47 “What do you think, father?” whispered Titus Pinarius. He stood in the vestibule of his house on the Aventine, before the rows of niches that housed the wax effigies of his ancestors. Among them was the death mask of his father, which had been cast in Alexandria. Its placement in the vestibule, along with all the other effigies, had been among their first duties when Titus and Kaeso moved into this house. Titus was wearing the trabea he had inherited from his father. He held the elegantly carved ivory lituus that had been in the family for generations. At twenty-four—the same young age at which his father had been inducted—Titus had become an augur, thanks to the sponsorship of his cousin, the emperor Claudius. Now, at twenty-nine, Titus was an experienced and highly respected member of the college. Chrysanthe, noting that the saffron-stained wool with its broad purple stripe had begun to fade a bit, had recently suggested that Titus acquire a new trabea, but he would not hear of it.
