Read Online A Body in the Bathhouse by Lindsey Davis - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lindsey Davis
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the Palatine secretariat, which administered funds for the Great King’s palace.
As usual with official projects, where the client had the highest expectations and the producing agency had the greatest need to shine, the larger were the errors and the higher the costs. Treasury audit had been applied and had nothing good to say. Loss of materials on-site had reached epic proportions. There had also been a rash of serious accidents. Even the scheme’s architect had submitted a scared report about his fears of sabotage.
Frontinus, the provincial governor, reckoned the program completion date had not just slipped—it had skidded right into the next decade. He was having difficulties curbing the client’s demands and possessed no decent manpower to send in on a rescue mission, due to conflicting needs of the major new works being built in Londinium (that was principally the new headquarters for the provincial governor—himself). Brutal paragraphs in administrative Greek spelled out the worst. The Great King’s palace had reached the danger stage: it was all set to be the biggest administrative failure ever.
IX
L UCK IS a wonderful luxury. What could better prove that some are born under a star of good fortune than the career (and the large, comfortable home) of the Great King?
“Cogidumnus.” Justinus cautiously tried it out.
“Togidubnus,” I corrected him. This was a provincial of such ripe insignificance that most Roman commentators never even called him by the correct name. “Learn it, please, lest we offend. The Emperor may be our principal client, but Togi is the end customer. Pleasing Togi is the whole point of us suffering this trip. Vespasian wants his house to go up nicely so that Togi stays happy.”
“You had better stop calling him Togi,” warned Helena, “or you are bound to slip up and insult him in public.”
“Insulting officials is my style.”
“But you want your assistants to be smoothly oiled diplomats.”
“Ah yes. I have the rough edges—you are a pair of sickly smarmpots!” I threw at them.
We had been stuck at some mansio in the drabber parts of Gaul when we found time for our tutorial. Hyspale had been instructed to stop moaning about her discomfort (she had the art of making herself unhappy) and to take care of the children. So Helena was able to shine as my background researcher. Luckily, her brothers (yes, both) were used to being lectured by their big sister. I myself would never quite relax when she started explaining things. Helena Justina could always surprise me by the scope of her sources and the detail they provided.
We had fetched up here after days of weary travel. The children seemed to be coping better than the rest of us, though Helena and I had the irritation of disapproval from foreigners. While Gauls were amazed how strict we were with our daughters, we thought them slapdash spoilers of their own uncontrollable brats. Some of theirs had fleas. Ours, swept off into kitchens to be cooed over for their pretty curls, would acquire them soon. Nux was attacking her Roman ones vigorously. I had had itches since Lugdunum; though if the creatures were being carried on my person, I had failed to find them. That was because I had rarely had my clothes off to search. Mansios had baths, but if you tarried in the queue to wash, you missed them serving dinner. Afterwards, the water was cold. With ruts in roads and gruesome weather, it added to the fun.
We all sat around a large table in the dingy hall that passed for a communal dining room at the mansio, with my sister hunched slightly to one side. Maia had been sufficiently alarmed by what she saw of the ship’s crew who hauled us north past Italy; she refused to go back to Ostia alone. She had never traveled more than twenty miles from Rome before. When we made Gaul, she had no real idea how many dreary miles remained. She still thought she would be going home in a few weeks. We would be lucky even to reach Britain in
As usual with official projects, where the client had the highest expectations and the producing agency had the greatest need to shine, the larger were the errors and the higher the costs. Treasury audit had been applied and had nothing good to say. Loss of materials on-site had reached epic proportions. There had also been a rash of serious accidents. Even the scheme’s architect had submitted a scared report about his fears of sabotage.
Frontinus, the provincial governor, reckoned the program completion date had not just slipped—it had skidded right into the next decade. He was having difficulties curbing the client’s demands and possessed no decent manpower to send in on a rescue mission, due to conflicting needs of the major new works being built in Londinium (that was principally the new headquarters for the provincial governor—himself). Brutal paragraphs in administrative Greek spelled out the worst. The Great King’s palace had reached the danger stage: it was all set to be the biggest administrative failure ever.
IX
L UCK IS a wonderful luxury. What could better prove that some are born under a star of good fortune than the career (and the large, comfortable home) of the Great King?
“Cogidumnus.” Justinus cautiously tried it out.
“Togidubnus,” I corrected him. This was a provincial of such ripe insignificance that most Roman commentators never even called him by the correct name. “Learn it, please, lest we offend. The Emperor may be our principal client, but Togi is the end customer. Pleasing Togi is the whole point of us suffering this trip. Vespasian wants his house to go up nicely so that Togi stays happy.”
“You had better stop calling him Togi,” warned Helena, “or you are bound to slip up and insult him in public.”
“Insulting officials is my style.”
“But you want your assistants to be smoothly oiled diplomats.”
“Ah yes. I have the rough edges—you are a pair of sickly smarmpots!” I threw at them.
We had been stuck at some mansio in the drabber parts of Gaul when we found time for our tutorial. Hyspale had been instructed to stop moaning about her discomfort (she had the art of making herself unhappy) and to take care of the children. So Helena was able to shine as my background researcher. Luckily, her brothers (yes, both) were used to being lectured by their big sister. I myself would never quite relax when she started explaining things. Helena Justina could always surprise me by the scope of her sources and the detail they provided.
We had fetched up here after days of weary travel. The children seemed to be coping better than the rest of us, though Helena and I had the irritation of disapproval from foreigners. While Gauls were amazed how strict we were with our daughters, we thought them slapdash spoilers of their own uncontrollable brats. Some of theirs had fleas. Ours, swept off into kitchens to be cooed over for their pretty curls, would acquire them soon. Nux was attacking her Roman ones vigorously. I had had itches since Lugdunum; though if the creatures were being carried on my person, I had failed to find them. That was because I had rarely had my clothes off to search. Mansios had baths, but if you tarried in the queue to wash, you missed them serving dinner. Afterwards, the water was cold. With ruts in roads and gruesome weather, it added to the fun.
We all sat around a large table in the dingy hall that passed for a communal dining room at the mansio, with my sister hunched slightly to one side. Maia had been sufficiently alarmed by what she saw of the ship’s crew who hauled us north past Italy; she refused to go back to Ostia alone. She had never traveled more than twenty miles from Rome before. When we made Gaul, she had no real idea how many dreary miles remained. She still thought she would be going home in a few weeks. We would be lucky even to reach Britain in
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