Lindsey Davis - The course of Honor

"Lover?" grilled the freedman nastily.

"No," Caenis replied, keeping her tone level. She had come prepared for his direct methods. " Was my lover, I admit. It's not at all relevant; you will find out when you check."

He laughed. So far there were not many people who gave him credit for cautiousness. And there would never again be many who dared stand up to him. "She wants him back!" Narcissus tried her, with that terrible grisly grin.

"No. Married. Haven't seen him for years."

"Years! You owe him money, girl?"

"Freedman, you taught me better than that!" Careful herself, she declined to confess that the debt owed was from Vespasian to her. He had never managed to repay the loan (although he kept his word and sent her interest via an embarrassed accountant once a year).

Narcissus hauled himself upright and moved to a carved chest behind his chair; she noticed that the padded braid on his tunic was a good handspan deep, stiffening out the neck and hem. As he turned away she recognized the signs; he wanted one of his special lists. Here it came, and he was running his split pen-nib down the names with a secretive air that told her he always knew his way about these characters much better than he wanted to reveal. He glanced up sharply as she craned her neck, searching for telltale notches beside the names. "You haven't seen this!"

"No, sir," she simpered, enjoying herself hugely.

"Flavius Vespasianus . . . Titus, would that be?"

"Titus," she agreed, more awkwardly than she had hoped.

"Titus," he repeated; he had always been an aggravating man. "Hmm. Military service in Thrace, kept his nose clean—"

"He liked the army," Caenis interrupted quickly.

"And how did the army like him?" Narcissus barked. "Quaestor in Cyrenaica and Crete; produced a good report. Must be bloody good, if they acknowledged it! Aedile . . ." It was all there. He stared for a moment, then scoffed; evidently he had a record of that business with the mud. "Praetor at first attempt. What's this—it was he who made that speech when Caligula sent his sister home with the ashes of her lover? For plotting against the Emperor Lepidus should be denied public burial? I could call that crawling! I don't want him if his judgment is flawed—"

"No choice," Caenis defended Vespasian.

"It looks inept."

"Expedient. Caligula had taken command of the situation. The Senate had to support him or go down with the conspirators. Besides, who would want that wretch Agrippina to succeed in a plot?"

"Who would want Agrippina as an enemy, Caenis?" After the sharp retort Narcissus let it go. "Brother of Sabinus . . . I know the brother; he waffles, but he's all right." He laid down the list abruptly and looked at her. "Difficult."

"Narcissus, the man is good."

"It's not his turn."

"He has no money, no reputation, and no famous ancestors. You condemn him, Narcissus; it will never be his turn!"

Narcissus gave her his vile laugh. "Keep your wig on! I'll look at him. There's plenty for a good man to do." That was interesting. "Come and see me this evening; ask them in the outer office for the map to find my house."

Caenis chuckled. How like the old fusspot to arrange for a map. "Your house? Don't you want a suite here, three steps from the Emperor?"

To her, since they knew one another well and from a different time, Narcissus made the admission in a low voice: "Of course! And only two steps from his interfering bloody wife. But sometimes I shall want to be unavailable. Besides, woman," said the Emperor's Chief Secretary, "I prefer to keep a private corner to entertain my own friends."

* * *

His idea of a private corner boded well for his friends.

Narcissus, who was to make himself the master of four million sesterces, the richest man in Rome, lived even at that stage in a house of distinctive opulence. Deft slaves silently slipped about. Caenis permitted a houseboy to lift off her outdoor shoes. She eased herself into a sleekly tasseled mound of swansdown cushions, accepted a sweetmeat, toyed with honeyed wine.

"Nice!" she teased Narcissus skeptically.

He gave her a look. Even before he spoke she guessed he had made inquiries about where and how she lived herself. "Better than your musty eggcup off the Via Appia. Do you know that Claudius never sold his mother's house? I pointed out that you've been polishing his daughter's shorthand without a salary." Claudia Antonia was now to be married, so any education she needed would be of a different kind. "He agrees; I've earmarked you half a wing."

She had forgotten how hard he worked. Nor had she reckoned on his establishing his kitchen cabinet so speedily.

"I can't go back to Antonia's house. It would break my heart. Besides, who gets the other half of the wing?"

"Agrippina; she's being allowed back from exile." As Caenis exploded with disgust, Narcissus rushed on, "We'll find you some cash, then, and you can find your own place."

"I want a nice apartment with a fig tree and a female landlady who's too embarrassed to ask for a high rent."

"I interviewed your man."

Their eyes clashed. Caenis snapped, "Not mine!"

"Sorry, I forgot! He wasn't what I expected; we had an interesting chat. Has an infant son, did you know? Poor little sprat came into the world in a back bedroom not much better than the flea-trap you lurk in yourself: Titus."

Caenis wondered what sort of chat. "What?"

"Vespasian's son." As a family the Flavians still lacked inspiration when it came to naming their boys. "You might have mentioned the son, Caenis."

"Why? So what have you offered his obviously virile papa?"

"Nothing yet. It's up to my man."

Caenis made herself more comfortable among the swansdown, and to assist her task of trying out all his sweetmeats, she commandeered their little silver plate. In such matters Narcissus had excellent Greek taste. The honeyed balls were packed all over with sesame seeds: twice the fun—eating them first, then hours of extra pleasure picking your teeth. "What we may offer him," Narcissus said carefully, "would hardly be a hammock in the sun."

"Something going on?" Caenis rapped back at once.

The Empire stretched from Africa to Gaul, from Farther Spain to Syria. Decades ago, when Varus lost three legions in the traumatic massacre in Germany, Augustus had decreed this far was enough. For thirty-five years now the policy had been to contain military effort within Rome's existing boundaries. Trying to expand would involve vast tracts of territory, small profit for a large outlay, and no particular prestige. There remained only one possibility that might be tempting for an emperor who needed a mad rapid exploit to confirm his position at a time when the legions were not even sure who he was and the Senate was tolerating him only until they thought of somebody to hoist up in his place.

Narcissus watched her working it out; he was proud of her.

"You're not serious, freedman! Not another crack at Britain?"

The island beyond the edge of the known world. It hummed with mystery; there was talk of deposits of silver and gold; Julius Caesar had been there, though he had had the sense to back off hastily; the great British King Conubelinus, who for years had preserved stability in the south and was tolerant of trade with Rome, had recently died, leaving a nest of ambitious, more hostile sons.

And the stores were already in the warehouses in Gaul; the plans worked up and filed; the triremes built.

Narcissus shrugged. "Thanks to Caligula all the logistical work has been done. There's even a glorious new lighthouse to beacon the way. Does he shrink in the wet, your Sabine friend? Will he frighten at blue men and druids' spells?"

"He can cope. Especially if there's a salary."