Poseidon_s Gold mdf-5 Page 4

  Before I went upstairs I paused to pay my respects to Lenia, the haggard virago who owned and ran the laundry that occupied the ground floor. Thunder was still growling about, so not much was going on because nothing they bothered to wash would ever dry. A very tall man draped in a rather short toga was standing in silence while his wife harangued Lenia about sending back wrong laundry. Lenia was getting the worst of some tense issue about a stain, so when I popped my head indoors she left them at once and came to be rude to me.

  'Falco, you half-arsed donkey-drover! Who let you back into Rome?'

  'Public demand for my civilising influence.'

  'Hah! Good trip?'

  'Wish I had stayed there-my apartment's wrecked.'

  'Oh really?' Lenia, who had connections with the snail slime I called my landlord, assumed an expression as though she would love to talk further, but must urgently dash to the pie shop before the ovens cooled.

  'You know it is!' I retorted. In a dispute with the landlord there was no future; still, raising my voice eased the knot that was strangling my liver.

  'Don't involve me. Speak to Smaractus…'

  'I'm looking forward to the pleasure!'

  'He's out of town. ' That parasite Smaractus had probably heard I was back and arranged himself a six-month stay at his holiday home on Lake Volsena. Yachting would be a cold sport in March. 'So people got in, did they?' Lenia must have spotted the interlopers every time they took the stairs. In fact, they had probably stuffed a silver coin in her fist to find out where there was an empty roost. 'That's terrible!'

  I gave up the struggle. 'Are my womenfolk here?'

  'There's been some toing and froing. Your sister dropped in earlier.' That could have meant any one of five-no, four now. Victorina was gone.

  'Maia?' Only Maia would put herself out for me.

  Lenia nodded. 'Oh, and that bastard Petronius was looking for you.'

  This was better news. Petronius Longus, captain of the Aventine Watch, was my closest friend. I was looking forward to swapping insults while regaling him with lurid lies about my foreign trip.

  'How are the wedding plans?' I shouted at Lenia as I bounded for the stairs.

  'Progressing!' That was bluff. Lenia and Smaractus were supposed to be linking fortunes, only somehow neither could bring themselves to the point of sharing their money bags. 'What about yours?' she retaliated.

  'Oh, at about the same wonderful stage…'

  I nipped for the stairs before this line of questioning bit too hard.

  VII

  I guessed that my rooms had reached the point of getting worse before they could be improved. On the landing outside there was hardly room to squeeze through the mounds of broken furniture and swag bags of jetsam in order to reach the front door.

  Helena Justina met me coming out. She was carrying a heavy bale of rubbish, wrapped in what was left of a cloak with its corners knotted. She looked exhausted. Helena was stubborn and courageous about the squalor she had to live in alongside me, although she had been delicately reared. I could see her strength was failing. She knocked into the discarded frame of my bed, bruised herself badly, and spoke a word no senator's daughter should have known; she must have picked it up from me.

  'Here-give me that!'

  She edged away from my outstretched hand. 'I have to keep going. Don't upset my balance, or I'll drop.'

  'Drop on me,' I murmured temptingly. Using my strength I took the bundle from her; Helena drooped against me, letting her full weight collapse while she held on around my neck.

  Manfully I supported both my lass and the bundle of rubbish, pretending it was effortless. When she had made her point, she tickled my neck unfairly so I had to let go of the bundle. It crashed downstairs for a couple of landings. We watched, though with no interest in chasing after it.

  'Ma gone?' I asked hopefully. She nodded. 'That's all right then!' I murmured, starting to kiss her while we still stood amidst the chaos on the landing. Mine was the only apartment on the sixth floor, so we were assured of privacy. Revived by a day in Rome, I didn't care who saw us anyway.

  After a while I stopped, held Helena's hot, tired face between my hands and gazed into her eyes. I watched peace making itself at home in her soul. She smiled slightly, while she let me take the credit for calming her. Then her eyes half closed; she hated me to know the effect I had. I hugged her and laughed.

  We went into the apartment holding hands. The place was virtually empty, but now clean. 'You can sit on the balcony,' Helena told me. 'We washed it out-and scrubbed the bench.'

  I took her with me. It was nearly dark and pretty cool, but that made a good excuse for huddling close. 'The apartment has never been so clean. It's not worth it. Don't wear yourself out over this dump, fruit.'

  'You won't want to stay long at your mother's.' Helena knew me.

  'I can bear living at Ma's if I have you to protect me.' That was surprisingly true.

  I kept her there, looking at the view while she rested. Ahead of us an aggressive wind was driving clouds at a fast pace above the Tiber and a dull threat of rain darkened our normal vista across to the Ianiculan. Rome lay below, sullen and muted, like a disloyal slave whose sins had been found out.

  'Marcus, you never told me properly what happened when you saw the soldier yesterday.' That's the trouble with gazing at views; once people start feeling bored, gluey issues may be raised.

  My attention lingered on the winter scenery. 'I didn't want to worry Ma.'

  'She's not here; worry me.'

  'I wanted to avoid that too.'

  'Keeping things to yourself is what worries me most.'

  I gave in. She was badgering, but I like being badgered by Helena. 'I saw Censorinus at the caupona, but we got nowhere. He told me some of my brother's cronies in the legion lost money on importing Greek statues.'

  'So what's their point?'

  'Our Festus gaily assured them all he would see them right for the loss.'

  'He failed though?'

  'He promptly dropped off a battlement. Now they want me to square matters, but Censorinus refused to come clean about the original deal…'

  As I tailed off Helen's interest sharpened. 'What happened?' She knew I was hiding something. 'Was there trouble at the caupona?'

  'It ended in fisticuffs.'

  'Oh Marcus!'

  'He started it.'

  'I hope so! But I bet you were digging your heels in?'

  'Why not? Nothing else they can expect if they choose to be secretive.'

  Helena had to agree. She thought for a moment, then asked, 'Tell me about your brother. I used to have the impression everyone approved of him. Now I can't decide what your feelings are.'

  'That's it. Neither can I sometimes.' He had been eight years older than me. Distant enough for an element of hero worship-or for the other thing. Part of me hated him; though the rest loved him much more. 'He could be a trial. Yet I couldn't bear losing him. That sums him up.'

  'Was he like you?'

  'No.' Probably not.

  'So are you taking this any further?'

  'I'm waiting to see.'

  'That means you want to give up.' It was a reasonable comment. But she didn't know Festus. I doubted if I could escape; even if I tried doing nothing, the situation was out of control.

  Helena was starting to hunch against the cold. I said, 'We need some dinner.'

  'We can't keep imposing on your mother.'

  'How right-let's go and see your parents!'

  'I thought you might say that. I brought a change of clothes. I ought to bathe first…'

  I surveyed her; she looked filthy, but full of fight. Even a layer of grime could not smother her resourceful character. Being covered with dust enhanced the brightness of her great dark eyes, and when her hair was slipping out of its pins I only wanted to help dismantle it… If there had been a bed, we would have gone no further that evening. There was no bed, and no reasonable substitute. I grinned ruefully. 'My darling
, it may not be a bright idea to bring you to your parents looking as if you've spent all day working like a slave in a furnace-house. On the other hand, bad treatment is all your noble relatives expect from me, so let's go and use your papa's private bathhouse for free.'

  I had a double motive in this. If Helena's parents were about to reveal that Titus Caesar had been sniffing around while we were abroad, the worse Helena looked on arrival, the easier it would be for them to accept that I had won her first. It had been pure chance, but as the one piece of luck in my sordid life I intended clinging on to it. Once Helena threw herself at me, no one could expect me to refuse the gift-any more than they ought to hope the son of a deeply conservative emperor would take her on after me. That was my hope, anyway.

  The Camillus family lived in one half of a private two-house block just off the Via Appia near the Capena Gate. The next-door house was empty, though they owned that too. It was deteriorating while it stood unoccupied. Theirs was no worse than the last time I saw it, a modest spread that bore the marks of a permanent cash shortage. Poor paint in the interior had faded badly since the house was built; mean fittings in the gardens failed to match the standards of grandeur originally set by the rest of the house. But it was comfortably furnished. Among senators they were an unusually civilised family-respectful to the gods, kind to children, generous to their slaves, and even gracious with underprivileged hangers-on like me.

  There was a small bath suite, served by water from the Claudian Aqueduct, which on winter evenings they kept fairly hot. Struggling or not, they had the right domestic priorities. I scraped Helena down, enjoying the delicate bits. 'Hmm, I've never yet made love to a senator's daughter in the senator's own bathhouse…'

  'You're versatile; you'll come to it!'

  Not then, however. Noises off announced company. As her father turned up for his pre-dinner soak, Helena threw a towel across my lap and disappeared. I sat on the side of the plunge bath trying to look more respectful than I felt.

  'Leave us alone, please,' Decimus Camillus commanded the slaves who came in with him. They went, but made it clear that giving instructions was no business of the master of the house.

  Decimus Camillus Verus was a friend of Vespasian's and therefore on the up at present. He was tall, with uncontrollable hair and vivid eyebrows. Relaxing in the steam, he had a slight stoop; I knew he made an effort to exercise but he preferred to lurk in his study with a pile of scrolls.

  Camillus had taken to me-within limits, of course. I hated his rank, but liked him. Affection for his daughter had partly bridged the social abyss between us.

  But he was in a tetchy mood. 'When are you and Helena Justina planning to make yourselves legitimate?' So much for thinking he wasn't expecting it. An extra load of pressure descended on me. It was measured in sesterces, and its exact weight was four hundred thousand of them-the cost of my joining the middle rank so that marrying me would not entirely disgrace Helena. I was making little progress in collecting so much money.

  'You don't need an exact date? Quite soon, I should think,' I lied. He always saw through me.

  'Her mother asked me to enquire.' From what I knew of Julia Justa, 'asked' was putting it mildly. We let the subject drop like a hot boiled egg.

  'How are you, sir? What's the news?'

  'Vespasian is summoning Justinus home from the army.' Justinus was his son.

  'Ah! I may have had a hand in that.'

  'So I gather. What have you been telling the Emperor?'

  'Only to recognise talent.'

  'Oh that!' scoffed the Senator, in his wry way. A shy man's mischievous wit sometimes broke through his diffident manner. Helena's sense of humour came from him, though she threw her insults about more lavishly.

  Camillus Justinus was the younger of Helena's two brothers; we had been living with him in Germany. 'Justinus has been building a fine reputation,' I encouraged his father. 'He deserves the Emperor's favour, and Rome needs men like him. That's all I told Vespasian. His commanding officer should have put in a good report, but I don't rely on legates.'

  Camillus groaned. I knew his problem; it was the same as my own, though on a much grander scale: lack of capital. As a senator Camillus was a millionaire. Yet there was no slack in his bank account. Providing the trappings of public life-all those Games and public dinners for the greedy electorate-could easily wipe him out financially. Having already promised a career in the Senate to his elder son, he now discovered his younger boy had rather unexpectedly fixed himself a notable reputation. Poor Decimus was dreading the expense.

  'You should be proud of him, Senator.'

  'Oh I am!' he said glumly.

  I reached for a strigil and started to scrape the oil off him. 'Is anything else on your mind?' I was probing in case there were developments on the Titus front.

  'Nothing unusual: modern youth, the state of trade, the decline in social standards, horrors of the public works programme…' he said self-mockingly. Then he confided, 'I'm having trouble disposing of my brother's estate.' So that was it.

  I was not the only Roman whose sibling had caused him embarrassment. Camillus had had a brother, now disgraced, whose political plotting had blighted the whole family. That was why the house next door still stood empty, and apparently why Decimus looked tired. I knew the brother was dead-but as I also knew, things don't end there.

  'Did you approach the auctioneer I recommended?'

  'Yes. Geminus is very helpful.' That meant very undemanding about provenance and probate.

  'Oh he's a good auctioneer,' I agreed wryly. Geminus was my absentee father. Apart from his habit of running off with redheads, he could pass for an excellent citizen.

  The Senator smiled. 'Yes. The whole family seems to have an eye for quality!' That was a gentle poke at me. He pulled himself out of his gloom. 'That's enough about my troubles. How are you? And how is Helena?'

  'I'm alive. Can't ask for more. Helena is herself.'

  'Ah!'

  'I'm afraid I brought her back fractious and full of foul language. It hardly fits the decent upbringing you and Julia Justa have given her.'

  'Helena always managed to rise above that.'

  I smiled. Helena's father enjoyed a quiet joke.

  Women are supposed to behave demurely. They can be manipulating tyrants in private, so long as the good Roman myth of female subservience is sustained. The trouble with Helena Justina was that she refused to compromise. She said what she wanted, and did it too. That sort of perverse behaviour makes it extremely difficult for a man who has been brought up expecting deceit and inconsistency to be sure where he stands.

  I liked it. I liked to be kept jumping. I liked to be shocked and astonished at every turn, even though it was hard work.

  Her father, who had had no choice in the matter, often looked amazed that I had volunteered to take her on. And there was no doubt, he enjoyed seeing some other victim on the jump.

  When we went in to dinner we found Helena glittering in white, with golden hems on elaborate swags of drapery; oiled; scented; necklaced and braceleted. Her mother's maids had as usual conspired to make their young mistress look twice my rank-which she was-and twenty times my worth.

  For a moment I felt as if I had tripped over my boot-thong and fallen headlong on the floor mosaic. But one of the necklaces was a string of Baltic amber that her mother had not seen before. When the noble Julia asked about it in the course of her scratchy small talk, Helena Justina announced in her own brisk fashion, 'That was my birthday gift from Marcus.'

  I served Helena's mother to the best delicacies from the appetisers with rock-steady decorum. Julia Justa accepted with a politeness she had honed like a paring knife. 'So some good did come out of your trip to the River Rhenus, Marcus Didius?'

  Helena spoke up for me quietly. 'You mean some good in addition to securing peace in that region, rooting out fraud, rallying the legions-and providing the opportunity for a member of this family to make his name as a diplomat?'

>   Her mother waived her sarcastic objection with a tilt of the head. Then the Senator's daughter gave me a smile whose sweetness was as rich as the summer stars.

  The food was good, for winter fare. It was a friendly meal, if you like your friendship of the formal, surface kind. We all knew how to be tolerant. We all knew how to make it plain we had rather a lot to tolerate.

  I had to do something about it. Somehow, for Helena's sake, I had to scramble into the position of a legitimate son-in-law. Somehow I had to find four hundred thousand sesterces-and I had to find them fast.

  VIII

  Petronius Longus caught up with us that same evening.

  We had been on the verge of turning in. Ma usually went to bed early, because at her age she needed to build up her stamina for the next day of furiously organising the family. She had waited up for our return-one of the restrictive practices that made me prefer to live elsewhere. After dinner at the Senator's I had chosen to come home, partly to reassure Ma but also because I knew if I stayed, as Helena's father offered (though her mother was markedly cooler), the Capena Gate house steward would give Helena and me separate rooms and I could not face a night of creeping along strange corridors trying to find my lass. I told Helena she could stay behind in comfort. 'They'll give you a softer pillow-'

  She thumped my shoulder. 'That's the pillow I want.' So we both came back, which made two mothers happy-or as happy as mothers ever like to feel.

  When they saw Petro shambling into the kitchen even Ma and Helena decided to stay up longer. Women took to him. If they had known as much about him as I did they might have been more disapproving; then again, they would probably have blamed me for the wild episodes in his past. For some reason Petro was a man whose indiscretions women excused. For some other reason, I was not.

  He was thirty years old. He arrived dressed in various shapeless brown woollen garments, his usual unobtrusive working uniform, plus winter additions of fur in his boots and a hooded cloak so voluminous he could have been hiding three loose women and their pet duck under it. Stuck through his belt he carried a thick cudgel for encouraging quiet behaviour on the streets; these he supervised with a light, reasonable hand, backed up by well-aimed bodyweight. A twisted headband rumpled the straight brown hair on his broad head. He had a placid mentality he certainly needed when picking through the grime and greed at the low end of Roman society. He looked solid and tough, and good at his job-all of which he was. He was also a deeply sentimental family man-a thoroughly decent type.