The Course of Honour Read Online Free

through fresh eyes. Working in a private house felt wonderful. She had already witnessed at close hand how Roman government was conducted. Like most family matters, it was based on short-term loyalties and long-term bad temper, pursued in an atmosphere of spite, greed and indigestion. Caenis had never had a family; she watched with delight.
    Whatever had disturbed her mistress this particular evening, the young secretary already appreciated the background: the Emperor Tiberius, whose famous brother, Drusus, had been Antonia’s husband, spent the last years of his bitter reign in depraved exile on the island of Capri; it had come to be accepted in Rome that he would never return here again. He was already over seventy so the question of a successor was never far away.
    Since Augustus had first based his political position upon his family ties with Julius Caesar, ruling Rome had become an inheritable right. Between genuine accidents and the grappling ambition of their fearsome womenfolk, most of the male heirs had gone to their graves. The Emperor’s own son, married to Antonia’s daughter Livilla, had died in rather odd circumstances eight years before. By default the choice now fell between Livilla’s son, Gemellus, and his cousin Caligula. A fine pair: Caligula, who when barely into his teens had seduced his own sister here in Antonia’s house, or Gemellus, who was deeply unpleasant and permanently sickly. But if Tiberius died in the near future Rome would be left to these two very young boyswhile immense power was also being wielded by Sejanus. Maybe Sejanus would prefer another solution.
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    Quite quietly and without any warning, Antonia came into the room. Caenis sprang to her feet.
    Antonia was nearly seventy, though she still had the round face, soft features, wide-set eyes and sweet mouth that had made her a famous beauty. Her hair, thinning now, was parted centrally and taken back above her ears to the nape of her neck in a neat, traditional style. Her gown and stole were unobtrusively rich, her earrings and pendants heavy antiques—attributes of extreme wealth and power to which she paid no regard.
    â€˜You are Caenis?’ The slavegirl nodded. The effect of her mistress’ assurance was to make her feel coarse and clumsy. ‘You are on duty alone? Well, something important has to be done. This cannot wait. We shall have to make the best of it.’ Her mistress gave her a hard look. A decision occurred. The slavegirl’s life took a sudden twist; for indecipherable reasons she was admitted to Antonia’s confidence.
    Somehow Caenis detected from the first that whatever was to be written had already been thoroughly considered. She had often seen her mistress composing correspondence as she went along; this was different. Now Antonia led her briskly into one of the more private little side rooms then signalled her to a low stool, while she herself continued pacing about, barely able to wait until Caenis had her stylus poised. It was a strange reversal; in Rome the great were seated while their inferiors stood. Caenis had been trained to take shorthand normally while on her feet at the foot of a couch where the dictator reclined.
    â€˜This is a letter to the Emperor about Lucius Aelius Sejanus.’
    Then Caenis understood. The brief formal announcement warned her—and it stunned her. Her mistress was about to expose the man.
    Speaking with pain and deliberation, Antonia dictated for Tiberius facts which she hated to acknowledge and which he would hate to hear. She had uncovered a great conspiracy. The sensational story would surprise few in Rome, although few would ever have voiced it,least of all to the Emperor. Here in this sheltered house Antonia’s realisation of it had been desperately slow to emerge, but those close to her had revealed the plot. She had not taken their word; she made her own investigations. Because of her privileged position she possessed the