Chapter 12

Hyperion sat glumly inside his ornate home, which dwarfed its neighbors. With massive Greek columns and a gleaming marble facade, it resembled more a temple than a residence. At the moment, it could have been a hovel for all Hyperion cared.

The mosaic on the wall, the one created by imported craftsmen from Egypt, held no attraction for him. Neither did the luxury couches, inlaid wooden floor, gaudy trimmings or the array of delicacies set out by his slave. Instead, he stared at the polished flooring, dead even to the rumbling of carts and the conversations of people passing the east side of his home or the boats on the Tiber River to the west.