The Course of Honour Read Online Free Page B

garland-girl called Veronica. She may come asking about me, but if the door porter says I am working for you, madam, she will be satisfied.’ Veronica had never taken any interest in Caenis’ duties as a scribe.
    â€˜Well, I am sorry to have to imprison you here.’
    â€˜I shall try to endure it, madam,’ Caenis replied, smiling. She might as well acknowledge what it would mean to be living in Livia’s House.
    There was nothing for them to do. It would be weeks, if not longer, before Pallas reached the Bay of Naples and the Emperor reacted. The messenger might never get there.
    Even if Pallas did reach Capri, from all Caenis had heard there must be a good chance that Tiberius would choose to reject what Antonia was telling him. He was moody and unpredictable, and nobody likes to hear they have been betrayed. Even if Antonia’s measured words convinced him, there might be nothing he could do: the Praetorian Guards held absolute power in Rome. Arresting their commander appeared to be impossible. They would defend Sejanus to the last.
    His agents were everywhere. Only the unexpectedness of Antonia’s action could possibly outwit him.

 
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    F or Caenis this was in many ways the most significant period of her life. It all seemed too easy. Everyone looked too happy to welcome her. Caenis, who distrusted smiles, felt off balance for some time.
    Living in a private house was wonderful. She had been allocated her own tiny sleeping-cubicle instead of sharing with Veronica. She liked both the sense of belonging and the privacy.
    Born and bred in the Palace, Caenis could have no country and no relations of her own; she was one of ‘Caesar’s family’ but that title just made her imperial property. In some ways it had been good luck. It had spared her the indignity of standing naked in the market-place shackled among Africans, Syrians and Gauls, with notes of her good character and health hung around her neck while casual eyes derided her and rough hands pinched her breasts or forced between her thighs. She had escaped long-term insecurity, real filth, savage cruelty, regular sexual abuse. She understood that; she was grateful up to a point.
    Of her father she knew nothing; of her mother only that she must have been a slave too. Caenis had presumably stayed with her mother while she was very small; sometimes a smear of memory would catch her on that threshold between waking and shallow sleep. Before she was committed to the nursery where bright brats were taught towrite, her mother had pierced her ears even though all she had to hang there were pebbles on rags of string. She must have supposed her daughter was then ready to receive orbs of gold from susceptible men. There was always that foolish presumption that a slavegirl must look pretty. Caenis never had been; she knew her cleverness was the better bargain, but it made her sad all the same.
    She had been clever from the start. As a child frighteningly so. She learnt to disguise it, to escape spite in the infants’ dormitory, then later to use it so a usefully vibrant girl like Veronica would want to be her friend. Though a solitary child, she understood that she needed other people. As she grew older her resentments had dulled, so she neither tormented herself nor worried the overseers by appearing rebellious. But she possessed a keen drive to achieve the best she could.
    That was why working for Antonia was so important. Encouraged by the new confidence now placed in her, Caenis began to acquit herself outstandingly. Having once caught Antonia’s notice, every opportunity was hers. Straight-backed and calm, she worked as if nothing significant had happened—winning further trust from her mistress for her restrained reaction to events.
    Diadumenus, who must have been told what had happened, showed occasional signs of jealousy. He was still Chief Secretary, but Caenis had a special quality to offer. She was a