A Body In The Bath House

I!"

"Thank you," Helena answered lightly. The whole conversation had turned. I kept well out of it. The Great King responded by inclining his head, as if her implied rebuke was in fact some tremendous compliment.

Verovolcus shot me a complicitous glance, seeing that his own flirtation had been sidestepped. But I was used to Helena Justina making unexpected friends.

"To my new house!" cried the King happily, wrapping himself in a huge, gleaming toga as casually as if it were a bath-house robe. I had seen imperial legates with pedigrees back to Romulus struggle and need four toga-valets to help them with the folds.

Needless to say, I had not even unpacked my own formal woollen wear. It was quite possible that when I left Rome, I forgot to include it. I had to hope Togidubnus would overlook the slight. Did Romanisation courses for provincial kings include lectures on gracious manners? Putting your guests at ease. Ignoring crass behaviour from brutes inferior to yourself. That stuff my respectable mother dinned into me once- only I never listened.

When he skipped down from his dais to join us, the King clasped my hand with a good Roman handshake. He did the same with Helena. Verovolcus, who must be more observant than he seemed, quickly followed suit crushing my paw like a blood brother who had been drinking with me for the past twelve hours, then clinging on to Helena's long fingers with slightly less violence but an admiration that was equally embarrassing.

As we all made our way to see Pomponius, I was starting to see just why Togidubnus had made and stayed friends with Vespasian. They both came up from inferior social situations, but made the best of it by using talent and staying power. I had the glum feeling I would end up with a real sense of obligation to the King. I still believed his new palace was an over-scale extravagance. But, since the taxes of ordinary Romans had been allocated to pay for it- and since the money was certainly going into someone's coffers I may as well ensure the stylish home was built.

The King had taken over Helena. It reduced me to a cipher husband, trailing with Verovolcus. I could live with it. Helena was no cipher wife. When she wanted me, she would drop the pride of British nobility like an over-hot sardine.

Any woman was bound to be impressed by a fellow who was equipping his house with brand-new floor mosaics throughout. It beats being fobbed off with a new rag rug and the promise that you, her layabout head of household, will replaster the bedroom alcove yourself 'when you can get round to it'…