"I will divorce her to-day. Who is this slave's father?"
"A carpenter at the court."
"I will appoint him proconsul."
"This will be your ninth wife within four months."
Carinus drew the Phrygian down beside him and laid his head in her lap. Singing and dancing were going on around him, and Ævius, paying no heed to either, was declaiming before him. His iambics extolled with shameless flattery all the qualities which Carinus did not possess, his roseate complexion, his bold, fearless soul. He described the games with the utmost detail, and spared neither Jupiter nor Apollo, that he might laud Carinus above them.
"Alas, something oppresses and disturbs me. I don't know what it is," whined Carinus.
Instantly two or three slaves were at his side, straightening his cushions, arranging his hair, loosening his garments.
"Oh, it oppresses and disturbs me still."
"Perhaps Ævius's iambics trouble you," said Marcius, the Imperator's barber.
"Perhaps so. Stop, Ævius."