A Body In The Bath House

by Lindsey Davis

  This would be difficult, since his portable throne, his entourage and his hairy servants plying him with trays of imported snacks in little shale dishes were now filling most of the plan room. Olives, in rich oil spiced with flecks of herb, had already been spilt on some elevation drawings.

  Pomponius sent for a couple of architectural assistants. They were supposed to help with the presentation. That way at least, he ensured himself an admiring audience. Both were ten years younger than him, but were learning all their bad habits from his fine example. One was copying the project manager's hair slick; the other had bought his outsize scarab from a similar fake Alexandrian jeweller. They had less personality between them than a flyblown carrot.

  These old hutments must be falling apart. They were more breezy than army tents. The plan room was heated with antique braziers. With so many people crammed in, we were already sweating. That would soon dry out the skins on the architect's plans and make them crackle. A map-room librarian would be horrified by these air conditions. I felt ready to warp myself.

  An extensive layout drawing had been hung up ready for us - well, ready to impress me. This showed a monstrous four-square complex with innumerable rooms, set around an enormous enclosed garden. It was edged by blue hatching where the sea lapped. Green areas indicated not only the huge main garden in the centre of the four wings, but another vast parkland on the south side running right down to the harbour.

  'The new palace,' began Pomponius, addressing me directly as if he could not be expected to concern himself with tribal kings or women, 'is to be the largest, most magnificent Roman development north of the Alps.'

  Presumably the governor's headquarters in Londinium would be equally massive. To impress official dignitaries that would need to be glamorous, and to house the provincial administration it would be elaborate. Since I had not seen it, I kept quiet. Maybe my frugal colleague Frontinus had chosen to run Britain from a festival marquis.

  Pomponius cleared his throat. He glared at me, thinking I was not paying attention. I smiled, with a flash of teeth, as if I thought he needed reassurance. That put him right off.

  'Er -the main approach is from the Noviomagus road, bringing most traffic from the tribal capital and beyond. To greet them, my concept provides for a stunning exterior facade. The monumental east front is the first aspect presented to visitors; it will be dominated by a central entrance hall externally; this has two dramatic pedimented facades, each with six massive columns, twenty feet in height. Internally the spatial content is divided into smaller units such as arcades, first to provide lateral support-'

  'The roof weighs a bit?' It sounded more facetious than I meant.

  'Obviously. Second, design features will draw people forwards to establish a flow-through into the interior '

  'Grand!'

  Pomponius thought I was being insulting. Perhaps I was. I grew up in overcrowded apartments, where the people flow-through was provided by Ma, wielding a broom on dawdlers' buttocks.

  'Planned benefits include fine statuary and a dramatic marble-edged pool with a significant fountain feature,' the architect warbled. 'My intention is to dramatise the scale and the fine quality fittings without oppressing occupants, at the same time emphasising the sight-line through the hall to the formal gardens beyond. This is a superior concept cultured patrician living for a discerning, high-class client.'

  Togidubnus was munching an extremely juicy apple that took all his concentration, so the half-hearted flattery was lost.

  'Also included in the east wing is a semi-public assembly hall. En suite private rooms, fitted out to a good standard and with their own closed-access courtyards, are designed with peace and relaxation in mind-'

  'Won't they be rather noisy if they are located so near the main entrance?' asked Helena, rather too politely.

  Pomponius stared at her. Arty types can manage tall girls with patrician accents and taste, but only as their own subjugated mistresses. He would have allowed her to hand round dainties at a soiree, but in any other context Helena Justina was a threat. 'These are guest rooms for lesser officials, on temporary assignments.'

  'Oh Falco! I am looking forward to your next assignment in Noviomagus,' Helena cried archly. (There was no way I intended to come back.) Immediately she urged Pomponius on again: 'You mentioned the formal gardens?'

  'The central court will combine visionary elegance with serene formality. A spectacular hedged walkway, forty feet in width, transports people to the audience chamber opposite. To the left and right, balanced harmonious parterres of extravagant size contribute grandeur tempered with the tranquillity of open space. Rather than stark lines, this main thoroughfare will be given a treatment of sculpted greenery, probably box: alternating topiary arcs and squares in grave dark foliage colourings - a reference to the best Mediterranean tradition.'

  'Why,' I asked, 'is there a single tree marked up there?' A large specimen was marked in the north-west area of the formal lawns. It was in a rather strange position.

  The architect flushed slightly. 'Indicative, only.'

  'Have you a nasty drainage tank to hide?'

  'The tree will relieve monotony!' put in the King. He sounded curt. He certainly understood his site layout. 'When I come out of the audience chamber and stand looking to my left, a mature tree will relieve the bleak horizontal lines of the north wing-'

  'Bleak? I believe you will find,' Pomponius humphed, 'the elegant repetition -'

  'There should be another tree balancing this one in the opposite quartile, to shield the south wing similarly.' Togidubnus interrupted coolly but Pomponius was ignoring him.

  'Urns,' he rattled on, 'will provide handsome talking points; fountains are being assembled to provide aural delight. All footpaths will be defined by triple hedges. Plantings are to be set within geometric sculpted beds, again with topiary surrounds. I have asked the landscape gardener to aim for sophisticated species-'

  'What, no flowers?' Helena giggled.

  'Oh I insist on colour!' snapped the King at Pomponius. Pomponius looked set to launch into a hot defence of textured leaf contrasts then thought better of it. His gaze flickered to me. He was irritated that I had noticed the tension between the King and him.

  'You may want to ask the landscape gardener to consult your own people about pests,' Helena suggested blithely to Togidubnus. She was either diffusing the bad atmosphere - or being mischievous. I knew which I thought.

  'Pests!' intoned the King at his man, Verovolcus. He was really enjoying himself. 'Make a note of that!'

  'Slugs and snails,' Helena elaborated to Pomponius. 'Rust. Insect damage '

  'Bird nuisance!' contributed the King, with an intelligent interest. Between them, Togidubnus and Helena were winding Pomponius into fits of frustration.

  'So tell me more,' I interrupted: Falco, the voice of reason for once. 'Your monumental entrance to the east wing clearly starts a series of impressive effects?'

  'A breath-taking promenade,' agreed Pomponius. 'A triple succession: awe-striking physical grandeur as one walks through the entrance salon; next, the surprising contrast of nature in the formal gardens - completely enclosed and private, yet created on a stupendous scale; then, my visionary design for the west wing. This is the climax of the experience. Twenty-seven rooms in exquisite taste will be fronted by a classic colonnade. At the centre is the audience chamber. It is made the more imposing by a high stylobate base -'

  'Don't stint your stylo bates' I heard Helena muttering. Stylobates are stone block platforms giving height and dignity to colonnades and pediments. Pomponius was a man who seemed to place himself on an invisible stylobate. I cannot have been the only one who would have liked to shove him off it.

  'The whole west wing is raised five feet above the level of the garden and other suites. A flight of steps against this platform fixes the eye line on the massive pedimented front-'

  'Have you chosen a statue to stand before the steps?' asked the King.

  'I feel.
..' Pomponius did hesitate, though not as awkwardly as he might. 'A statue would detract from the clean lines I have planned.' Once again, the King looked annoyed. Presumably he had wanted a statue of himself - or at least of his imperial patron Vespasian.

  Pomponius rushed on: 'Climbing the steps, gazing upwards, the visitor will be confronted with theatrical majesty. The royal audience chamber is to be apsidal, lined with benches in elegant contemporary woods. The floor will be created by my master mosaicist, supervising both construction and design in person. A stunning twenty-foot-wide semi-dome crowns the apse, with a vaulted ceiling, stuccoed, white ribs picked out in regal hues - crimson, Tyrian purple, richest blues. There, visitors will encounter the Great King of the Britons, enthroned in the manner of a divinity...'

  I glanced at the Great King. His expression was inscrutable. Still, I reckoned he was game for it. Impressing folk with his power and wealth would be all in a day's work. If civilisation meant he had to pretend to be a god enthroned among the stars rather than simply the most accurate spearman in his group of huts then he was all for climbing up on his plinth and arranging constellations around himself as artistically as possible. Well, it beat squatting on a wobbly three legged stool, with chickens pecking your boots.

  Pomponius was still droning on. '... My perception of the four wings is that each should be linked in style to the others, yet distinct in conception. The strong west wing formal garden east wing axis forms the public area. The north and south wings will be more private - symmetrical ranges with discreet entrances to exquisite room suites, set around locked-in private courts. The north wing, especially, will contain celebratory dining facilities. The south wing is lined on two sides with colonnades, one offering views of the sea. The east wing, with its grand entrance and meeting hall, serves public functions, yet lies behind the visitor on his progress forward. Once he enters the interior elements, the great west wing is the heart of the complex with its audience chamber and administrative offices, so that is where I have placed the royal suites-'

  'No!' This time the King had let out a roar. Pomponius stopped warbling abruptly.

  There was a silence. Pomponius had finally hit big trouble. I glanced at Helena; we both watched with curiosity.

  'Now, we have gone over this before,' complained Pomponius, tight as a tick in a sheep's eye. 'It is essential to the unity of the concept-'

  King Togidubnus tossed his apple core onto a dish. Age had not diminished his eyesight. His aim was perfect. 'I disagree.' His voice was cold. 'Unity may be achieved by employing common features of design. Structural details and the med decoration will tie in any disparate elements.' He was wielding the fancy abstract terms with an off-hand flourish, easily the architect's equal.

  Helena was sitting extremely still. There was a thin murmur among the King's staff, then they subsided expectantly. Grinning, Verovolcus seemed half bursting with excitement. I reckoned all the Britons had known that Togidubnus had a mighty beef; they had been waiting for him to explode.

  Pomponius had been aware of this sub-plot too. He already had the rigid air of one who knew his client spent too much spare time reading architectural manuals. 'Naturally there will be areas where we need to compromise.' Nobody who says that ever believes it.

  It was soon apparent what had made the King so angry. 'Compromise? I, for my part, have conceded that my garden colonnade shall be ripped out, its fine rams' horns hacked off with bolsters, and its smashed capitals stacked up haphazardly for re-use as hardcore! I make this sacrifice for integrity of form in the new complex. That is as far as I will go.'

  'Excuse me, but including the old house is a wasteful economy. Remedying the levels-'

  'I can endure that.'

  'The disruption would be intolerable, but my point,' argued Pomponius in a taut voice, 'is that the approved scheme envisages stripping the entire site for a clean new build.'

  'I never approved that!' The King was dogged. Approval is always a problem when a project is to be paid for by the Roman Treasury yet constructed a thousand miles away for local occupation. Scores of liaison meetings routinely produce deadlock. Many a project founders on the drawing board. 'My current palace which was an imperial gift to symbolise my alliance with Rome will be incorporated into your design, please.'

  The 'please' was simply terse punctuation. It marked the end of the King's speech, nothing more. The speech was meant as an order.

  'Your Majesty may not appreciate the finer -'

  'I am not a fool.'

  Pomponius knew he had patronised his client. That did not stop him. 'Technical details are my sphere-'

  'Not exclusively! I shall live here.'

  'Of course!' It was already a hot quarrel. Pomponius tried wheedling. He ruined everything. 'I intend to convince Your Majesty '

  'No, you have failed to convince me. You must honour my wishes. I had an equitable relationship with Marcellinus, your predecessor. Over many years I would appreciate his creative skill, and Marcellinus in turn knew that his skill must be allied to my needs. Architectural drawings may look beautiful and be admired by critics but to be good, they have to work in daily use. You, if I may say so, seem to be planning only a monument to your own artistry. Perhaps you will achieve such a monument - but only it your vision is in harmony with mine!'

  With a flick of his white toga, the Great King was on his feet. Gathering his entourage, he swept out of the plan room. Servants scampered in his wake as if well rehearsed. Verovolcus, who probably spent much useless effort trying to advance his master's views in project meetings, shot the architect a triumphant glare then strode after the King, clearly well satisfied.

  I might have guessed what would happen next. As his two assistants (who had previously let him suffer unaided) now swarmed up to mutter their sympathy, Pompomus turned on me. 'Well, thank you, Falco,' he snarled with bitter sarcasm. 'We were in quite enough trouble before you caused all that!'

  XV

  Helena and I walked out into the air. I felt subdued. This client project manager conflict was one of the problems I was supposed to clear up. It would not be easy.

  Pomponius had rushed out ahead of us, supported by one of his junior architects. The other happened to leave later, while we were still getting our breath.

  'I'm Falco. Sorry, you are... ?'

  'Plancus.'

  'That was a bitter little scene, Plancus.'

  Troubled by the tension, he seemed relieved to be approached about it. He was the one with the flash scarab. It was pinned on a tunic he had worn too many times. Crumpled, yes; probably stained too. I preferred not to check. He had a thin, bristly face, with elongated arms and legs to match.

  'So does this happen all the time?' I asked quietly.

  It met with embarrassment. 'There are problems.'

  'I was told the project is behind time and over budget. I assumed it was the old problem - the client kept changing his mind. But it looked today as though the Great King's mind is too firmly made up!'

  'We explain the concept, but the client sends along his representative, who can barely communicate... We tell him why things must be done one way, he seems to agree that, then later there is a huge fight.'

  'Verovolcus goes back and talks to the King, who sends him back to you to argue?' Helena suggested.

  'It must be a diplomatic nightmare keeping things simple - I mean, cheap!' I grinned.

  'Oh yes,' agreed Plancus weakly. He did not strike me as hot on cost control. In fact, he did not strike me as more than lukewarm on any subject. He was as thrilling as a flavoured custard that had been left on a shelf growing green fur on its skin. 'Togidubnus demands endless impossible luxuries,' he complained. That must be their cliched excuse.

  'What, like keeping his existing house?' I reproved the man.

  'It's an emotional response.'

  'Well, you can't allow that.'

  I had been inside enough public buildings to know that few architects owned or could appreciate emotions. Nor do they
understand tired feet or wheezy lungs. Nor the stress of noisy acoustics. Nor, in Britain, the need for heated rooms.

  'I saw no hot-air specialist on your project team?'

  'We don't have one.' Plancus was probably intelligent in some ways, but failed to apply his brain to wondering why I had asked. It ought to be a professional issue. He ought to see my point immediately.

  'How long have you been out here?' I asked.

  'About a month.'

  'Take my word then, you need to mention it to Pomponius. If the King has to use naked fire braziers all winter, your unified concept with the fine sight-lines is likely to go up in grandiose flames.'

  Helena and I walked slowly, hand in hand, across the spacious site. Seeing the plans had helped. Now I was finding my way around better; I could appreciate how the different ranges of rooms had been laid out. The neat footings ended feebly near the old house; this had been left as 'too difficult'. We found Magnus, the surveyor I met yesterday, pottering there. His groma was plunged in the ground, a long metal-tipped stave with four plumb bobs hung from two metal cased wooden bars; it was used for measuring out straight lines and squares.