An ocean-going merchant-ship: a life-saver to a poorer man. To a multimillionaire like Marcellus, simply a fleet vessel his chief accountant sometimes reminded him he owned. Yet he burst out at once, ‘I thought you people were impounding her at Ostia!’
I felt a flutter at his intimate knowledge of the Pertinax estate. Sometimes in my business the simplest conversation can give a useful hint (though an excitable type can easily miscalculate and convince himself of a hint that was never there…).
As he noticed me speculating I reassured him quietly, ‘I had her sailed down here for you.’
‘I see! Shall I need repossession documents?’
‘If you let me have writing equipment, sir, I’ll give you a certificate.’ He nodded, and a secretary brought papyrus and ink.
I used my own reed pen. His people were shifting in surprise that a scruff like me could write. It was a good moment. Even Helena was glinting at their mistake.
I signed my name with a flourish, then smudged my signet ring onto a wax blob which the secretary grudgingly dripped for me. (The smudge made no difference; my signet in those days was so worn all anyone could make out was a wobbly one-legged character with only half a head.)
‘What else, Falco?’
‘I am trying to contact one of your son’s household who is owed a personal legacy. It’s a freedman who originated on his natural father’s estate - fellow called Barnabas. Can you help?’
‘Barnabas…’ he quavered weakly.
‘Oh, you know Barnabas.’ Helena Justina encouraged from across the room.
I paused, looking thoughtful, while I tucked away my pen in a fold of my pouch. ‘I understand Atius Pertinax and his freedman were extremely close. It was Barnabas who claimed your son’s body and arranged his funeral. So are you saying,’ I asked, remaining non-committal, ‘that afterwards he has never been in touch?’
‘He was nothing to do with us,’ Marcellus insisted coldly. I knew the rules: consuls are like Chaldaeans who read your horoscope and very pretty girls; they never lie. ‘As you say, he came from Calabria; I suggest you enquire there!’ I had intended to ask about the missing yachtsman Crispus; something made me hold back. ‘Nothing else, Falco?’
I shook my head without arguing.
This interview had raised more questions than it solved. But a confrontation served no purpose; it seemed best to withdraw. Caprenius Marcellus had already excluded me. He began a tortured fight to raise his long shanks from the chair. Clearly he was an invalid who enjoyed fuss; after only half an hour of him I no longer trusted the way that his pains came and went so conveniently.
Attendants closed in. Helena Justina was also making herself busy with the old man; I nodded once, in case she deigned to notice, then I left.
Before I reached the atrium the swift light step I knew so well came following me.
‘I have a message from my father, Falco; I’ll come to the door!’
Somehow I was not surprised. Aggrieved women are a hazard of my work. It was not the first time one had rushed after me, intending to back me into a corner for some vile tirade.
It was not the first time either that I had hidden a sly grin at this prospect of free entertainment.
XXXII
Decorative plaques hung with wind chimes were suspended between the great Doric pillars in the white-stepped portico. Their trembling tintinnabulation added to my sense of unreality.
Larius, who never let grand mansions intimidate him, had just parked our ox at the elegant Marcellus carriage stop; my nephew sat there picking at his pimples while Nero, who had brought a spinning cohort of cattle flies, nibbled into the neat edge of the lawn.
Behind them lay the astonishing blue half-circle of the Bay. In the middle distance a bevy of gardeners were scything a piece of greensward large enough to exercise a legion at full strength; their heads all popped up as Nero bellowed at me. Larius merely gave us a sombre stare.
Her ladyship and I stood together above the steps. Her familiar perfume hammered my senses as neatly as a metal mallet on bronze. I was dreading some new reference to the burial of her uncle. The subject never came up, though I sensed Helena’s anger still tingling just below the surface as we talked. ‘Here on holiday?’ I croaked.
‘Just trying to avoid you!’ she assured me serenely.
Fine; if that was her attitude - ‘Right! Thanks for seeing me to my ox-‘
‘Don’t be so sensitive! I came to console my father-in-law.’
She had not enquired about me, but I informed her anyway. ‘I’m trying to trace Aufidius Crispus - working for the Emperor.’
‘Are you liking it?’
‘No.’
Her ladyship tilted her head, with a frown. ‘Restless?’
‘I don’t talk about it,’ I told her brusquely - then because it was Helena I immediately relented: ‘It’s hopeless. The Palace doesn’t like me any more than I like them. All I get is pottering errands-‘
‘Will you give it up?’
‘No.’ Since I had taken this on for her sake, I stared her out. ‘Look; will you be discreet with Marcellus about my interest in his son?’
‘Oh, I do understand!’ Helena Justina responded, with a hint of rebellion. ‘The Consul is a frail old man who can hardly move-‘
‘Settle down; I’m not harassing the poor old bird -‘ I stopped. A large attendant came out from the house and spoke to Helena; he claimed to have been sent by Marcellus, bringing her a parasol to ward off the strong sun.
I pointed out coldly that we were standing in the shade. The slave stuck fast.
My hands began clenching at my sides. He had size, but his body was so soft he wore wristbands like a gladiator to convince himself he was tough. It took more than a few buckled straps to convince me. Here on the Consul’s estate he was safe enough. But anywhere of his home ground, I could have doubled him up like a piece of human guyrope and fastened him in a cleat.
My temper reached straining point.
‘Lady, I may have all the social breeding of a cockroach in a wall crack, but you don’t need a bodyguard when you’re talking to me!’ Her face set.
‘Wait over there please!’ Helena Justina instructed him; he looked truculent, but did shuffle off out of earshot.
‘Stop sounding so brutal!’ she ordered me, with a look that would etch cameo glass.
I restrained myself. ‘What does your father want?’
‘To thank you for the statue.’ I shrugged. Helena was frowning. ‘Falco, I know where that statue used to be; tell me how you came by it!’
‘There’s no problem with the statue.’ Her air of interference was beginning to annoy me. ‘It’s a good piece, and your father seems the best man to appreciate it.’ Her father had trouble controlling her, but he was very fond of Helena. A man of taste. ‘Did he like it?’
‘It was father who commissioned it. A gift to my husband…’ She folded her arms, reddening slightly.
I chose to avoid this glimpse of the courteous Camillus family honouring Atius Pertinax as they betrothed him to their young daughter. Helena was still looking troubled. I finally realized why: she was afraid I had stolen the thing!
‘Sorry to disabuse you; I happened to be in your ex-husband’s house for legitimate purposes!’
I walked down the steps, anxious to get away. Helena was following me. As I reached the ox cart she muttered, ‘Why do you want the freedman Barnabas? Is it really because of his legacy?’
‘No.’
‘Has he done something wrong, Falco?’
‘Probably.’
‘Serious?’
‘If murder is.’
She bit her lip. ‘Shall I make enquiries here for you?’
‘Best to keep out of it.’ I forced myself to look at her. ‘Lady, take care! Barnabas has caused at least one death - and may intend more.’ Mine for instance, but I omitted that. It might worry her. Or worse, it might not.
We were
standing in full sun now, which gave that lump with her parasol an excuse to come down. Pretending to turn away I confided, ‘If you know Barnabas, I need to talk to you-‘
‘Wait in the olive grove,’ she urged in a hurried undertone. ‘I’ll come after lunch…’
I began to feel badly harassed. Larius was gazing seawards, so discreet it made me cringe. That inquisitive hulk Nero nosed around me shamelessly to see what was going on, dribbling down my tunic sleeve. Then the bodyguard stationed himself alongside the lady as he held up the parasol. It was a huge yellow silk affair with a trailing fringe, like a monstrous jellyfish; at the Circus she could have obstructed spectators for at least six rows behind.
Helena Justina herself stood here in her brilliant white dress and ribbons, like a light, bright, highly decorated Grace on a vase. I stepped up into the cart. I looked back. Something drove me to announce, ‘By the way - I realized that sooner or later you would give me the bum’s rush, but I thought you were well-mannered enough to mention it!’
‘Give you the what?’ The woman knew exactly what I meant.
‘You could have written. No need for a full oration; ‘Thanks and get lost, punk’ would express the right idea. Writing ‘Goodbye’ would not have tired your wrist!’
Helena Justina drew herself up. ‘No point, Falco! By the time I decided, you had already tripped off to Croton without a word!’
She shot me a look of spectacular distaste, dodged out from the parasol, then skipped up the steps and back into the house.
I let Larius drive. I reckoned if I tried my hands would shake.
She unsettled me. I had wanted to see her but now I had, everything about the occasion left me shifting in my seat.
Nero was plunging straight towards the olive grove, eagerly showing off how well he knew the way. Larius sat with one arm on his knee, unconsciously copying Petronius. He turned sideways to inspect me.
‘You look as if you’d been poked in the ear with a broom.’ ‘Nothing so subtle!’ I said.
‘Excuse me,’ Larius goaded heartlessly. ‘But who was that?’
‘That? Oh, her in the ribbons? The honourable Helena Justina. Father in the senate and two brothers on foreign service. Married once; one divorce. An adequate education, a passable face, plus property worth a quarter of a million in her own right-‘
‘Seemed a pleasant sort of woman!’
‘She called me a rat.’
‘Oh yes, I gathered you two were very close!’ my nephew declared, with the candid, casual sarcasm he was honing to perfection nowadays.
XXXIII
My brain was wanting to race, and I was trying to prevent it. All the way down to the olive grove I scowled in silence. Larius whistled jauntily through his teeth.
Rather than think about Helena, I considered Caprenius Marcellus. He might not be active politically now, but he was still keenly alert. He must have known all about his son’s plot while Pertinax was alive - and probably encouraged it. I bet he knew where Aufidius Crispus was too.
I wondered if Marcellus had invited Helena to visit him in order to pick her brains about developments on the official side after his son’s death.
Meanwhile I had no doubt Helena had abandoned me. I could hardly believe it. Six weeks before things had been so different. Remembering, a slow, rich warmth spread into me, fixing me where I sat… And what would that smart young lady be thinking now? Whether to have a pound or two of Lucanian sausage or a great fat conical sheep’s cheese from the Lactarii Mountains for her lunch. Helena had a spanking appetite; she would probably need both.
Larius and I ate our apples in the olive grove.
I prepared for a lengthy wait while the Consul dawdled through his three-hour snack and washed it down; his honour had filled himself a substantial wine flask for one old man and a wench who was, as far as I had ever found out, abstemious with drink. Marcellus looked like the kind of invalid who made the most of his convalescence.
To fill time before Helena could escape from the villa, I began another talk with Larius.
He had a better grip of the facts of life than I ever had at fourteen. Modern education must be more advanced; all I learned at school was the seven elements of rhetoric, bad Greek and simple arithmetic.
‘I’d better give you some tips on handling women, Larius.
I was devoted to women, yet cynical about my success.
Eventually we reached the point where I was imparting certain practical information, though trying to keep a heavy moral tone. Larius looked shifty and unconvinced.
‘You’ll find a girl! Or more likely a girl will find you.’ He was certain it was hopeless, so I spent some time trying to revive his confidence. He was a charitable soul; he heard me out patiently. ‘All I ask is be sensible. As head of the family I have enough soulful orphans wanting porridge in their feeding bowls… There are ways to avoid it: holding back manfully in moments of passion, or eating garlic to put the women off. Garlic at least is supposed to be good for you! Some people swear by a sponge soaked in vinegar-‘
‘What for?’ Larius looked puzzled. I explained. He pulled a face as if he thought it sounded unreliable (true: due to the problem of finding a young lady who would bother to go through the procedure on request).
‘My brother Festus told me once, if you know where to go and are prepared to afford it, you can buy scabbards sewn from fine calfskin to guard delicate parts of your anatomy from disease; he swore he had one, though he never showed me. According to him, it helped prevent the arrival of curly-haired little accidents-‘
‘Is that right?’
‘Young Marcia’s existence does argue against it; but perhaps his calfskin doings had gone to the laundry that day-‘
Larius blushed. ‘Any alternatives?’
‘Get too drunk. Live in a desert. Pick a girl with a conscience who gets lots of headaches-‘
‘Sharp practitioners,’ proclaimed a light, scathing, female voice, ‘go for senators’ daughters! They give their services free, while in the event of a ‘curly-haired accident’ the lady is bound to know someone who knows how to procure an abortion - and if she’s rich she can pay for it herself!’
Helena Justina must have let her lunch go down hiding under a tree and listening to us. Now here she came: a tall girl with a bite like Spanish mustard, whose scorn any wise informer could learn to live without. Her face was white as a shell; she had a sharp, withdrawn expression that I remembered from when I first met her, when she was dismally unhappy after her divorce.
‘Please don’t get up!’ Larius and I made a halfhearted attempt to raise our backsides, then fell down again. Helena sat there on the dry grass with us, managing to look rank conscious and remote. ‘Who’s this, Falco?’
‘My sister’s son Larius. His mother reckons he needs cheering up.’
She smiled at my nephew in a sweet way she had refined to smile at me. ‘Hello, Larius.’ She had a direct approach to young people which I could see attracted him. ‘Someone should warn you, your uncle’s a hypocrite!’
Larius jumped. She gave me an irritating smile. ‘Well, Falco leads a dangerous life, of course: In fact one day he’ll die of a brain tumour when some furious woman breaks a big stone pot on his head-‘
By now Larius was looking seriously alarmed. I jerked my head and he made himself invisible.
It was no business of a senator’s daughter to invade the scene when I was trying to do my duty as a substitute father.
‘Lady, that was harsh!’ I watched as she tore at the grass beside her, breathing furiously again.
‘Was it?’ She stopped torturing the fescue and turned on me. ‘Do private informers come from some barbarian tribe whose gods let them fornicate without the normal risks?’ Shocked at her language, I started to speak. ‘Your advice to the boy,’ she overruled me with some malice, ‘was a complete farce!’
‘Oh, that’s unfair-‘
‘Wrong, Falco! Sponges in vinegar, Falco?
Calfskin scabbards? Holding back manfully?
I experienced a surge of reminiscence that was embarrassingly physical… ‘Helena Justina, what happened between us was-‘
‘A great mistake, Falco!’
‘Well, slightly unexpected-‘
‘Once!’ she scoffed. ‘Hardly the second time.’
True.
‘I’m sorry -‘ She heard my apology arching her strong eyebrows in a way that made me furious. I forced myself to ask, ‘Is anything wrong?’
‘Forget I spoke,’ she answered bitterly. ‘Rely on me!’ There was nothing safe to say to her, but after a desperate moment I tried anyway: ‘I thought you understood, you could rely on me!’
‘Oh, for heavens’ sake, Falco -‘ In her usual crisp style Helena abandoned it. ‘What have you dragged me all the way out here to say?’
I leaned against a gnarl in the olive tree behind. I felt drugged; starvation perhaps.
‘Enjoy your lunch? Larius and I had apples; mine was the one where a maggot had got at all the best bits first.’ She was frowning, though probably not because she wished she had brought us a basket of scraps. Seeing a woman looking anxious over my appetite generally makes me relent. ‘Don’t worry about us… Tell me about Barnabas!’
Immediately the tension between us eased.
‘I knew him of course,’ Helena said at once. She must have been thinking it over while she had lunch. Her expression flooded with interest. She loved a mystery. And I always felt more cheerful when I had her to help. ‘He could easily be here. He and Gnaeus often came here in summer; they kept racehorses on the farm -‘ It was nothing to do with me, yet it always jarred when she called her vile ex-husband by his personal name. ‘What has the fool been up to, Falco? Not really murder?’
‘Misguided vengeance campaign, according to the Palace, though I have stronger views! Don’t ever approach him; he is much too dangerous.’ She nodded: an unexpected treat. I had rarely been able to influence the lady (though, that never stopped me giving her advice). ‘When you knew him, what was he like?
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