
One thing was certain. I had committed domestic sacrilege. Helena Justina might overlook many insults, but my bumming off to Veii on her birthday was not one of them. The fact I didn't know it was her birthday was irrelevant. I should have done.
'Didius Falco, Caesar:' Before I was ready to concentrate on political matters, a major-domo who reeked of long-standing vanity and recently braised onions announced my name to the Emperor.
'That's a long face. What's up, Falco?'
'Woman trouble,' I admitted.
Vespasian enjoyed a laugh. He threw back his great head and guffawed. 'Want my advice?'
'Thanks, Caesar.' I grinned. 'At least this heartthrob didn't run off with my armpurse or elope with my best friend:'
We hit a small moment of stillness, as if the Emperor had remembered with disapproval who my latest heartthrob was.
Vespasian Augustus was a beefy bourgeois with a down-to-earth manner who had risen to power on the tail of a vicious civil war and then set out to prove that men who lacked flash ancestors could still own a talent to rule. He and his elder son Titus were succeeding- which guaranteed that the snobs in the Senate would never accept them. Still, Vespasian had been struggling for sixty years-too long to expect easy recognition, even when he wore a purple robe.
'You're in no hurry to know about your mission, Falco.'
'I know I don't want it.'
'That's normal.' Vespasian humphed mildly, then told a slave, 'Let's see Canidius now.' I didn't bother wondering who Canidius was. If he worked here, I didn't like him enough to care. The Emperor beckoned me closer. 'What do you know about Germany?'
