There was another more conventional garden, with neat borders set with hedges of trimmed rosemary, grave statues of the imperial family that studded formal acanthus beds, and cypress trees bristling at intervals like a military guard along the fine-grained gravel paths. That was a place to take foreign ambassadors. This was for friends.

Caenis and Narcissus relaxed on a stone seat among the arching fronds of an abutilon, with their feet on the edge of a pond. It was late in the year. Caenis was still in mourning. She wrapped her head in a dignified white mantle and hoped to impress her new slave. They watched him approach: not quite in his twenties, short as all Palace slaves were and slightly rickety, a lean face with a blue chin. He had a way of looking at people too directly, which Caenis recognized; he was brave to the verge of revolt. If he chose, he would do his work well in a defiant, offhand way; handled wrongly he was at an age where he could soon be written off as insubordinate and sold to a lupin-seller.

Narcissus let him stand.

"This is Antonia Caenis, an important freedwoman of the imperial family."

No sign of recognition; he was definitely surly. She let him see her weighing him up, then spoke in her calm, trained voice. "Aglaus, isn't it? What's his work like, Narcissus?"

"He's lazy, sly, and insolent," Narcissus replied cheerfully. "They all are nowadays. Don't expect our standards anymore." He was well aware Caenis would think the belligerent lad worth saving: so like herself at the same age.

"Tell me, Aglaus; are you ambitious?"

"Yes, madam." He spoke with the weary indifference of someone giving the answers he knows to be correct.

Caenis pinched her mouth. "Then you have a rare choice. I need a steward. Your chance to be in charge."

Now the lad put his shoulders back and began to act on his own behalf. Obviously he had thought this through. "The penalty, I suppose, is a mistress who knows all the dodges herself? Safe enough if I know before I start! I suppose madam will have a front door with a bronze seahorse knocker, and closed shutters shading all her rooms?"

This was rather quaint for Caenis, but she understood what he meant. "Naturally! Dried flowers, tiny portions at table, all the servants creeping around in soft felt shoes."

Narcissus gave vent to his awful laugh.

"Men visiting?" interrogated the slave. He certainly had a cheek.

"Not often," she returned placidly, retreating from the thought of Marius.

"Women, then?"

"Not if I can help it. And unless you ask my permission, neither will you! Nor do I want smooth-faced altar boys from the Temple of Ganymede loitering around my kitchen door."

His impertinence, far from enraging her, was winning her interest. She could not bear people in her home who lacked character. He was deliberately trying out how far he could go, his lip curling into a sneer that would do well for suppressing butchers who overcharged. "Keep leaky lapdogs? Tame ducks? Crocodiles?"

"No," Caenis responded briefly. "Whose interview is this?"

"Mine, I hope." Aglaus was forthright. "You can sell me; I'll be stuck."

Caenis turned to Narcissus dispassionately. "No harm in spirit, but will he be polite to my friends?"

"Yes, madam!" said the slave, smirking. She guessed he did not want to work for a woman; she did not blame him for that, since with the rare exception of Antonia, neither did she.

The chance of responsibility was tantalizing him. He declared, "I'll risk it. I'll take the post."

"Will you, by Jupiter!" Narcissus exclaimed.

Caenis shushed him. "Oh, I'll give him a trial. Thank you, Aglaus."

He saluted her politely enough now. "Antonia Caenis."

"Caenis will do. Just Caenis." She would never change.

"Well; Lady Caenis then."

Narcissus nodded tetchily to dismiss him.

Both Caenis and Narcissus smiled, suddenly remembering old times.

"Seems ideal to me," the freedman told her. "You'll squabble, but the fellow will adore you."

Caenis said drily, "I'm not sure adoration is a commodity I recognize, or even want."

There was a small silence. She needed to ask Narcissus about Marius' will; he was giving her time to start.

It was at that point she became aware, and Narcissus must have noticed too, that hasty footsteps were approaching from the house. Someone had clattered down the informal stone steps behind them, skidded under a small palm tree that leaned across one of the paved areas, and was now striding through the long arch of trellis where in summer the honeysuckle formed a sweet approach to this nook where Narcissus liked to sit. Someone who knew Narcissus well enough to come straight out here unannounced. Someone thoroughly agitated. A man whose heavy step Caenis had instantly recognized.

She settled her mantle more closely around her face. The man arrived. Narcissus looked up. His visitor flung himself onto a second bench. He began to speak; saw someone there; recognized her; checked himself quietly. "Sorry. No one told me I was disturbing you. I'll come back." He was already on his feet.

It was Flavius Vespasianus, minus his troop of ceremonial lictors, but otherwise in full consular robes.

* * *

Normally everything gave way for a city magistrate. Even the Chief Secretary became faultlessly polite. "Consul! I know this lady has something to discuss with me, but she will not object to waiting; shall I ask her to withdraw?"

Vespasian muttered in his abrupt way, "Thanks. No need."

"Is this private?" Narcissus worried.

Vespasian flopped down again on the other bench. That old frown bit deeply into his brow. Now that he had accustomed himself to the situation, he resented its disturbing anyone else. "No. Stop flapping, Narcissus. If the lady wants me to go she'll tell me to skip over the Styx, and if she wants to leave herself she'll up and disappear."

So true! Caenis looked at the pool.

Narcissus was sufficiently shy of private relationships to be embarrassed by this meeting; until now he had somehow prevented any such confrontation with what he thought was exquisite tact. He was feeling far more uncomfortable than either of the other two. Blushing, he asked the Consul whatever was wrong. Vespasian wrenched off a branch from a nearby shrub, and began tearing it to shreds.

"Oh, these accursed imperial women! First we come home from the back of beyond to find Messalina picking off every friend or colleague Claudius owns, then you and Pallas set him up with another scheming, suspicious, incestuous Julian cow who decides to make it her business to run the Empire. . . ." This description of the Augusta, as Agrippina now styled herself, exactly fitted Narcissus' own opinion, Caenis knew.

He murmured fussily, "Consul, you are under stress."

"Stress! Narcissus, the woman's impossible. I have to deal with her so long as Claudius leaves her loose. Oh, I'll stick out my term, but she must know what I think."

"She knows what you said when Caligula accused her of adultery and conspiracy!" Narcissus reprimanded him.

"So we're permanent enemies! When my time's up as Consul I'll have to leave the court."

"Sounds wise!"

"Sounds unjust!"

Narcissus shrugged in that slightly oriental way. "Yes. Still, serenity and leisure on your country estate—it's a Roman ideal. You'll be balloted soon for a provincial governorship. Enjoy yourself meanwhile. Weed your vines, or whatever you have; keep your head down and keep your temper. A good man—best out of the way."

The Consul was still furious. "I'll have nothing!"

Narcissus suddenly sat up. "No, sir! On my list you have an honest wife and three healthy children, the army's acclaim, the Senate's respect, and the liking of a great many private citizens. Your funds may be low—"