Chaos broke out. The German bodyguards ran amok and killed three senators. A group of Praetorian Guards invaded the imperial quarters, discovered Caesonia, the Emperor's wife, murdered her, and dashed out the brains of Drusilla, her infant child. The Senate gathered on the Capitol, which was defensible, having had the forethought to take with them the State and Military Treasuries so they could pay their way out of trouble. The mob milled about in the Forum below, where they were harangued by men from noble families who wanted to claim they had not been involved in the plot.
The Senate briefly fancied that the Republic might be restored, though individual members were acutely aware that would threaten their personal power. But then an odd accident intervened. Some soldiers, cheerily looting the Palace, found the last remaining adult male of the imperial family hiding behind a curtain, and for a joke proclaimed him Emperor.
The poor soul they seized on was Claudius, the son whom Antonia had always called ridiculous.
TWENTY
The imperial freedman Narcissus could not remember who this woman was.
"Well," she cried, with more irony than most people were using nowadays. "A new Emperor; a new Chief Secretary!" He was the most important man on Claudius' staff; he was expected to recognize everyone.
She had probably touched thirty. She had neither the flounces nor the necklaces of some citizen's matronly wife, yet despite all the spear-carriers, cloak and footwear attendants, name-takers and doorkeepers, she had got into his office, brushing off the paraphernalia of delay as carelessly as a naiad paddling through foam; she knew palaces. He wondered: One of us?
"Narcissus." Yes. And she knew she had floored him. "Little did I imagine that one day I should find you in an office as big as a wrestling hall, with a desk like Aphrodite's bedstead and a ruby signet ring. Come to that, which of us foresaw clownish Claudius' being shouldered through the streets by the Praetorian Guards? Did somebody in the Praetorians get up with a headache, or did they only get the headache after they realized what they had done?"
Narcissus, who had shared some interesting conversations in the last few weeks, made no answer while he went on sizing her up. Quality clothes—sage-green linen, evenly dyed and belted in with simple cords; a modest stole; gold on her arm; a pair of shoulder brooches, with very good garnets in antique metalwork. A stately walk; a gloss of hair folded back neatly from a vividly reminiscent face; that rapid gaze. He was certain he knew her. He knew those searching eyes.
Since he had not asked her to sit, she stood. His stern act rebounded; the freedman felt himself rebuked. He cleared his throat and signaled her to a stool.
Damn it; he definitely knew that air of haughty rebellion as she declined.
"It has been a long time," she derided him gently. "I used to think you were wonderful." Her eyes had a teasing gleam that must be new. "Easily the most intelligent man that I had ever known . . . So this elevation of yours is not, O my master, entirely unexpected." She had excellent manners; she was graciously helping him out now. "You always said I was the quickest child you ever taught—but I should never get anywhere until my handwriting was neat."
Of course!
Twenty years ago. He remembered now; he had a meticulous brain with a long reach. Thin as a strip of wind, and that morose, wounded stare that ripped into you like teasel hooks. Oh, he remembered this one; he used to start explaining something difficult, but before he was halfway through the logic, she would be up and asking questions on a point he hadn't intended to cover for another hour. The only thing that ever really held her back was that she understood the end of the lesson before her leaping brain had properly learned the steps along the way.
The others all hated her. Because she found everything so effortless—but most of all because, in a dull world, that ferocious scrap was bound to be any teacher's favorite.
"Caenis!" exclaimed the freedman Narcissus.
Then all the whifflers and fly-swatters who cluttered up his office leaned back in alarm from the roar as the Emperor's Chief Secretary laughed.
* * *
She would never be a beauty, but working for Antonia had turned her out immaculate. Fastidious, austere, sinfully clever—and probably still furious underneath.
They surveyed one another, smiling; neither was giving anything away.
"Want a favor, miss?"
"Do you one, sir."
These days, that was a pleasant change.
Caenis had worked out that an emperor whose popularity among the establishment was so shaky must be looking for new men. To cope, Claudius was setting up an organization at the Palace from the trusted ex-slaves of his own household: his mother's freedman Pallas at the Treasury, Caligula's man Callistus as Secretary of Petitions, and this fellow who had once been her own teacher, Narcissus, as the overall head of administration. Putting the Empire in the hands of his freedmen would never be approved by the patricians, but it would work. The Emperor's freedmen had a vested interest in keeping their patron on the throne.
With a new emperor the convention was that every senior post in provincial government and the army would be looked at afresh. Many officials would be changed. Narcissus was now in charge of that. So Caenis knew Narcissus would be recruiting the new men.
He was magnificently able. Wary to the point of seeming sinister, he would certainly use his grand position to his own advantage, but he could be relied on to enjoy organizing the Empire. He had dedication and flair. Quite likely a Greek in origin, he spoke with the extremely cultured voice of a foreigner who had the ear to overcome his oiliness; his Latin was better than that of most senators, and his Greek impeccable. He must be hated too.
"What favor, and why?" he demanded. He had always been testy.
"You sound just like a woman, Chief Secretary!"
"It's the job, dear. Organizing fools all day. Don't mess with me," he commanded. "What's his name?"
They were speaking now in low, familiar voices, people who had once worked together as slaves. No point in further delay. "Flavius Vespasianus," she said crisply. "His brother is a commanding legate in the army on the Rhine." There was a slight pause. "This one's brighter and more thorough," Caenis claimed. She still remembered the criteria Narcissus applied when judging people.
The Emperor's freedman pursed his lips and stared up at the ceiling high above his head. It was decorated with rotund cherubs and fauns surrounded by exquisite bouquets of flowers. Caligula had extended the Palace to take in the Temple of Castor and Pollux as his vestibule. At the same time some superb redecoration had been done. The Chief Secretary had allocated himself a showpiece suite. Well; he had an excuse. This was where ambassadors would soon be homing in from all over the world.
"Lover?" grilled the freedman nastily.
"No," Caenis replied, keeping her tone level. She had come prepared for his direct methods. "Was my lover, I admit. It's not at all relevant; you will find out when you check."