Time to Depart mdf-7

by Lindsey Davis

  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 dumps, 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 could 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 chosen 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.
r />   '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 applique 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.

  '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 greet to inspect what was happening in my new rooms.

  A group of patrolmen were sitting in the apartment discussing whether rats were more dangerous than women. I concealed my irritation, added a few philosophical comments, then offered to show them where the nearest fountain was. They picked up their buckets fairly agreeably (the fee they had negotiated with me was, to put it mildly, adequate) and followed me down to the street. I told them the way, but I stayed in Fountain Court. I had seen someone I knew.

  He was standing down by the barber's, an unmistakable, untidy lump. He had a bundle of scrolls, and was writing notes against one of them. When I came up, I could see the same intense concentration on his face and the same little squiggly lettering that I had seen once when I interrupted him outside the Pantheon making detailed comments on racehorses. It was Florius. Across the street, detailed to tail him everywhere in case he was contacted by his father-in-law, stood Martinus; he had stationed himself by the baker's, pretending he could not decide which loaf to choose. He looked an idiot.

  'The barber's is closed, Florius. We have a wedding locally. He wore himself out this morning snipping the guests'

  'Hello, Falco!'

  'You remember me.'

  'You gave me advice.'

  'Did you follow it?'

  He blushed. 'Yes. I'm being friendly to my wife.' I tried not to speculate what form his friendliness might take. Poor little Milvia.

  'I'm sure your attentions will be happily received. Let me tell you something else: whatever trouble it causes, don't let your mother-in-law come to stay in your house.'

  He opened his mouth, then said nothing. He understood exactly what I meant about Flaccida.

  I was curious. At the same time, I was beginning to feel I knew what he would answer when I asked, 'So what brings you here to Fountain Court?'

  He gestured to the scrolls he was holding under his elbow. 'The same as when I saw you at that brothel the other day. I have decided I ought to go around and take a look at all the properties which Milvia and I were given as her dowry.'

  I folded my arms. Together we stared at the place he had been inspecting. 'You own the whole block up to the roof?'

  'Yes. Most of the rest of this street belongs to another man.' Smaractus. 'There are domestic tenants on the upper floors. This small shop was leased out recently, but it's not open and I cannot make anyone reply.'

  He was talking about the cave of delights that offered second-hand 'Gifts of Charm'. The pla
ce where I had declined to buy Helena a birthday present, though where she had found a refined set of eating tools to give Lenia as her wedding gift. I had seen the snail picks now: they were bronze, big heavy spoons with pointed ends, probably from the fine workshops of central Italy. I had a similar set myself, though of more refed design. Lenia's looked like consular heirlooms, but were sold to us extremely cheaply. I knew what that could mean.

  'Don't knock any more.' Florius looked surprised by my sharp tone. 'Wait here. I'll fetch someone.'

  Back at the wedding Maia had arrived. Her sons Marius and Ancus and Galla's son Gaius sat lined up on a bench, ready to act as the three escorts when the bride went in procession to her new husband's house. Marius was looking cross; he probably knew the torchlight procession would be an occasion of rude songs and obscene jokes: not his style. Gaius was pretty sullen too; but that was just because Maia had insisted the young scruff should be clean. Ancus, who was only five, just sat there with his ears sticking out and wished he could go home.

  I waved to them, then found Petro. 'Sober up!'

  Without a word, and without revealing that he was sloping off, he slid out with me. We walked back down the street to the jumble shop. My heart was knocking. I began to wish I had drunk less. When we reached Florius he straightened up slightly at the sight of Petro; Petro gave him a polite official nod.