Pallas, Antonia's most trusted slave, came into the room, dressed in a traveling cloak and clearly primed to collect the letter. Their mistress motioned him to wait in silence while Caenis completed her task. Newly confident, she copied her notes without mistakes, writing calmly and steadily even though her mouth felt dry and her cheeks flushed. What she was committing to ink and parchment could be a death warrant for all of them.

Antonia read through and signed the letter. Caenis melted wax to seal the scroll. Pallas took charge of it.

"Do not let this fall into other hands," Antonia reminded him, obviously repeating previous instructions. "If you are stopped, say you are traveling to my estate at Bauli. Give the letter only into the Emperor's own hands, then wait in case he wishes to question you."

The messenger left. Pallas was not a type Caenis cared for. He was a Greek from Arcadia, visibly ambitious, whose appeal to Antonia struck her as incongruous. He went on his way with a jaunty step that seemed out of place. But perhaps his carefree manner would disguise the importance of his mission from soldiers and spies.

The two women sat for a moment.

"Remove every trace from your note tablets, Caenis."

Caenis held the tablets above the flame of a lamp to soften the wax a little, then methodically drew the flat end of her stylus through each line of shorthand. Staring at the newly smoothed surface, she said in a low voice, "It is useless, madam. I would have erased the letter in any case, but every document you ever dictate to me remains in my mind."

"Let us hope your loyalty matches your memory," Antonia replied ruefully.

"You may have faith in both, madam."

"That will be fortunate for Rome! You will remain in this house," Antonia stated. "You may speak to no one until these matters are resolved. It is for the safety of Rome and the Emperor, for my safety—and for your own." Faint distaste colored her voice: "Do you have male followers who will look for you?"