Time to Depart

by Lindsey Davis

  For days the search continued. I helped, whenever I was free from the eternal writing of reports. I also spent a great deal of time at the gymnasium, trying to get in shape. For one thing, it was my belief that the big rissole would never leave Rome, which was his natural territory. If we cornered him, it would be highly dangerous. In addition, I needed all my strength for a domestic event: on the day before the Kalends of November, Helena and I, Petro, his wife and children, his enquiry team, my family and many of my relatives were going to a wedding.

  It had been planned for the Kalends, but at the last minute my mother took charge of the chaotic arrangements. Her first action was to change the date. She pointed out to Lenia that it is regarded as unlucky to marry on the first day of a month. Lenia burst into tears, then plumped for the last day of October instead.

  Some of us thought that for marrying Smaractus the unlucky day would have been far more appropriate.

  LXV

  Two days before the Kalends, I was going crazy trying to obtain a cheap white sheep. All it had to do was behave nicely while I cut its throat and skinned it – a task which as a town boy I viewed with distaste, though for Lenia’s sake I would grimly go through with it. She wanted all the trimmings. Auguries, and the bit where the bride and groom sit together on the sheepskin – the sheepskin that I had to provide. Yes, I had to skin it neatly because everybody would be watching, and I also had to keep the blood off so none marred the bride’s highly expensive wedding gear.

  Those with an aptitude for logistics will have worked out that to avoid disaster it was necessary to choose and purchase my animal the day before it was needed. I could not risk ending up as the wedding priest who had nothing to sacrifice. Having bought it, I then had to find somewhere to keep the thing.

  Maia made Famia agree it could go to the Greens’ stable. The laundry yard would have been a more sensible overnight billet, but by then Lenia had become hysterical at the thought of any action that might bring bad luck. I could have stowed the woolly one with a neighbour, but I was afraid I would wake to the tantalising scent of roast mutton with garlic and rosemary.

  I had to take the sheep to the stables myself. And on the morning of the wedding, I had to cross the city to fetch her back. I made a nice little lead for her. I felt like a clown. From the Plain of Mars to the top of the Aventine is a damned long way.

  On the way home I decided to stop at the Temple of Castor baths, so I would be sweet-smelling and ready to put on my clean outfit. As a gesture to Lenia I took the sheep through with me and washed her as well. For some reason Glaucus was horrified. Don’t ask me why. There was nobody important there in the morning, and I had paid her entrance fee.

  Returning home I ran into turmoil as young women rushed around trying to deck the laundry with garlands while old crones sat sipping strong drinks and discussing other people’s bowel problems. The facade on Fountain Court had been hung with elaborately painted sheets. The doorway was almost impenetrably blocked with a prickly fringe of branches and flowers. Unlit torches lining the street outside were crying out to be sabotaged by passing youths.

  The whole neighbourhood had been disrupted by this ridiculous fling. Lenia and Smaractus had taken to heart the dictum that a good wedding should advertise itself. The back yard of the laundry was being used for huge bonfires, already slowly roasting various whole beasts. Fountain Court was full of delivery men and curious onlookers. As a temporary measure the unhappy couple were even using the empty apartment above the bakery, the one I had rejected summarily. There they had stored the amazing number of presents given to them, together with little parcels of sweets that would be bestowed on guests (in return for their ordeal, no doubt) and the nuts which Smaractus would fling to any onlookers watching the torchlight procession (as a symbol of fertility: dreadful thought). Smaractus was coming to live at the laundry after the marriage, so for one night they were even using the place opposite as a token ‘bridegroom’s house’. Workmen had mended the floor and installed a bed.

  Since the bride had no relations to support her she had borrowed most of mine. I met my mother and Maia staggering in with the bloodless offering (a dry piece of ritual bakery) and the wedding cake. This gross item, oozing fried almonds and warmly redolent of wine, had been baked by Ma, apparently using a fish kettle the size of a small shark.

  ‘Get your fingers out of there!’ As Ma whacked me for picking off crumbs to taste, I dived indoors with the useless hope that I might find a quiet corner to tie up the sheep. ‘That’s right. Stop sneaking around looking for trouble to cause. Pay your respects to the bride.’

  I found a woman I didn’t recognise. Lenia, who normally looked like a sack of turnips, was neatly dressed in the traditional rough-woven gown and orange slippers, with a big fat Hercules knot or her girdle prominent under her bust. Her raging hennaed hair had been tamed by determined female friends, divided with partings into seven clumps, braided tightly over wooden fillets, crowned with a garland of glossy leaves and flower petals, and topped with the traditional flame-coloured veil. The veil was turned back so that her friend Secunda, frowning with concentration, could complete the task of outlining her eyes with a sooty cosmetic. To go with the dramatic elegance she was adopting an expression which mingled a simper with haughtiness. I guessed that wouldn’t last.

  ‘Oh rats, here’s a bad omen on legs!’ roared the immaculate vision.

  ‘Got your distaff ready?’

  ‘Give over, Falco. Maia’s gone to find me one.’

  ‘What, a bride who doesn’t own her own? Does Smaractus realise he’s getting an incompetent housewife?’

  ‘He knows he’s got a brilliant businesswoman.’

  ‘I’m not sure about that!’ I grinned at her. ‘Rumour has it you’re spending the wedding night in that run-down wreck of an apartment above Cassius. Can this be wise? What couple wants to be holding back in case the floor gives way beneath the nuptial bed?’

  ‘He’s shored it up.’

  ‘What are we talking about?’

  ‘Oh go and jump in a cesspit, Falco!’

  ‘Now that’s enough insults. This is the moment when you have to lay aside childish things.’

  ‘Oh good. It can be the last I see of you then…’

  I showed her the sheep, gave her a congratulatory kiss that had her reaching for a napkin to wipe her face, then bounded cheerily upstairs.

  There were a few hours to go yet. In the peace of my own apartment I lay on my bed, pretending to lull myself into a contemplative mood for the augury. Helena appeared and stretched alongside for a rest. ‘Hmm, this is nice.’ I put one arm around her. ‘Maybe I’ll get pregnant myself. I’d like lying around all day.’

  ‘We could compare notes of our symptoms. You wouldn’t like being sick, though.’

  A silence fell. After a moment Helena rolled over so she could look at me. She held my face between her hands, inspecting the half-healed physical scars from my recent ordeal at the brothel. Though she said nothing, her expression was concerned. She understood that beneath the facade of merriment my real mood was dark. Always the first to sense depression in me, she also knew what was wrong: we had cleansed Rome of plenty of dross, but the task remained unfinished. We had swept up shoals of criminal life, and purged corruption in at least one cohort of the vigiles; I myself had even received a hefty fee for doing it. I ought to have been feeling pleased with myself.

  How could I, though? Balbinus had escaped. He was dangerous. He was still out there plotting. Given time, he would revive his empire. He would go for Petronius, and maybe for me. Nothing would have changed.

  The death of Lalage had had a disturbing effect on me too.

  * * *

  When Helena had read my thought to her own satisfaction, she kissed me gently, then settled down again. We lay close, both awake. The familiar sound of her quiet breathing calmed me. Her contentment became infectious. Her steady enjoyment of my presence worked its magic, filling me with amazement that she had chos
en to be mine.

  ‘I’m sorry, my love. I have not been with you enough lately.’

  ‘You’re here now.’

  ‘Tomorrow I’m going to start painting the new apartment.’

  ‘We need to clean it first.’

  ‘Trust me. It’s to be done tonight. I’ve struck a bargain with some of the vigiles.’

  ‘But it’s the wedding! Had you forgotten?’

  ‘Sole reason for choosing today! I can see two advantages, Helena my darling. If I hate the wedding,’ which seemed highly likely, ‘I can run off to assist the floor-washers. Or if the wedding seems too good to miss, I can stay with the celebrations and avoid getting my feet wet.’

  ‘You’re incorrigible,’ said Helena, with a warm mixture of admiration and mockery.

  We lay still again. Up here near the sky I could feel quite cut off from the noise and press in the streets. I would miss that.

  ‘Are we giving Lenia a wedding present?’

  ‘A nice set of snail picks,’ said Helena. For some reason I found that hilarious.

  ‘I hope you didn’t buy them from Pa?’

  ‘No, from that second-hand gift shop down the street. It’s got a lot of well-made horrors in terrible taste – just right to embarrass a bride.’

  I refrained from mentioning that I had nearly bought her own birthday present there.

  A few minutes later our soothing interlude was disturbed by visitors. I went out from the bedroom first, Helena following more slowly. Junia and Gaius Baebius glared at us as if they assumed we had been indulging in dalliance. There was no point protesting that we had merely been talking. ‘What do you two want?’ I saw no reason to pretend to be delighted that my sister had deigned to climb the stairs.

  ‘Gaius has brought you his priestly veil.’

  ‘Oh yes, thanks, Gaius.’

  Without being invited, Junia and Gaius plonked themselves on the best seats. Helena and I found space on a bench, deliberately snuggling up like lovers to embarrass them.

  ‘I hear you’re pregnant!’ Junia announced with her customary verve.

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘Was it an accident?’

  ‘A happy one,’ Helena said stiffly.

  I glanced at her. She refused to meet my eye. Helena Justina had accepted the situation but was not allowing anyone to gloat. I turned back to my sister with a shameless grin.

  ‘What about the other little one?’ asked Junia. She coloured slightly. ‘You can’t be wanting him as well?’

  I felt Helena’s hand grip mine abruptly. Gaius Baebius rose and walked to the basket where the skip baby lay dribbling. He lifted out the child. I noticed that Gaius held the baby with the care of a man who was unused to children, yet his grip was firm and although he was a stranger the babe accepted him. He walked back to Junia, who was not quite ready to approach us with whatever she had come to say.

  ‘You two ought to be getting married now,’ she instructed us instead.

  ‘What for?’ I asked. My intention to marry Helena had immediately sprouted rose-pink wings and flown off the balcony.

  ‘Oh it’s a decent institution,’ Helena protested teasingly. ‘A husband must maintain his wife.’

  I handed her an apple from the fruit bowl. ‘A husband is permitted to chastise his wife if she shows him too little reverence.’

  Helena biffed me on the chin. ‘Each party has the right to the society of the other,’ she chortled. ‘I haven’t seen much of that lately!’

  Junia’s face was set. Her voice was tense. ‘Gaius and I have been talking about this baby, Marcus.’ She had a knack of sounding as if she was informing me she knew I had been pinching pastries behind our mother’s back. Gaius continued to stare at the deaf babe (who dribbled back at him thoughtfully). Becoming more confident, Gaius wiped dry the dribble. My sister carried on talking: ‘He needs a home. In view of his difficulty, he needs a rather special one. Obviously he cannot remain with you and Helena. Of course you are kind-hearted, but your home life is chaotic and when your own child is born there will be too much competition for your love. He needs people who can look after him more devotedly.’

  She was monstrous. She was arrogant and rude – but she was right.

  ‘Gaius and I are prepared to adopt him.’

  This time Helena and I could not look at each other. We had had him for two weeks now. We did not want to let him go.

  ‘What about Ajax?’ I quavered weakly.

  ‘Oh don’t be ridiculous, brother! Ajax is just a dog.’ Poor old Ajax. Yesterday this would have been blasphemy. ‘Besides, Ajax loves children.’

  ‘For lunch,’ I muttered, while Helena pretended not to hear.

  Junia and Gaius were assuming that once their sensible suggestion had been voiced we must have gratefully agreed to it. Of course we had. The child would be given every possible advantage. Apart from the comfortable home that my brother-in-law’s customs salary ensured, whatever I thought of my sister I knew that she and Gaius would dote on the babe. Both would make every effort to help him communicate.

  ‘Is his parentage known?’ Gaius found his voice now.

  I opened my mouth to supply the glorious details. ‘No,’ said Helena at once. ‘We tried, but it has been impossible to find out.’ I took her hand. She was right. She and I could always break the news if necessary. Otherwise, better for him and everyone if there was no chance of recrimination, no danger of false hope.

  ‘I expect you’ve grown very fond of him,’ said Junia in a kindly tone. This strange softening upset me more than anything. ‘You’ll be very welcome to see him again, any time you like.’

  Helena managed to disguise the hysterical giggle in her voice. ‘Thank you very much. Have you decided on a name for him?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ For some reason Junia had gone red again. ‘It seems only right in view of who found him – we’re going to call him Marcus.’

  ‘Marcus Baebius Junillus,’ confirmed my brother-in-law, gazing proudly at his new son.

  LXVI

  In case the sight of me veiled as a priest failed to cause a sufficient sensation, I had decided to attend Lenia’s wedding in my Palmyrene suit. Frankly, there were not many other occasions in Rome where a decent man could appear in purple and gold silk trousers, a tunic embroidered all over with ribbons and florets, cloth slippers appliquéd with tulips, and a flat-topped braided hat. To complete the picture, Helena had even found me a filigree scabbard containing a ceremonial sword, a curiosity we had bought from a travelling caravan in Arabia.

  ‘I wanted an auspex,’ complained Lenia. ‘Not King Vologaeses of the bloody Parthians.’

  ‘In Palmyra this is modest streetwear, Lenia.’

  ‘Well in Rome it stinks!’

  The ceremony began a little late. When the bridegroom’s friends delivered him, they were staggering and yodelling; unnerved by his coming ordeal, he was so drunk we could not stand him up. As the ritual demands, a short verbal exchange took place between the bride and groom.

  ‘You bastard! I’ll never forgive you for this –’

  ‘What’s the matter with the woman?’

  ‘You’ve ruined my day!’

  Lenia then retired to sob in a back room while the guests helped themselves to amphorae (of which there were many racks). While Smaractus was sobered up by his mother and mine, we all started gaily catching up. Members of the public had learned that there was a free-for-all, and found excuses to call at the laundry. Members of the wedding party, who were not paying the bill for refreshments, greeted them with loud cries of friendship and invited them in.

  When Petronius arrived things were humming along warmly. It was late afternoon, and there were hours to go yet. After he and his family had finished laughing at my dramatic attire, Helena suggested we all went out for a meal in a decent chophouse to give us strength for the long night ahead. Nobody missed us. On our return, there was still nothing much happening, so Petronius jumped up on a table and called for quiet.<
br />
  ‘Friends – Romans –’ This address failed to please him for some reason, but he was in a merry mood. As well as the wine we had drunk with our dinner, he had brought a special alabastron of his own. He and I had already sampled it. ‘The bride is present –’

  Lenia had been elsewhere in fact, still weeping, but she heard the new commotion and rushed straight out, suspicious that her wedding was being sabotaged.

  ‘The groom’, proclaimed Petro, ‘is practising for his nuptials and having a short lie-down!’ Everyone roared with delight, knowing that Smaractus was now unconscious in a laundry basket; he must have found himself more wine and was completely out of it. Petro adopted an oratorical stance. ‘I have consulted among those with legal knowledge – my friend Marcus Didius, who has frequently appeared in court, my colleague Tiberius Fusculus, who once trod on a judicial praetor’s toe –’

  There were impatient cries. ‘Get on with it!’

  ‘We are agreed that for a marriage to be legal the bridegroom need not be present in person. He may signify consent through a letter or a messenger. Let’s see if we can find someone who can tell us Smaractus consents!’

  It was his mother who betrayed him. Annoyed by his continuing indisposition she jumped up and shouted, ‘I’ll answer! He consents!’ She was a fierce little body about as high as my elbow, as round as a tub of oysters, with a face like a squashed sponge and flashing black eyes.

  ‘What about you?’ Petronius asked Lenia.

  Fired by her previous success, my landlord’s mother screamed out hilariously, ‘I’ll answer for her too. She consents as well!’

  So much for the exchange of vows. Petro swayed and fell off the table, to be caught safely by merrymaking strangers. A hubbub arose again, and it was clear we were in for much longer delays before I could impose enough order to begin the sacrifice and augury. Being in no hurry, I went out and across the street to inspect what was happening in my new rooms.