Nemesis by Lindsey Davis

Author:Lindsey Davis
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
ISBN: 9780099536772
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2011-04-01T01:36:32+00:00

'No, darling. Anacrites is too shrewd to try anything with you and me there. I'd poke his eyes out, while you rushed for a lawyer.'

That was reassuring. I hauled myself upright and sorted out a tunic I was willing to wear.

'Oh Marcus! You're not going in that disaster. Wear your russet.'

'Too smart.'

I had always loathed the russet, which made me look like some praetor's pimpled equerry. Naturally, that was what my stylists made me wear.

At the Anacrites establishment, which he must have acquired with his Census earnings, the murderous watchdog had been sluiced with scented water and told to bark more quietly. That would be a bonus for the wealthy neighbours who were usually too scared to complain. The formidable gates had been oiled so they could be forced wide enough; Pa's old six-bearer litter sailed us through. We were cleared by the bestubbled porter and passed into the custody of liveried greeting slaves.

They were slick. So slick, Helena guessed Anacrites had hired professional party-planners. His house was busy with Lusitanians in matching snowy tunics. There were garlands in themed colours. A young lady facilitator in platform soles and a faux fur bustband picked out bijou little guest-gifts for us (I got dice, that would only land on three). At the spy's back door must be a train of carts bringing the accoutrements of outside caterers - - bronze buckets of fancy seafood from specialist suppliers, slightly worn table linen, and their own griddles. For Anacrites, this evening clearly meant much more than a comfortable supper among friends.

I pinched Albia cheerfully. 'Assume the Trojan hog is on!'

The greeters whipped away our outer garments and shoes. A rumpus at the door announced further visitors. Since one of the voices was that of Camillus Aelianus - - sounding a little weary perhaps - - that boded ill. We had hardly reached the atrium and Albia already looked surly. Then I heard the hideous baritone of Minas of Karystos. He must have stiffened his resolve with cocktails before the party set out.

Helena and I shuffled past the atrium pool, towing Albia. Tiny lamps like fireflies, the kind designers think sophisticated, twittered around the pool, many already going out. While the newcomers were shovelled into their dining sandals, we found our way through the murk and came upon our host reclining on a reading-couch, like a man who was trying to calm his nerves.

He jumped up, wearing one of his slimfit tunics (great gods, the vain fool must have darts put in, to make him look trim). I was very put out that his was a brown shade rather close to mine. I'd half expected him to have a torc around his neck, but he had confined himself to matched gold cuffs on his upper arms. He exercised. He had enough muscle to show off, though his arms were oddly smooth, as if he had the hairs individually plucked.

'You invited my brother!' Helena barked at him. Anacrites had changed her from peacemaker to firebrand in one move.

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