‘Make yourself comfortable, Magnus.’ Terentius plumped up the cushions on a white-linen upholstered couch.
Starting to wonder as to his true motives in coming here, Magnus settled on the couch, resting an arm on its raised end and enjoying the fumes of whatever it was that had been sprinkled on the mobile brazier nearby.
‘Leave us,’ Terentius ordered as he poured two glasses of wine from a deep-blue glass decanter whose elegant long neck seemed too fragile to support its bulbous belly.
Magnus turned in surprise and saw an old slave leave the room; he had no recollection of noticing him as he entered.
Turning back, he accepted a goblet of matching glass to the decanter from Terentius who then sat in a high-backed, wicker chair draped with a deep-red damask cloth; he adjusted his palla so that it fell to either side in a manner that any Roman matron would have approved of.
‘To us and business, may the gods of this house look down kindly on us.’ Terentius raised his goblet and poured a small libation on the floor and then another on to the brazier before taking a sip.
‘Us and business,’ Magnus repeated. He tasted the wine, fragrant with fruit, rich and full as it assaulted his palate with a succession of flavours and hints of more, and he knew that although it was wasted on his rough tastes, Terentius had not misled him: it was one of the finest of vintages. ‘Very nice.’ He immediately regretted such a crass remark and covered his embarrassment by taking a whole-hearted gulp. ‘So, Terentius, what business have you in mind?’
Terentius ran his finger round the rim of his goblet, looking at Magnus as if trying to decide how best to approach the subject. He crossed his legs and raised his finely plucked eyebrows. ‘The tablets that you gave into my safekeeping.’
‘What about them?’
‘I know what they are, Magnus, and I know what they are used for.’
‘So?’
‘I also know what they can be used for; the potential that they have. I don’t mean their medical potential; I mean their potential in furthering the art of love.’
‘The art of love?’
‘Yes, Magnus. The resin in those tablets can unlock realms of pleasure known only to Morpheus himself; realms so large that a man could lose himself there for days on end.’
‘Really?’
‘Really, and I want to purchase some from you. With those tablets I could offer an experience so intense that no man having undergone it would want to seek his pleasure anywhere else but here. I would make a fortune and you would share in it, Magnus.’
Magnus drained his goblet and held it out for a refill. ‘What do you mean?’
Terentius picked up the decanter and poured. ‘I have heard stories from the East, from beyond the empire, of how to augment the senses by using this resin. It’s not how our doctors use it, made into a potion or just chewed; it’s a different and far more efficacious method.’ He placed the decanter back on the table, rose and walked over to a chest at the far end of the room. He removed one of the sackcloth-wrapped tablets and two broad-bladed knives before returning to his chair. ‘I’ll show you.’ He exposed the edge of the tablet, shaved off a sliver and then put the points of both knives into the brazier.
Magnus watched with interest as Terentius worked the sliver into a ball, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. He then handed it to Magnus and removed both knives from the fire. He held one out. ‘Put the resin on the tip of the blade.’
Magnus obeyed; Terentius pressed the second blade down on it. Immediately fumes spiralled up; Terentius leant over and inhaled, pulling the smoke deep into his lungs. ‘Your turn,’ he said with a tight, almost choking voice.
Magnus opened his mouth and sucked in the white trail emitting from between the blades. He felt a harsh rasping in his throat and a warmth in his chest.
‘Hold it in,’ Terentius said, his voice higher from having held his breath.
Magnus did so for as long as he could, then exhaled a thin stream of smoke. He looked at Terentius. ‘Well?’
‘Give it time, Magnus; Morpheus needs to be woken from his slumbers before he will show you his realm.’
Magnus took a sip of wine and waited, contemplating the beauty of the glass. And it was beautiful, intensely blue in a way that he had never seen before; the bluest of blues. And yet, where the reflections of the brazier’s red glow played on it, the blue deepened into purple, flickering across the surface, picking out the fine engravings of grape-laden vines; imperial vines, he mused. He smiled to himself, enjoying the thought, then realised that red grapes were often purple in hue and was about to make a connection with … but then the goblet’s stem caught his attention: thin blue glass, so blue, but right at its heart a very fine line of purple; again, that must be a reflection from the fire. He looked across at the brazier, still smiling, yes, it was glowing; so comforting. His eyes rose to meet those of Terentius; they were wide open but their pupils had contracted to pinpricks, and he too was smiling. Magnus was about to say something but then the calm of the moment prevented him; it would be wrong to break so peaceful an atmosphere with harsh talk. His gaze drifted down. He discerned, with a widening of his smile, that the blue of Terentius’ stola matched that of the goblet – if it was held at certain angles. He experimented with the position of the goblet, looking between it and the stola. He noticed Terentius rise and walk past him; he heard the door open just as he discovered a fascinating new angle at which to hold the goblet. Then voices, followed by the soft click of the door reclosing. Terentius swished past him, a blur of blue motion – so beautiful, blue. The decanter glided towards him, it tipped; the glug of pouring wine so slow and regular. The taste of the wine, sublime. He looked up to thank Terentius; Terentius smiled down, his hands touching Magnus’ shoulders. His palla was gone; there was no crimson, only blue. And then there was no blue, just cream flesh, and Magnus understood. He heard the door creak open and soft voices approached from behind him; he felt his belt being unfastened. He raised his goblet and finished the last of the wine; it was taken from him as he sluiced the liquid around his mouth and allowed his tunic to be pulled over his head. A soft hand on his chest eased him back on to the cushions on the couch – soft, smooth and warm, so warm. He felt the hand stroke his hair and he opened his eyes; Terentius stood over him, his skin sheened with the glow of the brazier, and then he sat, revealing two more figures, lissom and delicate, one blond and one dark – both naked. One held out the knives; Magnus sucked in the spiralling smoke, holding it deep. As he laid his head down, feeling the sweet touch of multiple caresses, he saw the gates to the realm of Morpheus open and, with absolute calm and contentment, he floated forward to sample the dreams therein.