A Body in the Bathhouse Read Online Free Page A

evenhanded way he offered both possibilities.
    “Another daughter, sir. Sosia Favonia.” Would it strike Vespasian that she was partly named after a relative of Helena’s? A dear bright young girl called Sosia, who had been murdered as a consequence of the first mission I undertook for him—murdered by his son Domitian, though of course we never mentioned that.
    “Charming.” If his eyes hardened briefly, it was impossible to detect. “My congratulations to your—”
    “Wife,” I said firmly. Vespasian glowered. Helena was a senator’s daughter and should be married to a senator. Her intelligence, her money, and her childbearing ability ought to be at the disposal of the halfwits in the “best” families. I pretended to see his point. “Of course I explain to Helena Justina continually that the cheap appeal of an exciting life with me should not draw her from her inherited role as a member of patrician society—but what can I do? The poor girl is besotted and refuses to leave me. Her pleas when I threaten to send her back to her noble father are heartrending—”
    “That’s enough, Falco!”
    “Caesar.”
    He flung a stylus aside. Watchful secretaries slid forward and collected a pile of waxed tablets in case he dashed them to the ground. Vespasian, however, was not that kind of spoiled hero. He had once had to budget cautiously; he knew the price of tablet wax.
    “Well, I may want to put space between you two temporarily.”
    “Ah. Anything to do with Julius Frontinus and the Isles of Mystery?” I preempted him.
    The Emperor scowled. “He’s a good man. And he’s known to you.”
    “I think highly of Frontinus.”
    Vespasian ignored the chance to flatter me with the provincial governor’s opinion of me. “There’s nothing wrong with Britain.”
    “Well, you know I know that, sir.” Like all subordinates, I hoped my commander in chief remembered my entire personal history. Like most generals, Vespasian forgot even episodes he had been involved with—but given time, he would recall that he himself had sent me to Britain four years ago. “That is,” I said dryly, “if you leave out the weather, the total lack of infrastructure, the women, the
men
, the food, the drink, and the mammoth traveling distance from one’s dear Roman heritage!”
    “Can’t lure you with some boar hunting?”
    “Not my style.” Even if it had been, the Empire was packed with more thrilling places to chase wildlife across ghastly terrain. Most of the other places were sunny and had cities. “Nor do I cherish a visionary wish to implant civilization among the awestruck British tribes.”
    Vespasian grinned. “Oh, I’ve dispatched a bunch of lawyers and philosophers to do that.”
    “I know, sir. They hadn’t achieved much the last time you sent me north.” I had plenty more to say about Britain. “As I recall, the pasty-faced tribes had still not learned what to do with the sponge on the stick at public latrines. Where anybody had yet built any latrines.” Goose pimples ran across my arm. Without intending it, I added, “I was there during the Rebellion. That should be enough for anyone.”
    Vespasian shifted slightly on the bench. The Rebellion was down to Nero, but it still made all Romans shudder. “Well, somebody has to go, Falco.”
    I said nothing.
    He tried frankness. “There is a monumental cock-up on a rather public project.”
    “Yes, sir. Frontinus let me into his confidence.”
    “Can’t be worse than the troubles you sorted in the silver mines.” So he did remember sending me to Britain previously. “A quick dash over there; audit the slapdash buggers; nail any frauds; then straight home. For you, it’s a snip, Falco.”
    “Should be a snip for anyone then, Caesar; I’m no demigod. Why don’t you send Anacrites?” I suggested nastily. I always liked to think Vespasian reined in the Chief Spy because he distrusted the man’s abilities. “I am desolate to disappoint you, Caesar,