Tears welled in her eyes and she put the crepundia back around her neck. "You don't understand."
"That's right, I don't! You're my friend, Aurelia. Not because of money or anything you can do for me, but because you're a good person, just as you are. Your family should feel the same way."
I noticed her fidget with her fingers. She lowered her eyes and whispered, "I need to tell you something."
But before she could, we both leapt to our feet at the fierce barking of two dogs. Coming our way.
Aurelia and I dashed out of the office as two black dogs raced in from the doorway behind the desk and went straight for us. Once in the atrium, Aurelia darted around as if to go to the rear of the home, but I ran forward. I turned long enough to see them still coming and then tripped and fell into the small pool in the center of the atrium.
The dogs came upon me and I raised a hand to protect myself from the worst of their attack. "Stop!" I shouted at them.
To my surprise, both dogs immediately stopped their barking and only stared at me. Just as the animals of the venatio had done. So I got to my feet, slowly, and told the dogs, "Sit."
They obeyed as quickly as I spoke the words. But that wasn't a fair test. They were probably well-trained dogs, which I'd expect in a household like this. They needed a more unusual command.
Aurelia walked up to us, cautiously, but her eyes were on me, not the dogs. "Nic --"
"Watch this." With a smile, I said, "Tell me if Aurelia thinks I'm the handsomest boy in all of Rome."
Both dogs immed
iately started barking. Happy, playful barks. They were participating in a joke they couldn't possibly have understood ... unless they could.
Aurelia wasn't laughing, but her eyes had grown wider. She only said my name again to get my attention, and then pointed. Still in the pool, I was standing directly within the beam of moonlight pouring in from overhead. And when I realized where she was pointing -- to the bulla beneath my tunic -- I saw why she was so alarmed.
It was glowing, as brightly as if the bulla itself was a moon.
I pulled off the bulla to see it better and then its full glow became apparent. Beneath the moonlight, it nearly lit the room to a daytime light.
Crispus ran into the room. "I'm sorry about -- oh!"
Aurelia walked forward until she stood in the pool with me. Staring into my eyes the entire time, she took the bulla from me and hung it back around my neck, on the outside of my tunic.
"I know which of the gods supplies this bulla's power," she said. "No wonder it's given you so much trouble."
Forgetting about the dogs, Crispus walked forward, his attention fixed on the bulla. "We knew you must have it," he breathed. "Nothing else could've caused such damage in the amphitheater. I'll never forget that day."
Nor would I, much as I had already tried to do it.
Crispus reached out a hand toward the bulla, then paused and lowered it again. "How are you making it glow?"
"It isn't Nic," Aurelia said. "The bulla is responding to the moonlight. Watch this." She stepped out of the pool and then motioned for me to come with her. Once I got back onto the tile floor, the glow began fading. After only a minute, its glow was no brighter than before, and I was fairly certain neither Aurelia or Crispus could see that soft glow anyway.
"It's the power of the gods," Crispus whispered.
"No, just one of them." Aurelia turned to me. "You can communicate with animals, and when the bulla is working, you are unnaturally strong. I knew about those, but the moonlight makes it obvious which god gives this bulla its power."
"Diana," I whispered. "Goddess of the hunt and of the moon."
"She speaks with animals and has great strength," Crispus added. "And so now you have her powers?"
"He can command a griffin too," Aurelia said. "That one who was in the amphitheater."
"It's not like that," I said. "She just ... listens to me."
"Same thing," Aurelia said. "Maybe it was your griffin who pulled the chariot of Diana's twin brother, Apollo. But unlike her brother, Diana isn't known as the kindest of the gods."
I already understood that. The bulla had shown me a great deal of its power, but none of its mercy.