The Colour of power. Marié Heese

Caesar.”

      Eyebrows raised in surprise, he nodded. “And what was the Rubicon?”

      “A river, outside Rome. It meant that civil war against General Pompey was inevitable. When he had crossed it, Caesar said: ‘The die is cast.’”

      “And the outcome?”

      “Caesar triumphed. But in the end, he lost. He was murdered on the Senate steps. He bled,” said Theodora, “on a statue of Pompey.”

      “Do I detect a lack of sympathy?”

      “I think Caesar was foolish,” said Theodora. “Blinded by ambition. He should have seen it coming, and … well … taken measures.”

      “Could he have?”

      “If he’d kept an ear to the ground. Been more aware of people’s feelings.”

      He gave a small smile. “You know your history.”

      “Not as much as I’d like,” said Theodora.

      “Why not? You’ve been well taught.”

      “My mother knows history and philosophy,” said Theodora, “but she hasn’t much time to teach us. And we have no books of our own, only those we can borrow.” She looked around her with an expression like that of a hungry child in a pastry shop. As if she could eat the books, cram them into her undernourished soul. “Not a single one.”

      “You should come here to read,” he offered. “I could teach you more.”

      “Could you? Would you? That would be … but we have no money, you see. I couldn’t pay you.”

      “You could do some work,” he suggested. “Some transcriptions need to be made. I assume you write a fair hand?”

      “Oh, yes,” said Theodora, who had been smartly slapped for blots. “But won’t the Senator object?”

      “No,” he stated firmly.

      “Probably never comes in here,” sneered Theodora. “I expect he’s one of those who buy scrolls by the length, merely to impress.”

      “No, he’s not,” he said mildly. “The Senator likes to read.”

      Comito came in, yawning and licking her fingers. “Cook has excelled himself. These pastries are delicious, my love,” she said. “I see you’ve met Theodora.” She put her arms around the small man and kissed him stickily. He looked at her with sad longing.

      Oh, dear, thought Theodora, she’s in love with a eunuch and it’s hopeless and if the Senator finds out he’ll kill them both and …

      “Why back so early?” asked Comito.

      “My horse cast a shoe and then pulled up lame.” He disengaged himself from her sister’s arms and gave a little bow. “I have been remiss,” he said. “I did not introduce myself.”

      “Senator Marcus Anicius Longinus,” announced Comito, lingering over the stately syllables.

      “Oh, my,” gasped Theodora, who wished she could suck back some of her recent words and clamp her jaw on them. But they remained said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

      “I enjoyed our frank discussion,” he said with a smile. “My offer stands.”

      Comito frowned.

      “History lessons,” said Theodora. “In exchange for transcriptions.”

      Comito shrugged. “Boring,” she said. “Can’t think why you want to do that. But suit yourself.”

      “I would hazard a guess,” said Marcus Anicius, “that she usually does.”