The Course of Honour by Lindsey Davis Read Free Book Online Page A

mistress. She always ensured that her own turnout was spectacular, but was not renowned for parting with good things to other slaves.
    Caenis whistled, which made Athenaïs giggle. She was deeply in awe of the secretary for being able to read and write, even though Caenis had made it plain since she first entered Antonia’s household that to anyone half sensible she was perfectly approachable. Athenaïs immediately made her try on the dress then squatted on the floor to alter the hem length, frowning with concentration as her nimble fingers flew. She seemed even more excited than Caenis was herself.
    â€˜I don’t suppose you could persuade Pamphila to find me an undertunic too?’
    Athenaïs scoffed. ‘I don’t suppose you would like to try being the person who asked her?’
    â€˜No; I know my limits, dear!’
    So Caenis came to the pantomime in her own shift, but a gown that had once belonged to the daughter of Mark Antony. It was one that showed its pedigree, in a shade of amber-brown, as plain as it had once been expensive. Veronica would think it dull stuff, but Caenis recognised true elegance. It was linen woven through at Tyre with Chinese silk, a material so light she found it fabulous to wear. The dress moved as she moved; it lay soft against the skin, tenderly cool during the heat of the day then with the evening chill whisperingly warm.
    â€˜You look nice,’ Vespasian remarked. No man had ever said that to Caenis before; none had ever thought he needed to. But he as usual was examining her. ‘You look happy.’
    For the first time Caenis glimpsed that although exquisite features and fine robes must help, real good looks depended on a glad heart. ‘Happy?’ she quipped. ‘Well, strolling out with a bankrupt will soon settle that! Shall we walk?’ she asked helpfully.
    â€˜I do have the price of a litter for my female companion.’
    â€˜Of course,’ she murmured. No slave travelled in such style. Teasinghim helped cover her unease. ‘But I was afraid that if you spent your small change now, you might have to miss your interval honey-cake.’
    â€˜Thanks!’ he said, suddenly meeting her halfway. ‘I do like a girl who grasps the practicalities.’
    Caenis stated quietly for the second time that week, ‘I think a girl in my position has to.’
    They walked.

 
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    T o walk through Rome was to bludgeon through one teeming city bazaar. The main time for trade was in the morning before the fabric of the buildings and the air in the streets heated up unbearably, but in Mediterranean tradition, after a long siesta—lunch, nap, a little light lovemaking—businesses gradually reopened for their second, more leisurely session in the afternoon. This was the time at which Caenis and Vespasian set out.
    They were starting on the Palatine, where the imperial family and those wealthy enough to imitate them had established their pleasant detached residences along the lower flank, with fine views over the Forum. When they plunged down from the Hill it was to make their way to the Theatre of Balbus along the Triumphal Way; their passage was hectic. To the rest of the world the Empire was giving the elegance of planned public buildings in spacious piazzas, wide roads, and new towns built upon geometric street plans that were four-square as the military forts from which they derived. Rome itself remained an eight-hundred-year-old honeycomb, a traditional maze of tight-cornered streets which clambered up and down the Seven Hills, often no more than inadequate passageways, twisting alleys, aimless double-backs, and crumbling cul-de-sacs. All of these were packed to bursting point.
    â€˜I’m going to lose you,’ Vespasian muttered. ‘Better hold my hand.’
    â€˜Oh no!’ In horror Caenis buried her hands under the light folds of her stole. He raised a dour eyebrow; she would not give