Last Act In Palmyra mdf-6 Page 33

  'Well, it's obvious what you need. Get you married, of course.'

  The wild promise could prove a mistake. Thalia would be furious. Even if I could achieve it – most unlikely – I knew Thalia had no intention of seeing her expensively trained product yoked to a brainless boy somewhere at the end of the Empire. Thalia dreamed only of providing Rome with high-class entertainment – entertainment she herself both owned and controlled.

  You have to do your best. I needed to gather all the parties together somewhere. On the spur of the moment it seemed the only way to ensure everyone came.

  If I could have told them just what kind of night out at the theatre it was going to be, there would have been no doubt they would turn up.

  Free tickets wouldn't have been necessary either.

  Chapter LXIV

  It was so late when I returned to camp that Helena and Thalia had despaired of me and were already eating. Chremes and Phrygia happened to be there too. Since they had dropped in casually, the manager and his wife were holding back from tucking in, though I knew Helena would have asked them to help themselves. To spare them the embarrassment of wanting more than they liked to take, I cleaned up all the food bowls myself. I used a scrap of sesame bread to load all the remains into one pot of cucumber relish, which I then kept as my own bowl. Helena gave me a snooty look. Pretending to think her still hungry, I lifted a stuffed vine leaf from my laden dish and set it on a plate for her. 'Excuse fingers.'

  'I'm excusing more than that!' she said. She ate the vine leaf, though.

  'You have a crumb on your chin,' I told her with mock severity.

  'You've a sesame seed on your lip.'

  'You've a pimple on the end of your nose – '

  'Oh shut up, Marcus!'

  The pimple story was untrue. Her skin was pale, but clear and healthy. I was just happy to see Helena with her fever gone, looking well enough to be teased.

  'Good day out?' queried Thalia. She had finished her dinner before I arrived; for a big woman she ate sparingly. More of Thalia consisted of pure muscle and sinew than I liked to contemplate.

  'Good enough. I found your turtledoves.'

  'What's the verdict?'

  'She's as exciting as a used floorcloth. He has the brain of a roof truss.'

  'Well suited!' quipped Helena. She was surreptitiously fingering her nose, checking on my pimple joke.

  'It will be Sophrona who is holding them together.' I could see Thalia thinking that if this were the case, she only had to prise Sophrona off, and her troubles were over.

  I reckoned Sophrona would be difficult to loosen from her prey. 'She really means to have the rich boy. I've promised to get them married.' Best to own up, and get the storm over as soon as possible.

  A lively commotion ensued amongst the women of my part)-, enabling me to finish my dinner in peace while they enjoyed themselves disparaging me. Helena and Thalia were both sensible, however. Their indignation cooled rapidly.

  'He's right. Yoke them together -'

  '- And it will never last!'

  If it did last, they would have outwitted us. But evidently I was not the only person here who felt so cynical about marriage that the happy ending was ruled out.

  Since one person present was the person I intended to marry as soon as I could persuade her to sign a contract, this was worrying.

  Chremes and Phrygia had watched our domestic fracas with a distant air. It struck me they might have come with news of our next performance. If it needed two of them to tell me about the play, that boded harder work than I wanted at this stage of our tour. Since Palmyra was likely to be the end of our association, I had rather hoped for an easier time, zonking the public with some little number I had long ago revised, while I relaxed around the oasis. Even perhaps laying before the punters Helena's perfect modern rendition of The Birds. Its neo-Babylonian flamboyance ought to appeal to the Palmyrenes in their embroidered hats and trousers. (I was sounding like some old sham of a critic; definitely time to resign my post!)

  With Chremes and Phrygia remaining so silent, it was Helena who brightly introduced the subject of booking a theatre.

  'Yes, I fixed something up.' A hint of wariness in Chremes' tone warned me this might not be good news.

  'That's good,' I encouraged.

  'I hope you think so…' His tone was vague. Immediately I began to suspect I would not agree with him. 'There is a little problem -'

  'He means a complete disaster,' Phrygia clarified. A blunt woman. I noticed Thalia regarding her sardonically.

  'No, no!' Chremes was blustering. 'The fact is, we can't get the civic theatre. Actually, it's not up to our usual standards in any case -'

  'Steady on,' I said sombrely. 'Apart from Damascus, we've mainly been playing at holes in the ground with a few wooden benches. This must be pretty rough!'

  'Oh I think they have plans to build something better, Falco!'

  'Everywhere in Syria has plans!' I retorted. 'In twenty or thirty years' time this province will be a theatrical company's dream of sipping ambrosia on Mount Olympus. One day they'll have perfect acoustics, majestic stage architecture, and marble everywhere. Unluckily, we cannot wait that long!'

  'Well, it's typical!' Chremes gave in. He seemed even more despondent than me tonight and set off on a catalogue of miseries: 'We have the same situation everywhere – even in Rome. The performing arts are in a steep decline. My company has tried to raise standards, but the fact is that legitimate live theatre will soon not exist. We'll be lucky if plays are performed as readings by bunches of amateurs sitting round on folding stools. All people want to pay money for nowadays are mimes and musicals. For a full house you have to give them nude women, live animals, and men sacrificed on stage. The only play that is guaranteed success is bloody Laureolus.'

  Laureolus is that rubbish about the brigand, the one where the villain is crucified in the final act – traditionally a way of creating free space in the local jail by dispatching a real criminal.

  Helena intervened: 'What's wrong, Chremes? You normally look on the bright side.'

  'Time to face facts.'

  'It was time to face facts twenty years ago.' Phrygia was even more gloomy than her hated spouse.

  'Why can you not get the theatre?' Helena persisted.

  Chremes sighed heavily. 'The Palmyrenes are not interested. They use the theatre for public meetings. That's what they say anyway; I don't believe it. Either they don't enjoy entertainment or they don't fancy what we're offering. Being rich is no guarantee of culture. These people are just shepherds and cameleers dressed up in lush brocade. Alexander was supposed to have come here, but he must have thought better of it and passed them without stopping. They have no Hellenic heritage. Offering a Palmyrene town councillor the chance to see select Greek or Latin comedies is like feeding roast peacock to a stone.'

  'So what now?' I asked when the tirade finally ended. 'Are we all trooping back across the desert to Damascus without speaking a line?'

  'If only that were true!' remarked Phrygia under her breath. More than ever she seemed to be nursing some immense grudge. Tonight it was even making her incapable of being constructive about her beloved company.

  Maybe that was because after all its vicissitudes, the company was finally cracking up. Chremes turned to me. His bluster was leaving him. 'There was a bit of bother today among the lads and lasses.' At first I assumed he was coming to me for help, in view of my success at turning around the stagehands' and musicians' strike. I was wrong, however. 'The worst is, Philocrates has given notice. Having no stage available here is more than he can take.'

  I laughed briefly. 'Don't you mean he's depressed by the lack of available women?'

  'That doesn't help!' Phrygia agreed sourly. 'There is some suggestion he's also upset because a certain party accused him of causing past events – '

  'The certain party was me,' I admitted. 'Just stirring. He can't have taken it seriously.'

  'Don't believe it!' Thalia put
in. 'If Philocrates is the dot with the itchy piece and the big opinion of himself, he's shitting elephant plop.' She missed nothing. She had only been with us a few days, but already knew who was a real poser.

  'He's not the only one anxious to leave, Falco.' Phrygia sounded ready to give up herself. So was I, come to that. 'A whole mob are demanding their severance pay.'

  'I fear the troupe is falling apart,' Chremes told me. 'We have one last night together, however.' As usual he rallied with a flourish, though an unimpressive one. His 'last night' sounded like some grim party where your creditors turn up, the wine runs out, and a bad oyster dramatically lays you low.

  'Chremes, you said you had failed to get the theatre?'

  'Ah! I try never to fail, Falco!' I tried to keep my face neutral. 'There is a small Roman garrison,' Chremes informed me, as if he had changed the subject. 'Not very visible in the neighbourhood, perhaps, though I believe that may be policy. They are here to undertake road surveys -nothing to which the Palmyrenes could take exception.'

  'If the roads are heading out to the Euphrates, the Parthians may baulk.' I had answered the political point without thinking. Then I guessed what the manager was saying and I groaned. 'Oh, I don't believe mis… Tell us the worst, Chremes!'

  'I happened to meet one of their officers. He has placed at our disposal a small amphitheatre which the troops have built for themselves.'

  I was horrified. 'Dear gods! Have you ever attended a garrison theatre?'

  'Have you?' As usual he dodged.

  'Plenty!'

  'Oh I'm sure we can manage -'

  'You're ignoring the little matter of having no front stage,' Phrygia gloatingly broke in, as she confirmed the unsuitable venue Chremes had accepted. 'A performance in the round. No fixed scenery, no exits and entrances, no trapdoors from below, and nowhere to hide the lifting machinery if we want to do flying scenes. Giving our all to an audience of bullies, all screaming for obscenities and supplying them if we don't -'

  'Hush!' Helena soothed her. Then her common sense broke through. 'I do see it may be hard to keep soldiers happy fora whole play…'

  'Torture!' I rasped. 'If they only chuck rocks, we'll be lucky.'

  'This is where you come in,' Chremes informed me eagerly.

  'I doubt it.' I was planning to load the ox-cart and turn back to Damascus that night. 'I think you'll find this is where I back out.'

  'Marcus Didius, listen. You'll be pleased by our idea.' I doubted that too. 'I've discussed this with the company and we all feel that what we need to hold the soldiers' attention is something short, light, dramatic and above all, different.'

  'So what?' I asked, wondering why Helena suddenly giggled behind her stole.

  Chremes for his part appeared to be blushing. 'So we wondered if you were ready to let us rehearse your famous ghost play?'

  That was how my elegant creation, The Spook mho Spoke, came to receive its sole performance on a hot August evening, in the Palmyra garrison amphitheatre. If you can think of worse, I'd be intrigued to hear it. The soldiers, incidentally, only turned out at all because they had been told one of the support acts was a suggestive snake dancer.

  They got more than they bargained for. But then, so did we all.

  Chapter LXV

  One problem we faced was that as a result of all the derision people had poured on my idea, most of the play was not even written. All writers must know that sinking feeling, when the goods are demanded in the firm expectation of a delivery you know is impossible… But by now I was so professional that the mere lack of a script left me undeterred. We wanted the drama to have speed and bite; what better than to improvise?

  I soon knew that my play would not have to carry the entire evening: Thalia's travelling sideshow had caught up with us.

  I first noticed something new when a lion cub appeared in our tent. He was sweet but ungainly, and so boisterous it was frightening. Investigation revealed extra waggons. One of them consisted of two large carts fixed together, on top of which loomed a massive structure shrouded in skins and sheets. 'Whatever's that?'

  'Water organ.'

  'You haven't got an organist!'

  'You're fixing that, Falco.'

  I cringed. 'Don't back that bet with money…'

  Among the new arrivals were one or two seedy characters from Thalia's troupe in Rome. 'My dancing partner arrived too,' Thalia said: the famous snake she called 'the big one'.

  'Where is he?'

  'In charge of my keen new snakekeeper.' She sounded as if she knew something the rest of us had missed. 'Want to see?'

  We followed her to a waggon on the far side of camp. The lion cub gambolled after us. 'What does keeping the snake entail?' Helena enquired politely as we walked, keeping an eye on the cub.

  'Catching mice, or anything bigger, then poking them into the basket, preferably still alive. A large python needs a lot of lunch. Back in Rome, I had a gang of lads who brought rats to me. They liked to watch things being swallowed. We had some trouble once when there was a spate of lost cats in the Quirinal lanes. People wondered why their pet pussies kept disappearing… Zeno ate a baby ostrich once, but that was a mistake.'

  'How can you swallow a whole ostrich by mistake?' I laughed.

  'Oh it wasn't a mistake to Zeno!' Thalia grinned. Fronto was owner of the circus then. He was livid.' Fronto's menagerie had a history of creatures finding unfortunate meals. Fronto himself had become one eventually. Thalia was still reminiscing: 'Apart from losing the feathers, watching the long neck go in was the worst bit… and then we had Fronto creating. We could hardly pretend it hadn't happened, what with the lump slowly gliding head first down inside Zeno, and the legs still sticking out. And of course they don't always do this, but just to make sure Fronto couldn't forget the loss, he spat out the bits that had once been the bones.'

  Helena and I were still gulping as we climbed into the waggon.

  The light was dim. A large rectangular basket, worryingly knocked about and with holes in it, stood in the back of the cart. 'Bit of trouble on the journey,' Thalia commented. 'The keeper's trying to find the baby a strong new cradle…' I refrained from asking what the trouble had been, hoping the damage had resulted from ruts in the desert road rather than delinquent activity from the giant snake. Thalia lifted the lid and leaned in, affectionately stroking whatever the basket contained. We heard a sluggish rustle from deep within. 'That's my gorgeous cheeky darling… Don't worry. He's been fed. Anyway, he's far too hot. He doesn't want to move. Come and tickle him under the chin, Falco.'

  We peered in, then hastily withdrew. From what we could see of the big sleepy python, he was immense. Golden coils half as thick as a human torso were looped back and forth like a huge skein of loom wool. Zeno filled the basket, which was so big it would take several men to move it. Rough calculations told me Zeno must be fifteen to twenty feet long. More than I wanted to think about, anyway.

  'Phew! He must be too heavy to lift, Thalia!'

  'Oh I don't lift him much! He's tame, and he likes a lot of fuss, but if you get him too excited he starts thinking he'll mate with something. I saw a snake run up a woman's skirt once. Her face was a picture!' Thalia cackled with raucous laughter. Helena and I smiled bravely.

  I had been leaning on a smaller basket. Suddenly I felt movement.

  'That's Pharaoh.' Thalia's smile was not encouraging. 'Don't open the basket, Falco. He's my new Egyptian cobra. I haven't tamed him yet.'

  The basket jerked again and I sprang back.

  'Good gods, Thalia! What do you want a cobra for? I thought they were deadly venomous?'

  'Oh yes,' she replied offhandedly. 'I want to liven up my stage act – but he'll be a challenge!'

  'However do you manage to dance with him safely?' Helena demanded.

  'I'm not using him yet!' Even Thalia showed some wariness. 'I'll have to think about it on the way home to Rome. He's gorgeous,' she exclaimed admiringly. 'But you don't exactly say "Come to Mother!" and pick
up a cobra for a cuddle… Some operators cut out their fangs, or even sew their mouths up, which means the poor darlings starve to death, of course. I haven't decided whether I'll milk his venom before a performance, or just use the easy method.'

  Full of foreboding, I felt obliged to ask: 'What's the easy method?'

  Thalia grinned. 'Oh, just dancing out of range!'

  Glad to escape, we jumped down from the waggon and came face to face with the 'keen new snakekeeper'. He had his sleeves rolled up and was dragging along one of the company costume trunks, presumably intended as the big python's new bed. The lion cub rushed up to him, and he rolled it over to scratch its stomach. It was Musa. Knowing Thalia, I had half expected it.

  Musa looked unexpectedly competent as he dodged the big flailing paws, and the cub was ecstatic.

  I grinned. 'Surely the last time I saw you, you were a priest? Now you're an expert zookeeper!'

  'Lions and snakes arc symbolic,' he answered calmly, as if he was thinking of starting a menagerie on the Petra High Place. I did not ask about him leaving us. I saw him glance diffidently at Helena, as if ensuring she was making a good recovery. She still looked pale. I slung an arm around her. I was not forgetting how serious her illness had been. Maybe I wanted to let it be known that any cosseting she needed would come from me.

  Musa seemed rather withdrawn, though not upset. He stepped up to the waggon where the snakes were kept and lifted something from a peg in the dark interior. 'Look what I found waiting for me at a temple here, Falco.' He was showing me a hat. 'There is a letter from Shullay, but I have not read it yet.'

  The hat was a wide-brimmed, round-crowned, Greek-looking number, the sort you see on statues of Hermes. I sucked air through my teeth. 'That's a traveller's headgear. Have you seen it before – travelling very fast downhill?'