Render Unto Caesar Read Online Free PDF Page A

to himself, it was worth a bit extra, to have a pair of Roman citizens carrying my luggage .
    Crispus laughed. “Asset? A ragamuffin pair of sedan-chair bearers? If you need a chair, my friend, you are welcome to borrow mine. But come in, come in! Are these men yours?”
    â€œMy slaves,” Hermogenes agreed. “Young Menestor here is my valet and secretary.” He snapped his fingers for them to pick up the luggage.
    â€œDog!” snapped Crispus to the scarred doorkeeper. “Do I have to tell you everything? Help them!”
    The doorkeeper went silently to the traveling chest and took one end of it. Hermogenes realized that Crispus had called the man “dog” in Greek, even though the rest of the conversation was in Latin. “Does your doorkeeper speak Greek?” he asked in confusion. The man had not appeared to understand Menestor.
    Crispus giggled and shook his head. “Not a word of it. But I give all my slaves Greek names; it’s the fashion. His is Kyon.” He giggled again. “Good name for a doorkeeper, don’t you think?”
    Hermogenes tried to keep his feelings from his face. The idea of renaming slaves to fit a current fashion was repulsive, and the thought of obliging one to answer to Dog made him queasy. He didn’t like the idea of a fashion for giving slaves Greek names, either.
    His attempt at concealing his emotions obviously hadn’t succeeded, because Crispus cried, “Oh, dear! You’re offended. I assure you, this fashion for Greek names is only because we admire Greek culture so much, not because … obviously we don’t think of Greeks as naturally servile!”
    Hermogenes forced himself to smile understandingly. Inwardly he wondered if staying with Crispus was really such a good idea. It had seemed the obvious thing to do: Crispus was an old business associate of his father, after all, and had been a guest in Alexandria on several occasions. He had always declared himself eager to return the favor. It was very much the done thing to stay with guest-friends if you had any, much more respectable than a public inn … but now that he was here, he was remembering that he’d never actually liked Fiducius Crispus much.
    Too late to do anything about it now. Besides, he needed advice, and Crispus could give it to him. He followed his host into the house.
    The street door opened onto a wide entrance corridor decorated with a mosaic picture of a barking dog; the doorkeeper’s lodge was a tiny cell to the right of it. Through the entranceway was a vaulted atrium, with a pond in the center to catch the rainfall from the open circle of the impluvium in the ceiling. An archway beyond revealed a small courtyard with a garden.
    An anxious-looking man of about Hermogenes’ own age hurried in through the archway. He wore a tunic of plain bleached linen and a heavy leather belt through which was pushed a short leather whip. He bowed to Crispus and cast Hermogenes a worried look from mild blue eyes. “They’re getting the Nile rooms ready, master,” he informed Crispus in a hoarse whisper. His voice was so strained that Hermogenes wondered if there was something wrong with it. “And I’ve had wine sent to the dining room.”
    Crispus nodded. “That’s something, then.” He smiled at Hermogenes. “I told my slaves to get a room ready for you as soon as I received your letter—but, of course, the lazy things did nothing about it, and the place is perfectly squalid. Come and have something to drink while they do what should have been done days ago. Stentor, see my friend’s slaves and his luggage to his room.”
    Stentor, thought Hermogenes, looking at the hoarse-voiced man incredulously. Named after the brazen-voiced herald in Homer.
    Stentor gestured for Menestor and Phormion to pick up the trunk again; both at once looked to Hermogenes. Menestor’s expression held a touch of