The old lady stirred. Her well-attended skin had preserved its sweet suppleness until now, but her face had grown thinner, and since Livilla's disgrace despair was beginning to show in the fine creases at the corners of her eyes.

The moment had become awkward.

"Why are you telling me?" Antonia demanded. "Do you wish me to forbid it?"

Caenis was taking an enormous risk. When the Chief Secretary, Diadumenus, had first stipulated that Antonia must be told of any approaches from knights or senators, he had meant approaches on business matters; there ought to be no other kind of commerce with their lady's slaves.

"I prefer to be open, madam."

In other households it was usually understood that other commerce did occur. . . . Not here. Or if here, it never happened openly.

Even after knowing Caenis for several years, Antonia immediately decided her slave had loose morals and would be easy prey for a political shark. It was unfair; Caenis had always been scrupulous.

"You ask me to condone the friendship? How long have you been dealing with this man?"

Caenis said tersely, "I don't deal with him. I don't even know if he expects it."

Antonia moved impatiently. "Come; who is he?"

"Flavius Vespasianus, a knight from Reate. The family is not prominent, though his brother, Sabinus, has been here as a client of Lucius Vitellius. Madam, you asked me long ago if I had male followers, and I told you no."

There was some improvement in Antonia's expression. "So what is this?"

"A slight friendship I struck up with a newcomer to Rome, nothing more." How could it be? The sheer impossibility filled her with dread. "He has been on service abroad and has few friends in Rome."

"Yet he sought you out!"

"I believe that was coincidence."

"You believe nothing of the sort! Is he seeking only your favors, or does he hope for influence?"