar, many seek your notice and few achieve it." Then, in another tone, he added, "I know that much of my good fortune comes through your son, who has been most...kind to me." The smile he gave Domitianus was as wide as it was insincere.

The need to respond to this cloying sycophancy was eliminated when trumpeters appeared on the spina and raised their instruments to their lips, sounding a fanfare as a way to quiet the enormous crowd and to alert those who had left the stands to return to them.

"Ah." Vespasianus settled himself more comfortably in the chair, punching at one of the cushions he sat on. "The aquatic venation. Those crocodiles were brought from near the second cataract. I've never seen them capture one of the brutes. I wish I had: I'd like to know how they do it."

"I must return to my box," Justus said ungratefully when no invitation to join the Emperor's party had been given.

"Fine, fine," Vespasianus said, watching the Gates of Life, where barges appeared. "I look forward to seeing your complaint."

With ill-concealed irritation, Justus turned and left the imperial box.

"Domi, how you can stand that toad confounds me," Titus said with disgust.

"He's a fine, respectable man," Domitianus shot back, ready to take up cudgels with his brother again.

"The venation is beginning," Vespasianus said, and motioned his musicians to silence.

Trumpets brayed out a second fanfare, then played a fast, rhythmic version of the currently popular song Don't Be Sad When I'm Gone.

Titus whistled the tune through his teeth and Domitianus said to the air, "I'm getting sick of that thing."

At last four barges floated onto the flooded arena, each drawn by two small boats with five rowers in each. On two of the barges stood tall, black Numidians with wicker shields and long spears. On the other two were light-haired northerners from Lugdunum Batavorum, with double-pronged fishing tridents and crude brazen breastplates.

"They'll fight first," Necredes said maliciously to Saint-Germain, who stood with six other men on one end of the spina. "When that's almost over, the crocodiles will be released to clean up the remains, and then you'll go in to clean up the crocodiles while we drain the water off. We'll do that slowly. You'll have almost an hour to battle the crocodiles. Do you think that will be enough?" He shook his head in mock concern over the condition of Saint-Germain's back and shoulders. "That might be a problem, having your back cut up that way. The blood brings the crocodiles, you know, Franciscus."

"There will be blood enough in the water by then," Saint-Germain said, squinting down into the arena, feeling slightly sick. The sun was painful as nettles on his skin, the water made him dizzy. He wished fervently and uselessly for his earth-lined boots. He had not willingly stood in the open sunlight unshod for more than a thousand years. His only garment now was a loincloth, his only protection one small knife.

"When those lizards get their teeth in you," Necredes muttered with satisfaction, "you'll shriek like a woman in childbed."

Saint-Germain did not answer; he stood watching the four barges as they lined up for battle.

At the other end of the spina, the trumpeters fell silent.

There was a quick flurry of activity as the rowers cast off from the barges, and then the first weapon, a Numidian spear, was thrown.

Lacking their boats to pull them, the barges began to drift with the movement of the water. The Numidians hurled spears again, this time in a coordinated effort, and all but two found marks in the blond northmen. This was what the crowd wanted to see, and they shouted encouragement to the barges.

On the second northmen's barge, there was a brief conference going on, and at the end of it three men set down their double-pronged tridents and took up positions on the back of the barge, where they paddled with their arms. Some of the spectators applauded. The Numidians immediately appointed paddlers, and the battle of the barges was joined in earnest.

Saint-Germain watched with sad detachment. So much skill, he thought, going to amuse bored citizens with ceremony and death. He gazed at the stands, where people sweltered under the great awning. There were men screaming, their faces filled with lust and anger. There were women panting, eyes glittering. He watched lovers fondle each other as the men on the barges bled and died. All the time the sunlight hammered at him, and the water glinted.

There were half a dozen bodies in the water when the signal was given to release the crocodiles. The long, lethal shapes slid out of their cages at the sides of the arena, and the Numidians cried out in horror as they saw the size of the beasts. The northmen, unfamiliar with crocodiles, since they had been brought to Rome only two weeks before, exchanged dismayed looks as the first of the huge reptiles reached a body and opened its jaws.

Almost at once the battle between the barges stopped and a rout to escape the crocodiles began. But there was no place for the men on the barges to go. The water was more than twelve arm-lengths deep, the first row of seats was almost that high above them. The Gates of Life were closed, and even the Gates of Death were barred until the arena was drained of water.

Finally a crocodile rammed one of the barges, upsetting it and throwing the northmen on it into the water, where open jaws waited for them. Almost directly below where he stood on the spina, Saint-Germain saw two crocodiles seize a Numidian, one holding the black man's foot, the other his upper arm, and, oblivious of his struggles, pull him under the water, where each huge animal turned over in opposite directions, literally twisting the Numidian apart.

"You've got that to look forward to, Franciscus," Necredes said in his ear. "It won't be long now."

Saint-Germain took one last look at the stands, hoping to see a familiar face, Olivia's face, but among so many, he knew he would never find her, if she were there. He glanced at the other men who were condemned to the crocodiles with him. "Why do we wait?" he asked, and before anyone realized what he was doing, he had walked to the edge of the spina and dived neatly into the water. As he rose to the surface, he pulled his knife from where it had been tucked in his loincloth, then began, very clumsily, to swim toward one of the rafts.

The northmen looked about in confusion as this unknown man climbed onto the barge, but they were too busy fending off the nearest crocodile to challenge this stranger.

Saint-Germain got to his feet slowly. Having wood under him was not quite so bad as being in water, but he still felt somnambulistic. He bent to pick up two of the pronged tridents that lay abandoned by his feet. Speaking in the language of the Suevi, Saint-Germain said to the few remaining defenders on the barge, "It does no good to pierce their hide. They feel very little pain, and their hide is thick. You must take them in the mouth, and get the points as far back as you can."

The northmen stared at him. "Are you one of us?" the oldest of them asked in his native tongue. "You don't look like us." He motioned toward the other Suevi on the barge.

A crocodile was nudging the barge as if testing it, little eyes fixed on the men on the barge.

"Never mind," Saint-Germain rapped out. "Here." He thrust one of the tridents into the oldest man's hands. "When he opens his mouth, press that in as far as you can. Let go at once, or he'll pull you in with him."

The Suevus did not hesitate. He took his stance at the edge of the barge, and as the crocodile approached, jaws gaping, he plunged forward, the trident extended, forcing it deeply into the gullet of the animal. The crocodile made a grunting sound, whipped his body about, and sank back in the water, thrashing in an attempt to dislodge the trident. The northman looked at Saint-Germain. "It worked," he said.

"The crocodile isn't dead yet," Saint-Germain pointed out. He was pulling a mangled body over the edge of the barge.

"Get that off!" the oldest man shouted. "It's unholy."

"Would you rather the crocodile bit off your arm? If another comes near, let him attack this instead of you."

Slightly mollified, the Suevus nodded once to the others. "Do as he tells you."

The crocodile beside the barge closed his mouth suddenly, splintering the shaft of the trident that was in his throat. The northmen watched soberly.

"How many of these monsters were let out?" one of the men said softly.

"Ten or twelve," Saint-Germain told him. "Too many."

The oldest man was awed. "Twelve?"

"They will try to ram this barge, as they did the other. When that happens, we must be ready."

Another of the crocodiles swam nearer and this time the northmen waited until the reptile had come quite close before trying to kill it.

"The mouth and the eyes!" Saint-Germain called to them all. "The mouth and the eyes! Anything else is useless!" As he shouted he took a broken trident shaft and ground it into the crocodile's eye as it came alongside the barge. The animal croaked in fury and drew off, body twisting in irritation. "Watch him," Saint-Germain said, pointing to the half-blinded crocodile. "He's maddened now."

The Suevi accepted this, and waited for the next assault.

One of the Numidians' barges was breaking apart as a huge crocodile battered at it with snout and tail. As the men fell into the water, the crocodiles converged on them, churning the water as they sped to the attack. The horrible sounds of the Numidians was drowned in a cry of delight from the stands as thousands of Romans rose to their feet to have a better view of the carnage.

"Move closer," Saint-Germain shouted.

"Closer?" the old Suevus repeated, horrified.

"While they're like that, we can kill a few more. Otherwise, they'll start hunting us again." His head ached from the intensity of the sun and he had to fight to keep his concentration. He felt abominably weak, sick, old.

The remaining Numidians saw what the northmen were doing, and joined with them. A seventh crocodile had been killed when the northmen's barge was upset, throwing everyone on it into the water. As Saint-Germain fell, he dropped the trident he carried, but grimly hung on to his knife.

A long, leathery snout grazed by his arm. Saint-Germain pushed back from it, resisting the crazed fear that had flickered through him. The crocodile opened its jaws lazily and they closed on the hip of the old Suevus, who shrieked once, then fell silent.

The Numidians' barge passed over his head and Saint-Germain tried to reach it. As he broke the surface of the water, he saw two crocodiles bearing down on the Numidians, so he swam off a little way, looking about him for pieces of the men who had already been killed by the reptiles. He had part of an arm and a whole leg in his grasp when one of the crocodiles turned on him, putting on a burst of speed as it closed the distance between them. Saint-Germain barely had time to force the torn leg into the open maw as the crocodile slammed into him. Saint-Germain slipped under the water, and as the crocodile passed over his head, he raised his knife and plunged it into the belly of the animal, jerking the knife sharply to pull it free. In the next instant the monstrous tail smashed his shoulders, flinging him back through the water. He was nearly blind with weakness and pain, but for the moment he was away from the slaughter. As he paddled to stay afloat, he looked at the spina, wondering whether he could risk swimming to it. The other condemned men stood there no longer, but in the frothing, bloody water there was no way for Saint-Germain to tell what had become of them. Then he noticed that there was a wide stripe of wetness on the wall above the water. Slowly, very slowly, the Circus Maximus was being drained. He wanted to laugh at the preposterous hope that leaped in him at that sight.

Some of the men had clambered onto the broken bits of the barges that floated on the water, and from there they fended off the crocodiles with the systematic courage of the doomed. There were nine crocodiles dead now-nine crocodiles and thirty-eight men.

Low in the rust-colored water, Saint-Germain caught a sudden movement. Another crocodile was stalking him. He moved farther away from the ruined barges, seeking more distance between himself and the reptile. The crocodile came after him. A patch of shade from the awning high overhead lay across the water, a little wing of shadow. Desperately Saint-Germain swam toward it, his arms aching, the welts on his shoulders becoming more unbearable with each movement. That shade, he thought, was his one hope, for there at least he would be out of the direct sunlight and could husband what little strength remained to him.

A ripple against his neck warned him an instant before the crocodile struck. He sheered off through the water, coming at last into the shadow by the wall. He knew enough not to expect a sudden return of energy, and the minor respite the shade gave him was so small that he very nearly lost heart. The crocodile had turned and was coming in again, drifting lazily, jaws still shut. Watching the huge reptile, Saint-Germain remembered days centuries before when he had watched the priests feed the crocodiles at the Temple of the Second Cataract, singing the praises of their charges, some which grew to twice the length of those now in the arena. The priests of the temple would occasionally lure a crocodile onto the land, and prove their power over the animal by holding his terrible jaws closed. One of the priests had told Saint-Germain that it was much simpler to hold the jaws closed than to hold them open, and that the real might of the animal was in the bite. Saint-Germain began to unwind his loincloth. As he did, he revealed massive, age-whitened scars, running deep across his abdomen.

The crocodile was somewhat startled when, as it neared Saint-Germain, he sank under the water, trailing something strange behind him. The crocodile, curious, nosed the end of the cloth.

It was the moment Saint-Germain had hoped for. He rose at once, wrapping the cloth around the crocodile's snout three, then four times. The knot was awkward but it held as the crocodile began to writhe.

With the last of his strength, Saint-Germain took hold of the cloth knotted around the crocodile's jaws and pulled the head back while the reptile floundered, his tail churning the water in a vain attempt to break Saint-Germain's hold.

The water had dropped even more. The crowd was starting to cheer for the few survivors of the barges who were being dragged out of the arena by the same boats that had pulled the barges onto the water.

Dizziness threatened to overcome Saint-Germain and he strove to master it: if he faltered for an instant now, the crocodile would turn on him. He could not survive another attack, he knew, and as the water level dropped, he focused his whole attention on that knotted cloth.

The crocodile gave a jolt as its back feet touched the sand. Then it tried to scrabble away from the man holding it captive, but Saint-Germain pulled at the cloth, bending the head even farther. With a last shattering effort, Saint-Germain forced the huge head back. The crocodile gave one tremendous convulsion, then twitched and lay limp in the water.

Saint-Germain let his legs sink and was surprised to find that the water was now little more than waist-deep. He took his knife and placed it low on the side of the crocodile's neck, slamming it into the beast with such force that he staggered and would have fallen had not one of the boats nudged up behind him then. Ghastly pale, hideously weak, Saint-Germain nevertheless motioned the boat away. The imperial box was a little farther down the wall, and Saint-Germain began to slog his way toward it.

The sudden gasp of the crowd brought his head around a moment too late. Four razor teeth gouged his side and he fell back, nearly unconscious. The crocodile was turning, getting ready for the final rush, when another one of the boats came gliding down the now-shallow water, iron spikes held at the ready. Before the crocodile could charge again, one of the sharp spikes was driven home through its back. It jerked violently, upsetting the boat, drifted away and died.

Blood ran through his fingers pressed against his side as Saint-Germain took uncertain steps toward the imperial box. In a small part of his mind, he mocked himself for this gesture, but it had become a point of honor for him. The water was no higher than his calves as he stopped under the imperial box, taking his hand away from the wounds in his side as he raised his arm in a Roman salute. "Hail, Caesar," he croaked up at Vespasianus. "Though I did not die."

Vespasianus leaned forward. "The odds were against you, however." His bright eyes were amused. "A fine gesture, Franciscus."

"Do I appeal to you or the Vestal Virgins?" Saint-Germain asked weakly.

"To me. I think you must have paid for anything you might have done. By the look of those scars, you've paid a greater price before. It would be convenient for me, however, if you would leave Rome for a time after this. You might require an extended recuperation." He patted his older son on the shoulder. "Titus has a pleasant estate in Egypt you might enjoy."

"I might join you there," Titus said quickly with a too-wide smile that was directed more at Domitianus than at Saint-Germain.

"Thank you. I can fend for myself." Saint-Germain never knew exactly when he sank to his knees. He was aware that the Emperor was speaking to him and that the crowd was cheering. The world spun in his head and his eyes felt hot and cloudy. Someone who might have been the Master of the Games had waded out to him and stood beside him to place a wreath on his dripping, blood-matted hair. All at once it was deliciously funny to be standing before the Emperor and more than eighty thousand Romans, naked, with only a laurel wreath on his brow. Laughter threatened to overcome him.

The Master of the Games had given a signal and a moment later a red caracalla was thrown over Saint-Germain's shoulders. He was pleased that it did not hurt. There was just enough sense left to him to be alarmed. The world wobbled around him.

"Get my boots," he muttered before he fainted.

EXCERPTS FROM THE COMPLAINT OF CORNELIUS JUSTUS SILIUS AGAINST HIS WIFE, ATTA OLIVIA CLEMENS.

...Though no man wishes to think ill of his wife, I have had to learn to distrust this woman and regard her as a subtle enemy. You have already seen the report from the physician, revealing that I have three times been poisoned. Those occasions always followed evenings spent in the company of my wife. It could be that I have an unknown enemy who has ingratiated himself with my wife, or it might be that she is being used without her knowledge, and that it is her cook who has been dragged into a plot. I realize that this possibility is somewhat remote, but I would prefer to believe that than to believe that Atta Olivia Clemens could have been so unhappy or ambitious that she felt she must be rid of me entirely rather than divorce me. I will not believe that such a noble and refined woman could be so perverse.

There is testimony with these documents that shows that my wife had a desire to take her sexual pleasures with gladiators and other rough men, that she was most pleased when the act was accomplished violently. I understand that such was her conduct from the time of our marriage, but, as you can see by these papers enclosed, I did not know of it until we had been married for more than five years. It is often true that older men are not adequate lovers for their young wives, and this may have been the case with my wife, for her wants did often exceed my abilities, and if she has erred, it may be that her passions were greater than even I knew and that because she was a woman of honor and good family, she could not dishonor me with my associates and sought those who were removed from me. It would make me happy to think that this is the case. No man, I suppose, likes to think of his wife in the lascivious embraces of another, and Roman wives have made a virtue of chastity that is of great credit to them. Is it to be held against me that I chose to think that my wife behaved as Roman women of her station were trained to behave? Certainly I thought that if she took a lover, it would be one worthy of her, not some ignorant barbarian who would treat her cruelly because that was what she most desired.

A few of you have been unkind enough to mention the execution of her father and brothers, and it is true that her family was dishonored, but that was in the reign of Nero, when it was not quite so reprehensible to oppose the purple as it is now. Atta Olivia Clemens was greatly distressed at the death and condemnation of her male relatives, as were a great many other patricians who shared my shock at their treason. But to suggest that she is somehow tainted by her family, and that she must therefore be incapable of good conduct, is more for the theatre than for our lives here. There is nothing in that woman that would reveal her to be of a traitorous nature. Let those who died be enough.

...The testimony of my former library slave, Monostades, tells what he learned of the clandestine meetings of my wife with the foreigner Ragoczy Saint-Germain Franciscus. Their meetings took place after she went to the house of her father to live, and from what Monostades learned, they did not meet often. My slaves there, who had much of my interests at heart, did mention that her conduct there was strange, but I did not then suspect that there was any reason more than our separation. Also, the testimony of the Armenian scholar Led Arashnur, written in Greek, enclosed, tells of his seeing them together, but not often. Those who have said that my wife had anything to do with the Armenian's still-unsolved murder are being spiteful, I am sure, for there is no indication that she knew he had been following her lover. If you insist on pursuing her unlikely complicity in Arashnur's death, I will most certainly object to such an investigation.

...Much of what is included in this collection of documents would demand the death penalty for my wife. I would not like to have that happen, but I will not stand in the way of the laws of Rome, for the law is the strength of the empire. Rather, let me request that if it is found that my wife has committed those crimes which will require the ultimate penalty, that there will be some dignity left to her, and that she will not be humiliated by a public execution, where the most disgusting inhabitants of the city may watch her suffering. Let any punishment be private and respectful. As I am the man she has most wronged, let me have some say in her death, if that is what you will demand of her....

It is true that her flight puts all she may have done in the most negative aspect, but there could have been extenuating circumstances. She may have felt a deep remorse and decided to leave rather than face what she feared must be the end of her. I beseech you good men of the Senate not to be too severe in your judgment of her. There was so much confusion in her then, that her actions ought not to be thought of as a tacit admission of guilt. Though it is true it would be difficult for you not to believe the worst of her, make allowances for her troubles.

Apparently she has told a few people that it was I who abused her and I who ruined her family. Since she so obviously hates me, I can understand why she might come to think this of me. When you hear her testimony, I hope you will not forget that she does not say this out of an innate tendency to lie but because she has come to believe this about me most sincerely. You will have to show your compassion for her. She has suffered a great deal through her family's dishonor and her own appetites, and this has preyed much upon her mind. Like chastity, charity is a Roman virtue, and I feel I must importune you to keep that in mind when you question my wife...

The documents are clear in their intent, but remember that the documents are not the whole of the case, and withhold your judgment until you have heard her speak in her own behalf. There may be extenuations of which you and I know nothing.

...Remember that Atta Olivia Clemens thinks she is unfortunate. What woman, believing that, would be satisfied with her life, no matter how fine, how luxurious? In that, she is like her father, for he was not pleased with the sad deterioration of his fortunes. That is an unfortunate comparison. Be assured that she is not very much like her father despite this similarity. Children almost always retain some quality of their parents.

In honesty I must say that our marriage was not happy and that my wife feels, perhaps with some justification, that much of it was my fault.

...In order to avoid further hostilities between us, I trust that you good Senators will decide this matter quickly, and whatever decision you make regarding my wife's punishment will be carried out swiftly and mercifully. Let this whole disgraceful and sordid case be concluded as rapidly as the law allows. Why prolong my wife's suffering? Why subject her to greater indignities than she has experienced already?

I most respectfully urge you to listen to what she tells you with patience and indulgence. Do not condemn her out of hand. When she rails at you, remember that it is her disappointment speaking, not a lack of appreciation of any of you. If she accuses me, let her say what is in her heart. She has had much to distress her, and she can do me no worse harm than she has already.

Cornelius Justus Silius