Read Online Render Unto Caesar by Gillian Bradshaw - Free Book Online

wine cakes from a vendor in the colonnade which flanked the exercise yard, and sat in the shade to eat them. Hermogenes bought two extra cakes and set them aside.
    Hyakinthos, who’d relaxed into noisy thirteen-year-old boisterousness during his swim, challenged Menestor to a ball game. Balls could be hired in the yard, so Hermogenes paid the tiny charge for one, and watched the two slaves running energetically up and down their end of the yard, trying to toss the ball into the corners designated as goals. The thirteen-year-old was no match for a seventeen-year-old, and after Menestor’s third goal, Phormion got up and went to join Hyakinthos. Menestor, laughing, protested that that made it two against one, so Hermogenes got up and joined him.
    They played until they were all red-faced from exertion and drenched with sweat. Hyakinthos and Phormion were declared the winners—as Hermogenes had known they would be, since Phormion was by far the fastest, strongest, and toughest member of the party. Everyone had a drink of water and another swim. They dressed again, feeling pleasantly tired and relaxed, and set out for the house of Fiducius Crispus.
    Hyakinthos eyed the two extra cakes, which Hermogenes carried himself. “I could eat one of those, sir, if you’re not hungry,” he said hopefully.
    Boys that age were always hungry, Hermogenes thought with amusement. “These are for a couple of your fellows,” he said mildly.
    The slave looked surprised. “For my fellows?”
    Hermogenes waved a hand negligently. “For a little girl called Erotion, and for her mother Tertia. I was talking to them this morning.”
    Hyakinthos frowned. “But they’re slaves of my master. Why buy them cakes?”
    â€œThe child—because she’s charming, and reminds me of my own daughter. The woman—because she seems gentle and kind, and I think she’d appreciate a cake even more than the child. I suspect that little Erotion may be a household pet. Is that so?”
    The boy made a sound expressive of deep disgust. “She is. Everybody thinks she’s just so cute, she can get away with anything . But—”
    Hermogenes laughed. You have to be clever to learn Greek, my brother says. “She’s your sister, is she?”
    â€œYes,” said the boy, startled. “But…” He stopped, looking worried.
    A moment’s consideration showed Hermogenes the reason for the worry. “I have no amorous intentions toward your mother,” he said gently. “The cake is only because she has to clean up after me, and I thought she deserved thanks.”
    The boy went a deep red and bit his lip. “I’m sorry, sir,” he mumbled, staring at the road. “I didn’t … I know it’s not … I mean, if you did, you wouldn’t even have to give her cakes … it’s just that she’s my mother.”
    â€œWhat is the matter?” asked Menestor, in Greek. Hyakinthos had been speaking in Latin.
    â€œThe cleaning woman I bought one of the cakes for is the boy’s mother,” Hermogenes told him matter-of-factly, “and he feared the fact that I bought her a cake means I intend to take her to my bed,”
    â€œOh, no!” Menestor said, amused. “He’s always buying cakes.”
    â€œNot always!” Hermogenes protested.
    â€œEverytime you go to the market.” Menestor insisted. “One for Myrrhine, and one for Myrrhine’s nurse. And every big cleaning day, one each for the cleaners, ‘because they’ve been working so hard, and the house looks splendid.’ And sometimes you buy them because one of your ships has come in, and you want everyone to celebrate. And sometimes for no reason, just you saw something that looked good, and you thought your household would enjoy it.”
    â€œVery well, very well!” his master said, embarrassed now. “I’m always buying