The line moved forward again in a blare of noise from the open door.
”You’re dressed as a free man, so you’ll be expected to know the use of Roman money. As your slave, all I can do is translate. The more you know about the local money, the less likely you’ll be completely rooked. I can tell you fair value for items, but remember we’re not here to shop. We’re here to learn.”
Margo nodded impatiently. They were almost to the door.
”One last thing. I’m dressed as your slave. You’re dressed as my dominus-my master. That’s for public appearances. Don’t let the master-slave thing go to your head or I’ll turn you over my knee the second we’re in private.”
Margo shot him a startled glance. “You wouldn’t!”
Malcolm grinned “Oh, yes I would. I m the teacher the magister-and you’re the pupil. Forget that and I’ll remind you.”
The door opened in front of them and Margo let out a tiny squeal of excitement. It was their turn to cross the threshold and enter the street. Then Margo got her first good look at genuine imperial Romans.
Her mouth dropped open. “They’re … they’re so short!”
The look on her face was so priceless, Malcolm burst out laughing. Margo was a dainty little thing, but very few of the people on the street were even close to her height. Malcolm towered over everyone in sight. Even the wineshop counter and seats were designed for childsized bodies.
Margo gaped, staring from one Roman to the next. “They’re tiny!”
”Among scholars,” Malcolm told her with a chuckle, “speculation is rife that Julius Caesar’s six-foot height had no little impact on his success as a politician. Everybody had to look up to him.”