"You promised you wouldn't laugh."
Pompeia crossed her arms. Seeing the wounded look on her face, I could only clear my throat awkwardly.
I had made a mistake.
"I wasn't laughing. I was just so surprised that a chuckle slipped out."
I turned my gaze to one of the walls in the atrium.
Illuminated by the lamplight was a painting. A fresco—a style currently in vogue throughout Rome.
Fresco painting involved applying pigments onto wet lime plaster. Because the painting had to be completed before the plaster dried, it was a notoriously difficult technique.
I hadn't noticed it when I first walked into the house, but someone had painted a new fresco on the wall of my own house.
It was still unfinished in places, but the figures of two men were unmistakable. It depicted me and Metellus in the chariot during the Trojan Games.
"Don't tell me you're trying to emulate Brutus," I said. "A painting of me right in my own atrium. Honestly, it's a little embarrassing."
"Would it not be fitting to commemorate your achievements?"
Pompeia smiled, but I could see a faint anxiety behind it.
Was she worried I wouldn't like the fresco she seemed to have commissioned for me?
I stepped closer to the painting. Having a mural of myself in my own house was slightly embarrassing, but it was certainly better than the statue my fan club had made.
They had depicted me looking like some kind of Greek deity.
This fresco, at least, portrayed me naturally.
"In that case, the artist must be..."
I looked at the middle-aged woman standing beside Pompeia. She bowed her head once more.
"My name is Iaia, Caesar."
"Iaia?" I repeated. The name sounded vaguely familiar.
"Are you from Mysia, by any chance?"
"You know of me? I did not realize Lady Pompeia had spoken of me to you," Iaia replied, looking genuinely surprised.
"I never told my husband about you."
I nodded slowly. I had never expected to encounter her in my own house.
Iaia of Cyzicus—a renowned female painter from northern Mysia. In the records I remembered, she was known for painting portraits of noblewomen, as well as creating ivory carvings and frescoes.
While famous in her time, little about her life had survived in the records.
I never imagined she would one day stand in my own house. There was only one reason she would be here.
"Are you the one who painted it?"
Pompeia must have commissioned the fresco from her as a gift for me.
"It is restrained, calm, and beautifully detailed. I like it. I look forward to seeing it finished. But why would you think I would laugh at it..."
I turned around, only to see Pompeia's face had turned bright crimson.
Had I said something wrong again?
"I am... glad you like it," Pompeia stammered.
Meanwhile, Iaia, standing beside her, gave me a knowing smile.
"I did not paint this fresco."
"You didn't paint this?"
Then who did?
After a brief pause, realization finally hit me.
Wait, don't tell me...
"Lady Pompeia painted it herself. I merely assisted her where necessary," Iaia smiled warmly. "And it seems you gave the right answer."
"You may go now, Iaia. Apologies for keeping you so late. I will assign guards to ensure you reach home safely."
Pompeia took my arm before I could say anything else.
"And as for you, Lucius, I believe you and I need to have a much deeper conversation."
***
By the time I woke, the sun had already been up for hours. I turned my head and looked at Pompeia, who was still fast asleep beside me.
Come to think of it, she had shown an unusual fascination with the artworks we received as wedding gifts.
I should have noticed then. I never imagined she harbored a desire to create art herself.
Just then, Pompeia slowly fluttered her eyes open.
"I never heard the rooster crow this morning."
"Nor did I. Usually, the servants would have woken us by now..."
I chuckled, gently stroking her hair. It seemed everyone had tactfully chosen not to disturb us.
Iaia had been right. I had apparently given the right answer last night.
Pompeia looked visibly relieved to know I genuinely liked the fresco.
"Why didn't you tell me you wanted to paint?"
"Because it is shameful," Pompeia sighed softly. "For a noblewoman to paint a fresco with her own hands, I mean..."
"Shameful?"
It was the exact same thing Julia had said. Julia had told me she was ashamed to show her writing to others.
I couldn't entirely fault them for feeling that way. Compared with many other ancient societies, Roman women of this era enjoyed considerable autonomy.
Even after marriage, they could manage their own property and run their own businesses.
But that did not mean everything was socially acceptable.
Writing privately was acceptable, but publishing one's work for the public was considered unwomanly.
Likewise, painting or sculpting was often treated as vulgar manual labor, fit for low-born plebeians or slaves.
That was probably why Pompeia had been so anxious about showing me what she had painted.
"I truly look forward to seeing it completed."
"As long as you like it, nothing else matters to me. I wanted to paint the way I see you."
"The way you see me?"
"Because the plaster statue your supporters made was... a bit excessive in many ways."
I could hardly deny that.
"I wanted to depict you exactly as you are."
"And you succeeded beautifully."
I kissed her gently on the forehead and got out of bed. I put on a tunic and prepared to leave the room.
"Of course, I can never let anyone else know I painted it."
"Who can say?"
I shrugged. Right now, it might be shameful for a noblewoman to paint frescoes in Rome.
But just because things had always been that way did not mean they had to remain so forever.
"I have already changed many things in Rome, Pompeia." I turned to look at her one last time before stepping out. "And as the wife of a Caesar, are you not more than qualified to set an example for Rome?"
In truth, few people embraced new trends as quickly as the Romans.
Men of this era overwhelmingly preferred a clean-shaven look, but centuries later, when Emperor Hadrian made the beard fashionable, much of the empire followed suit.
Empresses, too, often dictated the fashion trends of their time.
I was no emperor, but Rome paid considerable attention to me.
"You really are a strange man, Lucius."
"Have you not grown tired of saying that by now?"
I chuckled, sitting back on the edge of the bed.
"Actually, there is a way to deal with that."
If I were the only strange person in Rome, the solution was simple: make everyone else just as strange.
"We simply have to teach Rome to welcome change."
***
"Mistress Iaia, you have finally arrived."
"Is everyone prepared?" Iaia asked her apprentices as she stretched her arms.
As usual, she gathered her tools and stood before a plaster block.
She still had a mountain of unfinished commissions.
On top of that, she needed to purchase more raw materials and cover her apprentices' wages.
"If only there were more patrons like Lady Pompeia."
"Pardon?"
"Nothing."
Iaia chuckled to herself. A noblewoman asking to be taught how to paint. She doubted there were many women in Rome quite that eccentric.
Just then, a group of sturdy porters gathered in front of her workshop.
"Is this the workshop of Iaia?"
"Can I help you?" she asked, furrowing her brow. Her apprentices huddled behind her, their faces tight with nerves.
"Lucius Caesar has sent goods and materials to your workshop."
"Caesar?"
While Iaia stood bewildered, the men carried heavy leather sacks on their backs and stepped inside. In mere moments, the workshop was crowded with the materials they had carried in.
"What is all this?"
"Caesar wishes to commission you to create several works of art." one of the men replied.
"Artworks? What kind?"
"Caesar wishes for you to use this newly made paper, these new inks, and these assorted materials to create an entirely new form of art."
"I was never informed of any such thing," Iaia replied, crossing her arms.
No matter how many commissions Lucius Caesar's household had given her, imposing work on her in this manner was incredibly rude.
Furthermore, they weren't even asking for an ordinary commission; they were demanding that she devise an entirely new form of art.
Such a request required a polite, formal proposal.
Her pride as an artist would not tolerate such high-handed treatment.
"Mistress, we should at least hear them out..."
"If Caesar truly desires this, tell him to come and ask me himself."
"I understand this is sudden. Caesar asked us to deliver this letter to you."
The man pulled a piece of paper from his tunic.
Iaia took it, muttering, "I don't care what this letter says, this kind of behavior is not..."
She went still as her eyes moved over the text.
Her apprentices watched her with anxious expressions.
"What is wrong, Mistress?"
"Did he threaten you?"
After a brief, heavy silence, Iaia broke into a radiant smile and shook the man's hand warmly.
"Please tell Caesar that I would be honored to accept his proposal, and I thank him from the bottom of my heart for granting me such a remarkable opportunity."
"Mistress?!"
While her apprentices stared in utter bewilderment, Iaia's bright smile did not waver. The message on the paper was brief.
It contained Caesar's proposal, along with the compensation he promised. And the sum was... simply too large to refuse.
""Well? Do not just stand there! Help them unload the materials and tools!" Iaia clapped her hands and shouted. "From now on, we will carve images into wooden blocks and stamp them on paper."
She added with a fierce gleam in her eyes, "We are going to make it possible for the people of Rome to enjoy art."
***
While Iaia's apprentices organized the new materials and tools, elsewhere in Rome, a very different scene was unfolding.
"Shouldn't we bring this up with Caesar?"
"Exactly. First the Vigintisexviri elections, then the Floralia festival, and now the Trojan Games."
"I am not complaining about the work itself. The pay is excellent, after all, but this injustice cannot continue."
"I agree. We cannot allow this unfair situation to continue any longer! I can't take it anymore!"
The ones raising these complaints were none other than Lucius's own workers.
These were the same men who had supported Lucius more fervently than anyone else, and now they were raising their voices in discontent.
"But we cannot just send Caesar a formal letter of complaint. If we do that..."
"We might get fired. Where else in Rome would we find work this good? We owe him our gratitude; making a formal complaint would just seem... ungrateful."
"So we are supposed to suffer in silence?"
"What if we quietly bring it up with Felix?"
"Yes, that might be the best approach."
"How are we supposed to say it? Even I think it sounds terribly ungrateful."
"But we have no other choice."
The men nodded with heavy expressions. They had worked under Lucius for some time, but they had finally reached the limit of their endurance.
At last, it was time to act.
"We cannot eat another moray eel!"
"Death to moray eels!"