“I should think you are fairly showered with presents nowadays,” I commented daringly.
“Rather an irony,” returned Caenis, unperturbed. She had a cultured Palace voice, but with a permanent dry tone. I could imagine how she and Vespasian might always have mocked at the establishment; she at least probably still did so.
“People believe you can influence the Emperor.”
“That would be most improper.”
“I don't see why,” protested Helena Justina. “Men in power always have their intimate circle of friends who advise them. Why should it not include the women they trust?”
“Of course I am free to say what I think!” smiled the Emperor's mistress.
“Forthright women are a joy,” I said. Helena and I had exchanged views on the crispness of cabbage in terms that still made my hair stand on end.
“I'm glad that you think so,” Helena commented.
“Vespasian always values sound opinions,” replied Caenis, speaking like an official court biographer, though I sensed domestic satire much like our own was lurking underneath.
“With his burden of work in rebuilding the Empire,” I suggested, “Vespasian must also welcome a partner in his labours.”
“Titus is a great joy to him,” returned Caenis serenely. She knew how to misunderstand a tricky point. “And I am sure he has hopes of Domitian.” Vespasian's elder son was virtually co-Emperor and although the younger had made a few gaffes, he still carried out formal duties. I had a deep-running feud with Domitian Caesar and fell silent, brooding on how he charged me with bile. Antonia Caenis finally waved me to a seat.