Read Fortune's Favorites for Free Online Page B

a chill,” he scolded, and kissed her fondly. “Back to bed, my honey cake.”
    “Can't I help you pack?” she asked, sounding desolate.
    “My men will do that for me, but you can watch.”
    This time the way was lit by a servant bearing a massive chandelier; fitting herself into Pompey's side, Antistia (still clutching her own little lamp) walked with him to the room where all his war gear was stored. An imposing collection. Fully ten different cuirasses hung from T-shaped poles-gold, silver, steel, leather strapped with phalerae-and swords and helmets hung from pegs on the walls, as did kilts of leather straps and various kinds of padded underpinnings.
    “Now stay there and be an absolutely darling little mouse,” Pompey said as he lifted his wife like a feather and put her atop a couple of big chests, her feet dangling clear of the floor.
    Where she was forgotten. Pompey and his menservants went through every item one by one-would it be useful, was it going to be necessary? Then when Pompey had ransacked the other trunks scattered around the room, he carelessly transferred his wife to a different perch in order to ransack her original seat, tossing this and that to the waiting slaves, talking away to himself so happily that Antistia could cherish no illusions he was going to miss his wife, his home, or civilian life. Of course she had always known that he regarded himself first and foremost as a soldier, that he despised the more customary pursuits of his peers-rhetoric, law, government, assemblies, the plots and ploys of politics. How many times had she heard him say he would vault himself into the consul's ivory chair on his spear, not on fine words and empty phrases? Now here he was putting his boast into practice, the soldier son of a soldier father going off to war.
    The moment the last of the slaves had staggered away under armloads of equipment, Antistia slid off her trunk and went to stand in front of her husband.
    “Before you go, Magnus, I must speak to you,” she said.
    Clearly this he regarded as a waste of his precious time, but he did pause. “Well, what is it?”
    “How long are you going to be away?”
    “Haven't the slightest idea,” he said cheerfully.
    “Months? A year?”
    “Months, probably. Sulla will eat Carbo.”
    “Then I would like to return to Rome and live in my father's house while you're gone.”
    But he shook his head, clearly astonished at her proposal. “Not a chance!” he said. “I'm not having my wife running round Carbo's Rome while I'm with Sulla in the field against the selfsame Carbo. You'll stay here.”
    “Your servants and other people don't like me. If you're not here, it will go hard for me.”
    “Rubbish!” he said, turning away.
    She detained him by stepping in front of him once more. “Oh, please, husband, spare me just a few moments of your time! I know it's a valuable commodity, but I am your wife.”
    He sighed. “All right, all right! But quickly, Antistia!”
    “I can't stay here!”
    “You can and you will.” He moved from one foot to the other.
    “When you're absent, Magnus-even for a few hours- your people are not kind to me. I have never complained because you are always kind to me, and you've been here except for the time you went to Ancona to see Cinna. But now- there is no other woman in your house, I will be utterly alone. It would be better if I returned to my father's house until the war is over, truly.”
    “Out of the question. Your father is Carbo's man.”
    “No, he is not. He is his own man.”
    Never before had she opposed him, or even stood up to him; Pompey's patience began to fray. “Look, Antistia, I have better things to do than stay here arguing with you. You're my wife, and that means you'll stay in my house.”
    “Where your steward sneers at me and leaves me in the dark, where I have no servants of my own and no one to keep me company,” she said, trying to appear calm and reasonable, but beginning to panic