Scandal Takes a Holiday mdf-16

by Lindsey Davis

  Cotys knew nothing of Anacrites.

  'You did it!' he shouted. 'This is the end of you, Falco!' The crew were all yelling abuse. Someone began shaking a boathook, though I was too low down for them to reach. Cotys disappeared again for a moment, then he was back with an axe. He was so angry he was willing to sacrifice a decent ladder just to dispatch me. He slashed at the ladder. Like all sailors, he knew how to cleave a rope in a crisis. One side gave way. As I swung and crashed against the hull, I cried out for him to stop.

  He sawed through the other rope. I fell. I had just time to hope that some passing dolphin who liked to play with Roman boys would swim up and save my life. Then I took a last breath, flailed madly amid the tangled ladder rungs, and sank beneath the deep, cold waves.

  LII

  Don't fall in any water…

  Helena had known almost since I met her that I could not swim. She had once saved me from tumbling into the River Rhodanus, after which it had been her personal mission to prevent me from drowning. She had tried to teach me how to stay afloat. Hold your breath and just lie back; you will float on the water. Have faith, Marcus…

  I went down. I came up. I held my breath and looked up at the sky. Water rushed over my face and I sank straight back down under. I was trapped in ladder rungs. I was being dragged beneath the water by their weight. Stupidly, I was still holding on. I let go my grip and fought to free myself. Terror almost overwhelmed me. I broke loose.

  Suddenly lighter, I knew I was free. Don't panic; just keep still…

  I came up and hit the surface. Warm sun lit my face. Coughing, I nearly sank again. On your back, Marcus; you're quite safe. I kept still. I took a breath and did not sink. Fine. Thank you, lady. The Illyrian ship was sailing fast away from me on the northbound coastal current. The shoreline was so far away it was virtually out of sight.

  I had been battered and tormented, then thrown into the ocean. I was floating, but when I tried to move, I floundered. I had swallowed seawater. I knew I would be cold and exhausted all too soon. I felt sick. Cramp was moments away. There were no friendly dolphins wanting to rescue me, though I knew there would be sharks. Neptune and Amphitrite might have invited me to dinner, but they must have gambolled off with their hippocamps to elsewhere in their salty domain. Nobody knew I had even left Portus. Now here I was, all alone in the middle of the Tyrrhenian Sea. In despair, I struggled to point myself shorewards. Then I saw a fishing smack.

  The small boat was motionless with its spritsail furled, not too far from me. Nobody was visible. I tried calling for help, with no result.

  Slowly, I tried paddling and at last, after ages of effort, I struggled right alongside the bobbing boat. It was too soon to start feeling proud of myself. It was too soon for relief.

  As I called out and made my presence felt, someone at last reacted. He was very displeased to see me. In fact, as I tried to grab a rope and appeal for help to come aboard the craft, he abruptly stood up above me. In horror I saw him raise an oar, about to crash it on my head with sure intent to kill me. I kicked off from his damned boat. I would have cursed him but there was no time and I went under the water again. The man I had seen was wide, sturdy, in his sixties and with wild grey curly hair. Although I only glimpsed a blurred outline through the water in my eyes, I knew him. I tried to shout his name but swallowed a pint of sea instead. It was too late. I was drowning now. Then I blundered into something which nearly took my ear off, and heard a cry of 'Grab the bloody oar!'

  After which that familiar voice said with casual irritation, 'I've given birth to an idiot.'

  So I grabbed the oar and gasped with my usual filial respect, 'Shut up and pull me out, before I die here, Pa!'

  LIII

  'Nice of you to drop in, Marcus. What are you doing, fannying about here all on your own, half dead?'

  Half dead was right. I was lying barefoot in the bottom of his boat, completely collapsed. I could not even thank Geminus for the welcome. Someone thumped me between the shoulder blades. I threw up a lot of seawater.

  'Gods, nothing changes with this boy, he was just the same at three months old, oops, there he goes again! Let's try and aim him over the side next time.'

  Someone else was in the boat. With a lot of concentration, as other people hauled me upright, I managed to squirm around enough to be seasick over the rail as requested. Applause greeted this feat of willpower. I lay with my face on the rail, shivering uncontrollably.

  'Take me home, Pa.'

  'We will, son.' Nothing happened. The fishing boat continued to bob gently where it was. I was aware that Geminus was taking his ease, completely unconcerned. Eventually, I managed to squint around enough to see his companion. Gornia, Pa's warehouse assistant. Beside him, my belt had been looped around a spar and my boots upended on the rowlocks to drain.

  Both Pa and Gornia were wearing hats. They had draped a tiny piece of sacking to provide shade for me. The August sun sparkled off the ocean, its light implacable and dazzling. I could not face the major issue of why my father just happened to be drifting about the Tyrrhenian Sea. So I lost myself in wondering why Gornia, who ought to be supervising the warehouse back at the Saepta Julia in Rome, was instead sitting with my father in the same ridiculous boat.

  The answer was beyond me. Gornia, a little old chap who had spent many years with my father, just sat there and grinned at me with almost toothless gums. I did not waste effort on an appeal to him. He always let Pa take the lead in conversation, and Pa was a master of holding back essential facts. Gornia could have worked at some respectable establishment, where the pay would have been as scanty and the hours as long, but he gave the strange impression he enjoyed the thrills at the Geminus cavern of mysteries.

  'Take me home, please, Pa!'

  'All in good time, boy.' Nothing had changed. I could have been five years old again, overtired and overfed with honeyed dates, at some long-winded auctioneers' party to which Pa had been told to take me to get me out from under Mother's feet for few hours. With two young children of my own, I knew all too well how to respond.

  'I want to go home now.'

  'Not yet, son.' I gave up. Maybe I had really drowned and this was a nightmare in Hades.

  'Pa, is it too much to ask, exactly what are you doing here?'

  'Just a quiet fishing trip, Marcus.'

  'Sharks?' I snarled, thinking of Uncle Fulvius.

  I could see a couple of lines dangling overboard, though neither Pa nor Gornia was paying them any attention. I could not remember my father going fishing before, ever. He was a grilled-pork man. Or as we used to joke, roast peacock, if ever he could impose himself on a dinner party where the host served such a luxury to spongers. Since nothing would ever happen until my annoying parent decided he was ready, I roused myself a little and struggled out of my wet tunic. Gornia kindly spread it out to dry. Pa gave me a flask of water. After tentatively sipping, I recovered enough to ask if he knew where exactly Fulvius had spent his exile after he missed that ship to Pessinus.

  Pa looked surprised, but answered, 'Some dump called Salonae.'

  'Where's that?' Pa shrugged. I prodded, 'Is it in Illyria?'

  'Well…' He had known all along. 'I think it's more north.' I did not believe him.

  'Not Dyrrhachium?'

  'I told you, Salonae.'

  'What was Fulvius doing there?'

  'Bit of this, bit of that.'

  'Don't wriggle. This could be serious.' I had some more water. 'Bit of what, Pa?'

  'Serious, how?'

  'Uncle Fulvius could soon be arrested.'

  'For what?' Pa seemed alarmed.

  'Piracy.'

  'You are joking, son!'

  'No. What has he been doing in Illyria, do you know?'

  'Just buying and selling.' That would give Fulvius an appeal to Pa; anyone in commerce overseas was a potential contact. Before I could ask, selling what, my father volunteered, 'He was a supplier to the Ravenna Fleet. A negotiator.'

  'Neg
otiator covers a whole range of business, legitimate or otherwise.'

  'You look as if you're going to be sick again, lad,' said Pa earnestly.

  'Don't distract me. I'll be fine if you ever row me back to land. I'm wet and I'm cold, and I've had a bad experience. If you hadn't turned up, I would have drowned. I am grateful, believe me, I am very grateful, but why can't we go? For heavens' sake, I'll buy you some damned fish. I'll get you a whole bloody swordfish and let you say you caught it yourself, Pa.'

  Pa let me rant. When I stopped, he just said peacefully, 'We can't go yet.' I looked at Gornia. The emaciated porter just grinned. Both he and my father seemed strangely at home out here.

  'Whose boat is this?' I demanded suspiciously.

  'Mine,' said Pa. That was news. It was an old boat. How long had my father had a boat?

  'Where do you keep it, and what is it for?' Pa just smiled at me. I tried again.

  'Do you often row out as far as this, and just sit whistling under the sky?'

  'Very health-giving.'

  'Very dubious, Pa.' Gornia thought this was so witty he chuckled. Well, that was a first. He too seemed quite content to stay here for ever, doing nothing. I stood up, managed not to faint, and grasped a long rowing oar. In theory I could handle small boats, though I was not as adept as Petronius.

  'If you don't tell me what we're waiting for, I'm going to scull us ashore myself, Pa.'

  My father didn't bother to get up and grab the oar; he knew three strokes would finish me.

  'We are waiting for a catch, Marcus. All that's bitten so far is yourself… delightful surprise, don't get me wrong, but Helena won't thank me if I grill you for supper. Sit down and stop playing up. If you're hungry you can have my lunch.'

  'He looks as if he'll chuck up again.' For once, Gornia was moved to comment. He was worried that if I took after Pa, I would eat his share. Still, it looked a large hamper.

  I worked things out. They had done this before. More times than I would like to know. Of course they were not fishing; they had an assignation. I could guess what for. Pa was expecting some international trader to drop goods overboard to him. He would take the booty ashore in secret, without paying import duty. I could hardly complain, since he had rescued me, but I now understood why he had been prepared to bash anyone who tried to climb aboard. I was furious. My father was smuggling works of art, and if the vigiles or customs apprehended him today, I would be arrested too. I explained how inconvenient this would be to a man of my superior equestrian status, and Pa told me where to stuff my gold ring.

  'You'll get caught, Pa.'

  'I don't see why,' my father assured me in a bland tone. 'I never have before.'

  'Just how long have you been doing this?'

  'About thirty years.'

  'It can't be worth it.'

  'It bloody is!'

  'What's import duty, two, two and a half per cent? All right, so you have to add one per cent auction tax but you make your clients pay that.'

  'Duty on some luxuries is twenty-five per cent,' intoned Pa, and let me absorb why such a swingeing tax made sitting in this boat worth while.

  'It gives me a good feeling,' my father chortled eventually, every time your sister Junia inflicts that fart-arse husband of hers on me!'

  'Oh if we're cheating Gaius Baebius, well done!' I slumped down in the boat and prepared for more punishment. For the next few hours I shivered and was seasick and acquired vicious sunburn, until I wished I had waited much more patiently for a chance to hitch a lift ashore with a dolphin.

  Finally the expected ship approached, a flag was dipped, Pa and Gornia leapt to their feet, waved cheerfully, and when the vessel hove to, they sprang into action as various oddly shaped, heavy packages were lowered in rope cradles. I stayed where I was, pretending to be comatose. My two companions caught the bundles expertly and stowed them, working at speed, filling this fishing smack and the little jollyboat which it towed behind. Gornia, who had once seemed a complete townie, clambered between the boats with unexpected agility. Even Pa, as he began trimming up the sail, looked like some old whelk who had lived in a fishing village all his life. Gornia manned an oar with all the aptitude of a ferryman. The merchant ship had moved off again, and at last we were heading shorewards. I dragged my salt-stiffened tunic back on over my head.

  'Where will you land, Pa? I can't face a long trip back to Ostia.'

  'No need, son. Soon be all over, you'll be tucked up in a cosy bed with some hot spiced wine to lull you off… We'll look after you.' I gazed at him. A new secret was about to break. Some hideous revelation that I would feel obliged to keep at all costs from my mother.

  'I have my own villa,' Pa meekly informed me. Well, of course; he would do. Stuffed with art galleries full of Greek statues. Paid for by contraband.

  'You should let him show you his collection, Marcus,' Gornia confirmed enthusiastically. Pa looked shifty. A thought struck as I glared at him.

  'Fulvius acquires stuff for you – has he been a long-term supplier?'

  'Don't tell your mother.' Ma would strangle Fulvius.

  'How astute! You two have been contacts for years?' Pa nodded. That meant, if Uncle Fulvius was in league with modern pirates, so was Pa. I closed my eyes in despair.

  'Nearly there,' my father soothed me. 'This has been a wonderful treat for me. Sea and sun. A happy day out in a fishing boat, with my boy…'

  It was dusk when we arrived at his villa. It was as luxurious as I expected. I tried not to look. There was no shortage of slaves. A messenger was sent to Helena.

  'You might have consulted me. What did you say, Pa?'

  'Nothing to worry about, darling, gone fishing with Geminus.' Oh great. I tried to think of other things.

  'Isn't this villa close to Damagoras?'

  'He's just up the coast. Is it true he's banged up?' Pa wheedled.

  'Jailed in a vigiles cell.'

  Lindsey Davis

  Scandal Takes a Holiday

  'Is that a nice way to treat an elderly man?'

  'No, but the vigiles are heartless… so watch out! What do you know about Damagoras?'

  'We don't mingle,' uttered Pa. 'I hold my soirees at my place in Rome; I keep myself to myself here. Lot of interlopers, you never know what class of person you might find you're dealing with.'

  I said I could well see that a smuggler would not want to mix in with a pirate chief- and that was when I went to bed.

  The bed was as comfortable as promised, and I slept as soundly as any man who had been tormented and thrown into the sea to drown, before he endured ghastly family revelations and drank a lot of wine to blot out a horrendous day. A night's recovery time was all I needed. I was anxious to be on my way.

  I slept in longer than I meant, but still found the breakfast buffet [served by yet more slaves] before Pa put in an appearance. Gornia, an anxious type, was already up and packing a discreetly covered wagon. He took me up to Ostia. He dropped me close to my apartment, then drove on towards Rome.

  I walked swiftly home, only to find a note written on the back of the one Pa had sent Helena yesterday.

  'Dear skiver, If you turn up, have gone to funeral. Necropolis at Rome Gate. I trust you caught a big one.'

  HJ

  I washed in cold water, changed into new clothing and my second best boots, tried and failed to put a comb through my salted curls, then stood for a second beside Favonia's crib.

  My family were absent, but it helped me reconnect with them. I detoured via Privatus' house. My children were there, being looked after; I did not disturb them. Young Marius and Cloelia were in the peristyle garden; they had discovered how to fiddle with the Dionysus statue's waterworks. The wine god now performed a huge, arching pee at which they fell about in fits of giggles. Then they looked up, saw me, and threw themselves upon me with delight. Nux and Marius' young dog Argos, who were sleeping in a patch of shade, looked up, wagged lazy tails, and went back to sleeping.

  'Uncle Marcus! Everyone
has been searching for you.'

  'I'm in trouble, then.'

  'Well if they kill you at the funeral,' Cloelia consoled me, 'that will be convenient. Would you like red roses or white ones on your bier?'

  'You choose for me.'

  'The double ones are my favourites.'

  'I lost my sword,' I told Marius. 'Does Petronius have a spare here?'

  My nephew was not supposed to know, but he did and he fetched it for me straight away. It was a basic weapon in a plain scabbard, but sat in the hand well and was perfectly sharpened. Buckling it on, in the familiar high military position under my right armpit, I felt better at once.

  'Thanks, Marius. Kiss the girls for me.'

  'We'll be their guardians,' Cloelia assured me in her solemn way, 'if Mother and Aunt Helena make you fall on the sword.'

  While Marius was fetching the sword she too had scampered off, to return with Petro's second-best toga so that at the funeral I could be properly clad, with my head veiled in its capacious folds. Nice children. I decided not to mention that their great-uncle was a pirate's associate and that their grandfather smuggled art.

  LIV

  Marcus Rubella may have tried to prevent the funeral of Theopompus from becoming a wild party on a beach; what he had achieved was a wild party at a necropolis. Since Rhodope had chosen to give her lover his send-off at the Rome Gate, this was about as public as it could be.

  When I arrived, the event had been in full flow since sunrise, and its fervour showed no sign of abating. Everyone who passed by on the main road to and from Ostia must have been aware of it. Rubella looked glum as he supervised a group of vigiles, who were attempting to divert the crowds.

  'No entry!'

  You tell them, son.' With a cheery wave to the tribune, I eased in past his traffic controls. Aiming for the noise, I made my way between the rows of columbaria.

  The necropolis was laid out like a small town of miniature houses for the dead. They were solidly brick-built, many with pitched roofs. Some had their doors standing open; most had a main room, with niches all around the walls at two levels, for receiving urns. One wide, travertine paved street ran parallel to the main road from Rome; it was full of people, all heading for the Theopompus send-off.