they discussed how the world worked. Helena had the animated look that meant she was truly enjoying herself. That was rare; she tended to be unsociable except with people she knew well.
Her companion was twice her age, an undeniably elderly woman with a slightly drawn expression. Her name was Antonia Caenis. Though a freedwoman, she was one of grand status: she had once worked for the mother of the Emperor Claudius. That had given her long and close connections with the old discredited imperial family and now she possessed even more intimate links with the new one: she was the long-time mistress of Vespasian. As an ex-slave she could never marry him, but after his wife died they had lived openly together. Everyone had assumed that upon becoming Emperor he would shed her discreetly, but he took her with him to the Palace. At their age it was hardly a scandal. This villa presumably belonged to Caenis herself; if she still came here, it must be to transact business of an unofficial kind.
I had heard that it happened. Vespasian liked to appear too straight to permit backstage machinations-yet he must be happy to have someone he trusted negotiate discreet deals while he kept his distance and apparently kept his hands clean.
The two women were seated on cushions on a low stone seat with lion's paw feet. At my approach both turned and broke off what they were saying. I glimpsed mutual annoyance at my interruption. I was a man. Whatever they had been debating was outside my sphere. That did not mean it had been frivolous.
“Well, here you are then!” exclaimed Helena, making me nervous
“I wondered what I was missing.”
Antonia Caenis inclined her head and greeted me without being introduced. “Didius Falco.”
She was good; I had once stood aside for her when I was visiting Titus Caesar at the Palace, but it was some time ago and we had never met formally. I had already heard she was intelligent, and possessed a phenomenal memory. Apparently I had been well catalogued: but in which pigeon-hole?
“Antonia Caenis.”
I was standing, the traditional position for the servile element in the presence of the great. The ladies enjoyed treating me like a barbarian. I winked at Helena, who coloured slightly, afraid I might wink at Caenis too. I reckoned Vespasian's dame would have handled it, but I was a guest in her house. Besides, she was a woman with unknown Palace privileges. Before I risked annoying her I wanted to assess just how powerful she was.
“You have presented me with a most generous gift,” said Caenis. That was news. As it had been explained to me some months ago in Hispania, Helena Justina was proposing a private sale of some purple-dyed Baetican cloth that would be suitable for imperial uniforms. It was supposed to bring in goodwill, but had been intended as a commercial transaction For a senator's daughter Helena possessed a surprising knack for bargaining; if she had now decided to waive payment, she must have a very good reason: something else was being brokered here today. I could guess what it was.
“I should think you are fairly showered with presents nowadays,” I commented daringly.
“Rather an irony,” returned Caenis, unperturbed. She had a cultured Palace voice, but with a permanent dry tone. I could imagine how she and Vespasian might always have mocked at the establishment; she at least probably still did so.
“People believe you can influence the Emperor.”
“That would be most improper.”
“I don't see why,” protested Helena Justina. “Men in power always have their intimate circle of friends who advise them. Why should it not include the women they trust?”
“Of course I am free to say what I think!” smiled the Emperor's mistress.
“Forthright women are a joy,” I said. Helena and I had exchanged views on the crispness of cabbage in terms that still made my hair stand on end.
“I'm glad that you think so,” Helena commented.
“Vespasian always values sound opinions,” replied Caenis, speaking like an official court biographer, though I sensed domestic satire much like our own was lurking underneath.
“With his burden of work in rebuilding the Empire,” I suggested, “Vespasian must also welcome a partner in his labours.”
“Titus is a great joy to him,” returned Caenis serenely. She knew how to misunderstand a tricky point. “And I am sure he has hopes of Domitian.” Vespasian's elder son was virtually co-Emperor and although the younger had made a few gaffes, he still carried out formal duties. I had a deep-running feud with Domitian Caesar and fell silent, brooding on how he charged me with bile. Antonia Caenis finally waved me to a seat.
In the three years since Vespasian became Emperor popular suspicion had it that this lady was enjoying herself. It was believed that the highest posts-tribuneships and priesthoods-could be allocated at her word (in return for payment). Pardons were bought. Decisions were fixed. It was said that Vespasian encouraged this trade, which not only enriched and empowered his concubine but bought grateful friends for him. I wondered about their arrangement for sharing the financial profits. Was it divided by a strict percentage? On a sliding scale? Did Caenis make deductions for expenses and wear and tear?
“Falco, I am not in a position to sell you favours,” she declared, as if she read my thoughts. All her life people must have made up to her because of her closeness to the court. Her eyes were dark and watchful. In the mad, suspicious turbulence of the Claudian family, too many of her patrons and mends had died. Too many of her years had been lost to painful uncertainty. Whatever was for sale in this elegant villa would be handled with scrupulous attention, not least attention to its value.
“I am not in a position to buy,” I replied frankly.
“I cannot even make you promises.”
I disbelieved that.
Helena leant forwards to speak, so her blue stole slipped from her left shoulder and fell across her lap, its trim catching in one of the row of light bangles she wore to cover the scar from a scorpion bite. She shook the stole free impatiently. The gown below was white, a formal choice. I noticed she was wearing an old agate necklace that she had owned before I met her, subconsciously playing the senator's daughter again. Pulling rank seemed unlikely to work.
“Marcus Didius is far too proud to pay for privileges.” I loved Helena when she spoke so earnestly, especially when it was about me. “He won't tell you himself: but he has been sorely disappointed-and after Vespasian had made him a direct offer of promotion to the middle rank.”
Caenis listened with an air of distaste, as if complaints were bad manners. She had undoubtedly heard the whole story of how I went to the Palace to claim my reward. Vespasian had promised me social advancement, but I chose to ask for it one night when Vespasian himself had been out of Rome and Domitian was handling pleas. Overconfident, I brazened it out with the princeling; for that I paid the penalty. I held evidence against Domitian on a very serious charge, and he knew it. He had never moved against me openly, but that night he took his revenge by turning me down.
Domitian was a brat. He was also dangerous, and I reckoned Caenis was shrewd enough to see it. Whether she would ever disturb the family peace by saying so was another matter. But if she was prepared to criticize him, would she speak up on my behalf?
Caenis must know what we wanted. Helena had made an appointment to come here, and as an ex-secretary to the court, Caenis would naturally have obtained full briefing material before confronting supplicants.
She made no answer, still pretending not to intervene in affairs of state.
“Disappointment has never made Marcus falter in his service to the Empire.” Helena spoke again, without bitterness though her expression was austere. “His work has included several very dangerous provincial journeys, and you must be aware of what he achieved in Britain, Germany, Nabataea, and Spain. Now he wants to offer his services to the Census, as I outlined to you just now-”
This was received with a cool, noncommittal nod.
“It's an idea I conceived with Camillus Verus,” I explained. “Helena's father is of course a good friend of the Emperor.”
Caenis graciously picked up the hint: “Camillus is your patron?” Patronage was the weft of Roman society (where the warp was gran). “So has the senator spoken to the Emperor on your behalf?”
“I was not brought up to be anybody's client.”
“Papa supports Marcus Didius fully,” interposed Helena.
“I am sure that he would do.”
