Free A Body in the Bathhouse by Lindsey Davis Page B

“For Vespasian, it would have had reassurance and propaganda value.”
    “Judging by the size of Vespasian’s honorarium,
he
thinks Togidubnus was thrilled to see him as Emperor,” Helena decided. “They look unlikely friends, perhaps. But Vespasian and Togidubnus were both young men on the make together back in the invasion days. Vespasian has founded his whole political life on his military success then; Togidubnus took over from the ancient Verica. He acquired the status of a respected ally—and by one means or another, he obtained substantial wealth.”
    “How—”
    “Don’t ask where the money comes from,” I intervened.
    “He is bribed?” Justinus jumped in with the libel anyway.
    “When you conquer a province,” his brother explained to him, “some tribes get catapults hurling big rocks up their backsides—while others are courteously rewarded with ample gifts.”
    “I suppose the respective financial benefits have been carefully worked out by generations of palace actuaries?” Justinus still sounded sharp.
    I grinned. “The dear tribes can decide for themselves whether they choose a javelin in the ribs and having their women raped, or cartloads of wine, some nice secondhand diadems, and a delegation of elderly prostitutes from Artemisia setting up shop at the tribal capital.”
    “All in the name of progress and culture!” Justinus groused dryly.
    “The Atrebates
do
see themselves as progressive, so they took the loot.”
    “Vespasian is not a sentimentalist,” Helena concluded, “but he must remember Togidubnus from the special time of his own youth. Now they are both elderly, and old men grow nostalgic. Just wait—all three of you. I hope I’m there to see you all talking about the good old days!”
    I hoped she would be. I nearly said that when one day I started dithering and dreaming, the last thing I would want was a dank, frescoed house in Britain. Still, you never know!
    Justinus had captured the plan of the King’s great new house. He was staring at it with all the envy of a newly married man who was lodged at home with his parents. Jealousy gave way to a more distant look in his dark eyes. Being a cynic, I did not believe our sentimental hero was nostalgic for his Baetican bride of barely a few months, Claudia Rufina.
    Claudia had not accompanied us on this trip. She was a game girl, but she had been led to believe Justinus would be returning to Rome. He must have persuaded her to wait behind. I watched him thoughtfully. In some ways I knew him better than his family or friends; I had traveled with Quintus Camillus Justinus on a dangerous mission among barbarian tribes before. I had a fair idea that when he grew nostalgic, there was an unreachable, idealized beauty filling his mind. We would find golden-haired women in Britain who looked like the woman in Germany who still featured in his dreams.
    Aelianus, being a bachelor, had the right to enjoy all the amenities of travel, including romantic ones. Instead, he had appointed himself the man of sense who ran our show. So now he was staring in amazement at the mansio landlord’s enormous bill.
    Helena went upstairs to feed the baby and settle Julia. We were a large enough group to commandeer ourselves a whole dormitory most nights. I preferred to keep my party together and to exclude mad-eyed thieving strangers. The women accepted shared accommodation calmly, though the boys had been shocked at first. Privacy is not a Roman necessity; our room only needed to be cheap and convenient. We all just fell on our hard narrow beds in our clothes and slept like logs. Hyspale snored. She would.
    I stayed behind with a wine flagon now, keeping an eye on Maia. She was talking to a man. I’m no Roman paternalist. She was free to converse. But a woman who distances herself from the party she travels with can be seen by strangers as up for anything. In fact, Maia was waiting in tense fury for her nightmare removal from Rome to be over; she