The Course of Honour by Lindsey Davis Page B

Caenis Antonia!’ He pronounced it in full as a deliberate compliment, acknowledging her new right to be named after her patroness: that bad-tempered slavey he had first met with the pan of hot sausage, for ever now allied to the noble families of Augustus Caesar and Mark Antony.
    â€˜Just Caenis,’ she shrugged. He barked with mirth; she would never change.
    He set his lamp on a plinth. ‘An imperial freedwoman,’ he marvelled. ‘Smiling in a verandah under the stars.’ He sat on the edge of a pillar base, holding his head ruefully between his hands. ‘O elegant and influential young lady! Far, far above a poor provincial bumpkin’s reach.’
    â€˜Never,’ Caenis told him softly. The dim lamplight wavered on that wonderfully jovial face so the shadow of his nose hooked in a mad slant over one cheek while the outline of his chin lapped wildly down into the hollow of his throat.
    â€˜Never? Oh I think in many ways you always were . . .’ She felt like a flattered queen. He said, shining with joy for her, ‘You look as if yourheart could burst with pride. You should have told me you had been made up—I suppose you know I’ve followed you about all day. I won’t tell you the things I was starting to imagine when I saw how you were queening it. Fortunately the Saepta Julia shuts up shop quite late.’
    The Saepta Julia was the market for jewellery and antiques; Caenis reckoned it was not one of Vespasian’s customary haunts. ‘I thought the Saepta was where a gentleman goes when he wants to waste a great deal of money?’
    â€˜Spend a lot anyway,’ remarked Vespasian lightly. ‘There you are. With my congratulations. Don’t get excited; you can’t eat it.’ Withdrawing his right hand from the fold of his toga, he dropped a small but heavy package into her lap. It was tied with the kind of sleek ribbon which stated that the contents had been purchased at hideous cost.
    Deeply troubled, Caenis shook her head. ‘My word, this does look like a bribe, senator!’
    â€˜Sadly for me, I know you can’t be bought. Go on.’
    â€˜What is it?’ She was as stubborn as ever.
    â€˜New shackles.’ He waited for her to look. It was a good gold bangle, in strikingly elegant taste, and of first-quality gold. ‘Since you like to sit in the dark,’ he said, ‘I shall have to tell you I had your name engraved inside—so you can’t pawn it and neither can you take it back. Your name, and also,’ he added bravely, ‘mine.’
    There was a very slight pause.
    â€˜It’s lovely . . . You can’t afford it,’ she protested. ‘You know you can’t.’
    â€˜No. A polite girl,’ Vespasian observed, ‘would try it on.’ Caenis obediently did so.
    That pillar base was striking up cold through his clothes; he stood up. For a bad moment she thought he was already taking his leave.
    â€˜Titus, thank you!’
    He was visibly surprised. ‘You accept my gift?’
    â€˜Certainly.’
    They both knew that with her obstinate streak she might not intend accepting anything else; she wondered if his spirits sank. Without exactly flirting, she found herself enjoying her sense of command.
    As she admired the bangle, Caenis lifted her feet from the floor. She was sitting in a silly summer chair that hung like a cradle from a frame. Now she automatically stretched her toes and swung; when she slowed, Vespasian lent a helping hand.
    â€˜Welcome home!’ she exclaimed belatedly, looking up. ‘Thank you for writing to me; I enjoyed your letters.’
    â€˜Thank you too.’
    â€˜My last to you has probably gone astray.’
    Nothing ruffled him. ‘Probably lie in the Cretan quaestors’ work box for the next forty years, filed under “Too Difficult” . . . Glad to see me back?’
    â€˜Mmm!’ The chair spun