Read Online Daughters of Rome by Kate Quinn - Free Book Online

to that!”
    “Oh, it’s not kissing a charioteer that he objects to. It’s the indiscretion . ‘I will not have my wife known as a whore,’ ” Lollia mimicked savagely. “ ‘Since you seem unable to behave yourself in public, you are henceforth confined to the house. Properly supervised, you may go to the Forum, to the bathhouse, to visit your family, and to such entertainments as I deem appropriate.’ And believe me, there isn’t much he deems appropriate.”
    Cornelia perused the line of slaves, absently accepting a cup of barley water from the hovering slave dealer. Male and female slaves alike were dressed in crisp white tunics, limbs oiled and gleaming in the lamplight, a discreet plaque hanging about each neck to advertise names and skills. Servitors, secretaries, scribes . . . a proper cook, that was what Cornelia needed. Her current cook would be quite defeated by the prospect of a forty-course banquet. Not that her own tastes were so elaborate, of course—or Piso’s—but an emperor’s heir had to keep up certain standards when he entertained . . .
    If Galba chooses him. But she squelched that thought firmly. Of course the Emperor would choose Piso. There were no other possible candidates. Some people might appear more popular and charming, some people might be sprinkling money about like spring rain, but that didn’t matter in the long run. Men of character and integrity would always win over men of charm and money.
    “I thought I’d buy a new maid to replace that harpy Old Flaccid set to spy on me,” Lollia was saying meditatively. “But perhaps I need something else too. Something large and handsome and male to help me pass the time.”
    “Lollia, really.”
    “Well, who else is supposed to keep me occupied while I’m under house arrest? Unless you’re willing to lend me that stalwart centurion of yours on your next visit. He can show me what he can do with his spear, and you can talk all you want about Piso being Emperor.”
    “I hope you’re just trying to be funny, because if you sincerely think I would ever—”
    “Oh, don’t ruffle your feathers,” Lollia sighed.
    Pushing down her irritation, Cornelia paused before a plump slave with a bald head. She leaned closer to read the plaque at his neck: Varro, Greek, forty-three years, cook. “What kind of cook, Varro? For an equite household, or for a senatorial family?”
    “I have cooked for governors and consuls and emperors, Lady. Emperor Nero himself admired my boiled ostrich.”
    “Did he? Tell me, what sauce would you use to cook a fallow deer?”
    “Onion sauce,” the slave said promptly. “With Jericho dates, raisins, and honey.”
    “And what menu would you set if Emperor Galba were to eat at your table?”
    “Jellyfish and eggs, boiled mushrooms with a sauce of pepper and fish fat, roast parrot—”
    “If only husbands came with plaques.” Lollia held out her goblet to be refilled—wine, Cornelia noticed, not barley water. “ Vinius, Roman, fifty-seven years, windbag. I’m divorcing him if it’s the last thing I do. I’d have done it already, but he said he’d turn the Emperor on my grandfather—confiscate all his assets, just like they did with poor Marcus Norbanus.”
    “He shouldn’t have said that,” Cornelia admitted. “Varro, what would you say is the best stuffing for roast dormice?”
    “Pork and pine kernels, Lady.”
    “Old Flaccid certainly won’t get away with threatening my grandfather,” Lollia said ominously, and wandered farther down the line of slaves. “Masseuse—hairdresser—litter-bearer—”
    “He comes with five more, Lady,” the slave dealer interjected. “A matched set—”
    “I’ll take this one on a trial basis,” Cornelia decided, and smiled at the plump little cook. “Welcome to my household, Varro.”
    “Thank you, Domina.” He bowed over her hand.
    “Hmmm . . .” Lollia paused before the last slave in line. “Who’s this?”
    Cornelia read the plaque