Sabinus winced. "Sounds like a middle-class lunch!"

She liked this senator more than she expected. He seemed honest and well intentioned. She let herself exclaim, "Well, everything's relative, lord! A rich knight is more cheerful than a poor senator. To be poor but middle class is still better than being a commoner who hardly has the right to pick his nose in the public street. A slave at the Imperial Palace leads a softer life than the free boatman who lives in a flooded shack on the Tiber's bank . . ." Since they did not stop her, she went on rashly: "The power of the Senate has become a delusion; Rome is ruled by the commander of the Praetorian Guard . . ."

She should never have said that aloud.

To distract them, she rushed on: "As for me, I was born in a palace; I have warmth and music, easy work, and opportunity to progress. Perhaps more freedom than a high-born Roman girl with a garnet in each ear who lives penned in her father's house with nothing to do but be married off to some wealthy halfwit who spends all his time trying to escape her for intelligent conversation and unforced sexual favors—even perhaps if he's not an absolute halfwit, some genuine affection—with the likes of Veronica and me!"

She stopped, breathless. A political statement had escaped her; worse, she had betrayed something of herself. She shifted from foot to foot with unease.

The younger man's serious gaze was disturbing her. That was why she muttered, "Oh do stop leering at my sausage! Want a piece?"

There was a shocked pause.

It was unthinkable.

"No; thank you!" said Sabinus hastily, trying to override his brother—no easy task.

Caenis was gruff but generous. Giving up the struggle for privacy, she offered the young knight a slice on the point of her knife; he nipped it off between his fingers at once.