Free Of Merchants & Heros by Paul Waters Page B

not have been clearer.’
    I glanced at the cypresswood table in the corner, where such things were usually left. But except for the tall vase of green glass that always stood there, which Telamon kept stocked with herbs and flowers from the garden, the table was empty.
    ‘Then where is it?’ I said. But even as I spoke I had guessed.
    Poor Telamon. Whoever the previous master of the house had been – and he was too discreet to speak of him to me – he had clearly been a man of breeding and fine manners. With Caecilius, he was at a loss. Seeing this I thanked him, and said, ‘No matter; I understand.’ And then we both looked round as Caecilius’s summoning voice came from his workroom.
    The note, as I had already guessed, was from Titus. It lay open on the desk, an elegant papyrus scroll with the name ‘Marcus’ in a bold hand in black ink.
    ‘It seems, after all, that you have made a favourable impression,’
    said my stepfather, looking up. ‘Now Caeso the praetor is sure to be at this gathering: you must do your best to persuade him to grant me the supply-contract for the garrison. At the moment that fool Mummius has it; but I can offer a better price. Make sure you tell him so. Shall I write it down, with the figures? Or will you keep them in your head? And don’t forget to tell him I am already supplying the fleet in Kerkyra – though I expect he has heard that already . . .’
    He talked on, but he must have seen my eyes stray to the note, for he broke off and said, ‘What now? I receive many messages each day, and of course I did not notice your name till I had opened it.’
    ‘No, sir.’
    He peered at me and sniffed. ‘Anyway, you are my son by adoption. You are under my authority and I may do as I please.
    Here, read it yourself.’
    He pushed the note across the desk at me.
    It said: ‘Titus to Marcus, greetings. Come the day after tomorrow, at sunset. Meanwhile here is a small token, from uncle Caeso, who fares well, and from me. Something Greek. If you like it, wear it.’
    The box – a small, painted gift-box – sat on the desk. The seal was broken and the cord had been undone. Caecilius must have been busy at it when I arrived.
    I lifted the lid, and pulled out a fine white tunic with a border worked in green and scarlet, and held it up to look at it. It was better than anything else I possessed.
    ‘Fine work,’ nodded Caecilius, rubbing it with his short, thick fingers. ‘Milesian wool. It would be hard to find such quality even at the best shops in Rome.’ And then, glancing up and giving me a sharp look, ‘This Titus, it is said, likes all things Greek. You are not a bad-looking lad, despite your scarred leg. Make sure you watch yourself at this party of his.’
    Thus, in his expert way, he added vinegar to the wine. I pretended I did not know what he meant, but no doubt my reddening face betrayed my understanding. I had received a gift from a friend, nothing more. But all things, for him, had to have a base motive; and until he had uncovered it he was not content.
    Titus’s dinner-party was indeed very Greek – elegant supper-couches of polished wood and striped, silk cushions; a flautist in the corner, playing a Lydian air; a dinner service of antique silverware, and, upon it, a varied meal of small exquisite portions – Sicilian sucking kid, honeyed fowl scattered with sesame, spiced fish wrapped in delicate pastries – all perfectly prepared and served by well-trained staff.
    When I arrived I asked after Caeso the praetor.
    ‘He is in bed, and will not be joining us,’ said Titus. ‘His wound is troubling him. At last he is heeding his doctor’s advice and resting.’
    He led me in among the couches, introducing me to his friends.
    There were two Romans about Titus’s age, called Villius and Terentius; there was a young tribune from the garrison; and there were two Greeks from Tarentum, who were something to do with the city government.
    I greeted all these people. But