Poseidon's Gold Page 9

  ‘Don’t you know, Marcus?’

  ‘I am forced to that conclusion. Festus never mentioned it.’ Sparing my feelings, I suppose. Mother’s too. ‘There was a hiatus in relations when my father was living out of Rome, but Festus must have resumed contact pretty soon afterwards.’ Sometimes I wondered if they had even stayed in touch throughout the time when Father was hiding up in Capua. ‘Certainly by the time Festus died they shared a lock-up in the antiques quarter, over at the Saepta Julia.’ Where my mother could not see them. ‘And then they were as close as two termites.’

  ‘So your father will know about the statues and the ship that sank?’

  ‘He should. If it was one of their joint ventures.’ She had dragged the words out of me like crusted amber oozing from an old pine tree. Before Helena could capitalise on the achievement, I said sternly, ‘I left him until last deliberately. I am going to see Geminus tomorrow.’

  ‘I think you’re afraid to face him.’

  ‘Not true-but you have to understand, my father can be a very tricky customer. I wanted to assemble as many facts as possible before I tried talking to him.’ She was closer to the truth than I admitted. I had never discussed family affairs with Father, and I hated the thought of starting now. ‘Helena, just leave me to get on with it!’

  Very manly. Asking for trouble, in fact. That glimmer in her eyes was quite dangerous now.

  ‘All right.’ I hate reasonable women. ‘Don’t scowl,’ she complained. ‘Anybody would suppose I interfered.’

  ‘May I be eaten alive by ravens if I thought it… Is that the end of the marathon grilling?’

  ‘No.’

  I thought not. We still had Marina to upset our evening. The grilling had hardly started yet.

  XVIII

  I made one last attempt to restore peace. ‘I’m in serious trouble, sweetheart. I may be under arrest soon. Don’t let’s spoil our evening with any more home truths.’

  Helena Justina listened almost demurely, her hands lightly folded in her lap. Anyone who had never met her might suppose she was a woman of quality interviewing a cushion-stuffer who was seeking outwork. I knew her better. She looked sad, which meant she was angry-more angry than if she had merely looked annoyed.

  Soon she would be sad too.

  ‘Marcus, when people are so eager to tell me that you seduced your brother’s girlfriend, I would like to assure them I have already heard the full story from you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, pretending to assume it was a compliment. The full story posed some problems. Only Festus knew that. ‘To start with, Helena, if I did seduce my brother’s girlfriend, Marina did not object to it-and as for Festus, it was probably his plan.’

  ‘Maybe she seduced you?’ suggested Helena, almost hopefully.

  I smiled. ‘No, that’s your privilege.’

  Then I told her about that long and dreadful night in Rome.

  My brother Festus was thirty-five years old when he died. Frankly, we had not been prepared to lose him to a hero’s death. An accident during a prank seemed more his style.

  Being older, he had always seemed to me to belong to another generation, though by that time the gap between us was closing. People used to say how alike we looked. That was only because we had the same rampant curls and silly grins. He was shorter and more thickset. More athletic and with a sweeter temperament. More gifted in business, luckier with women, smarter, sharper, more easily accepted as a treasure by the family. It was always pretty clear to me that both my parents and most of my sisters made Festus their favourite. (However, I had my share of being spoiled; my childhood place was as the family baby since Maia, who really owned that position, would not stand for the fuss.)

  Like a good Roman citizen who saw his chance to eat, drink and fart at the Empire’s expense while using its unrivalled facilities for world travel, Festus enlisted in the legions as soon as he looked old enough.

  ‘So he must have been in touch with your father,’ Helena commented. ‘He would need the signed release from his family.’

  ‘True. Just one aspect of public life where having a missing father causes painful embarrassment.’

  ‘You were in the army later. What did you do about that?’

  ‘My Great-Uncle Scaro stood in as my guardian.’

  ‘You liked him?’

  ‘Yes.’ Uncle Scaro, a friendly old scallywag, had always given me the place in the world that my father had taken away.

  Entrepreneurs do well in the army. After all, regulations exist to exploit. Whereas I had had to serve five years in the bitter Northern provinces, Festus had easily wangled himself supremely cosy billetings: a brief spell in Spain, Egypt with the Fifteenth Apollinaris, then posted East with them once the civil war broke out in Judaea. This last could have proved a miscalculation, but since the whole Empire was about to erupt then, Festus would have been fighting wherever he was. With expert precision he had placed himself under the command of the future emperor, Vespasian. His legion was led by Vespasian’s own son, doubly convenient as my brother had somehow made it to centurion, so was visible to Titus Caesar daily at his war council.

  In the year that the Jewish Rebellion began, when Nero sent Vespasian to deal with it and the Fifteenth Legion were posted from Alexandria to help, Festus had come home on sick leave. He had organised one of the wounds in which he specialised: it looked vicious enough to gain a pass for convalescence in Italy, though once he set foot at Ostia he seemed able to do pretty well whatever he wanted, especially if it involved girls. Other people’s girls, mostly. Festus believed it was non-combatants’ patriotic duty to lend home-leave centurions their women. Women went along with this.

  The army was less free and easy. With the legions being so stretched out in the desert, they needed every man. After six weeks in Rome, Festus was annoyed to receive an urgent recall to Judaea.

  ‘Festus struck us as one of life’s eternal survivors. None of us imagined he was going back to be killed.’

  ‘Festus presumably imagined it least of all,’ Helena said. ‘Is this where I start feeling annoyed?’

  ‘Afraid so…’

  On his last night in Rome, the last time I ever saw him, we went to the Circus Maximus. Festus had always been a keen attender at the Circus, mainly because of the saucy women he could sit next to in the unsegregated seats. He was a devoted frequenter of girls who frequent the few places where girls exhibit themselves accessibly. In the proximity of Festus women showed off eagerly. I used to watch with astonished fascination. It happened even when, as on that night, his long-term girlfriend Marina had been brought along.

  Festus saw nothing unusual in spending the last night of home leave with both his younger brother and his girl. It made us an awkward party. He simply never noticed it. Just as he never seemed to notice me lusting after the girl.

  ‘Was Marina attractive?’

  ‘Distinctly.’

  ‘Don’t bother to describe her,’ Helena snarled.

  Festus had always liked women who drew the crowds. Even when Marina was sulking because Festus was leaving Italy heads turned as we took our bench at the Circus, and later when Festus was dragging us round a series of dimly lit bars, she made us a highly conspicuous party. She had known Festus for years. As a fixture she could rightly feel more confidence than the various kittens who succumbed to a few days of passion then found themselves airily waved goodbye. It was assumed, probably even by Festus himself, that one day he would marry her. Only Mother had doubts. She said to me once it was more likely he would outrage everyone by bringing home an exotic little doll he had only known a fortnight and announcing that he had found true love. Festus certainly had a romantic streak. However, he died before he got round to it. That saved Mother from having to train some moppet who thought herself too pretty to help in the home. It left me with the task of shocking the family with an unlikely girlfriend, and it left Marina unmarried but unassailable. She was one of the family. Because by then Marina had honoured us by
producing my niece Marcia.

  Little Marcia was assured of lifelong support from the Didius clan. If anyone ever hinted to Marina that Festus might not be Marcia’s father, Marina snapped back swiftly that if Festus was not responsible, it had to be me.

  Helena forced out, ‘I asked you once if Marcia was yours. You denied it.’

  I had hardly known her then. I had been trying to impress her. Explaining Marcia had been too difficult to tackle. Maybe I should have done it anyway. It was worse now.

  ‘Let’s say the subject carries a question mark…’

  What had happened was that in the early hours of the morning, when Festus, Marina and I were all too drunk to be cautious, my big-hearted brother had fallen in with some sozzled artists in a down-market tavern below the Caelian Hill. His new friends were well up to standard for Festus: all badly pickled gherkins who had no cash in their frayed tunic pockets but an easy habit of joining another party’s table and calling loudly for more wine. I was tired. I had been very drunk, but was recovering enough to feel sullen and foul-mouthed. By now drink seemed unattractive. Even putting up with Festus had temporarily lost its sparkle. I said I was leaving. Marina announced she had had enough too. Festus asked me to take Marina home for him.

  He promised to follow immediately. He was bound to forget her. In fact I had a strong suspicion the bold brunette who had sat next to him at the Circus was now awaiting him on some balcony. Marina had noticed the brunette too. Since this was her own last chance of seeing him, Marina took it badly. When we arrived at her apartment she complained that he mistreated her. I felt hard done by too; it was my last chance of seeing him. He might for once have stood up some dismal strangers and stuck with us. Waiting for him to let us down while we trailed after him on the wine-bar crawl had built up a fine old head of self-righteousness.

  I made the foolish comment that it was lucky for Festus that I was not the type to try and put one over on him; so Marina said, ‘Why not?’

  Afterwards, Marina made it plain the occasion had given her small pleasure. There was no chance of me enjoying myself either. Drink, guilt and confusion ruined it.

  Some time during the next morning, I found myself back at my apartment with no idea how or when I got there. I knew Festus would have left for the port several hours before, provided he was capable. (He was, and he did.) So we never even said goodbye.

  For weeks I avoided Marina. I found excuses to leave town as much as possible. Later I heard that she was pregnant, but everyone assumed Festus had fathered the baby; it suited me to think the same.

  Then a year later came the day when I returned from a visit to Great-Uncle Scaro, who lived at the family homestead on the Campagna. I went to take Mother news of her relatives. I found the whole family assembled. I remember noticing a document that lay on the table. And when none of the women wanted to speak (for once), one of my brothers-in-law threw the news at me: Festus had led a sally over a battlement at some parched town called Bethel in Galilee, and had been killed as he turned back to call his men up after him. He was awarded the Mural Crown for being the first to cross an enemy rampart, and his heroic ashes had been scattered in Judaea.

  At first I could not believe it. Even now I sometimes thought it must be a dream or trickery.

  It emerged that Marina and Festus had never made a habit of writing to each other, and she had seen no reason to change that simply to tell him he had acquired a daughter. Why worry him? When he came home Marina would introduce him to the gurgling child and Festus would immediately adore her. (This was correct. Apart from the fact that Marcia was a good-looking baby, my brother was a deep sentimentalist.)

  Losing my brother was bad enough. It was at the same family gathering, after I came back from the Campagna, that people thrust at me Marina’s sudden public declaration about our night of what is so thoughtlessly called love. She had made a wild statement announcing that I had to look after her because our misguided fling was when she had conceived little Marcia.

  My family reacted to this news in their usual good-natured fashion. Not one disbelieved it. I had shown a marked fondness for the new baby, and on his last visit Festus had, after all, been a wounded man.

  ‘Was he wounded in that area?’ Helena interrupted. She had been listening with a dazed expression, not entirely unsympathetic towards me.

  ‘Look, this is about my family: it’s a mad story. Festus,’ I said quietly, ‘had stabbed himself in the foot.’

  ‘Sorry. I forgot people are not logical. What happened?’

  ‘What do you think? I was greeted with torrents of invective, and instructed to marry the girl.’

  Helena looked even more numb. She thought I was telling her that I had been concealing a wife.

  It had nearly occurred. Under the influence of even more guilt and confusion, and seriously drunk, I heard myself agree to do it. At that, Marina, who had a hard streak of self-preservation, counted up the lives we were about to ruin and even she panicked. She restored Festus as Marcia’s father, and backed out hastily. For me it brought many more insults, though at less cost.

  That left the present situation.

  ‘What exactly is the present situation?’ sneered Helena.

  ‘Only what you think.’

  ‘I think it’s appalling.’

  ‘Quite.’

  Obviously I had to care for the child. I had to do that for my brother’s sake. There was no chance of shedding my responsibility for the mother either. Conscience is a terrible thing. Marina had a hold over me that I would never break. She might have gone off and married, but why should she bother when she was free to enjoy herself with me paying the bills? Meanwhile, I had made myself a target for every kind of abuse whenever my relatives cared to exert their talent.

  There was no abuse from Helena. She looked upset, though not vindictive. I would have preferred to see jugs being hurled. Understanding always makes me miserable.

  Unable to bear the tension any longer, I sprang up and paced about. Helena was leaning her elbows on Ma’s kitchen table; her head was bowed in both hands. Eventually I stood behind her with my hands on her shoulders. ‘Helena, don’t judge the present by past events. You ought to know something tremendous happened to me when I met you.’

  She allowed both the contact and the comment without reacting.

  Helpless, I moved away. Helena got up, stretching, then left the room, evidently going to bed. I had not been invited but I tagged along anyway.

  We lay in the dark for what seemed like hours, not touching. I must have dozed off for I woke again unhappily. Helena lay still. I put my hand on her arm. She ignored it. I turned away from her huffily.

  After a second Helena moved too. She crept behind me, knees in the crook of mine and face pressed against my spine. I waited long enough to make some sort of point, though not so long she bounced away again. Then I turned over carefully, gathering her close. For a short period I could feel her crying. That was all right. It was my fault-but she was crying from relief that we were now in each other’s arms. We were friends. We would be friends for a long time.

  I held Helena until her grief subsided, then we fell deeply asleep.

  XIX

  It was a cold night. After the North, where they make better preparations for winter than in Mediterranean countries, we felt it all the more. Bad weather always catches Rome by surprise. With only a brazier to take the chill off the long dark hours, my brother’s old room could grow bitter by dawn. Still clinging together, we both awoke.

  Helena had been planning. ‘If you’re going to see this Marina, I think I’ll come too.’

  I thought it was best for everyone if I went alone. Mentioning this point of view seemed a bad idea.

  Marina made a habit of being as inconvenient as possible. (She was certainly right for our family.) She lived, as she had always done, right around the curve of the Aventine, across the Via Appia and almost at the foot of the Caelian in the quaintly named Vicus Honoris et Virtutis. This irony
was too obvious to be commented upon. If honour and virtue had been qualifications for living there, it would have been an empty street.

  ‘Is she very good-looking?’ asked Helena, as we walked there together.

  ‘Afraid so. Festus attracted dramatic women.’

  ‘Unlike you?’

  This sounded tricky. ‘I go for character… To find looks in addition is a bonus, of course.’ I realised she was laughing at me.

  The light atmosphere ended as soon as Marina let us into her two-room hutch. I had forgotten just how striking she was. I saw Helena sigh slightly. Her fierce glance at me said she felt she had been inadequately warned. Things were not going well.

  Marina was a short, dark, sultry vision with immense, wide-set eyes. She manoeuvred those eyes constantly, to nerve-racking effect. With a fine nose and high cheekbones, she had a faintly Eastern appearance. This suggestion was strengthened by her manner; she thought it elegant to make gestures involving bent wrists and stagily poised fingers.

  She had once been a braid-maker, but nowadays felt little need to toy with employment. Nowadays she had me. Securing an honest sucker who made no demands had left Marina free to spend her time on her appearance. Her menfriends were pretty pleased with the results. They should be. The results could have been hung up and framed. Fortune had been as generous with Marina as I was; her conquests were getting a voluptuous shape allied to a free and easy manner, attractive goods even before they discovered the permanent lien on my bank box.

  She was a cracker to look at, but the air of an awe-striking goddess was wiped out as soon as she opened her mouth. She had been born common, and was making a brave attempt to remain completely faithful to her origins. ‘Ah Marcus!’ The voice was as coarse as hessian. Naturally she kissed me. (Well, I was paying the bills.) I stepped back. This only allowed more room for Helena to inspect the immaculate turnout on the breathtaking body. Marina pretended to spot Helena. ‘How come you need a chaperone these days?’

  ‘Hands off, Marina. This is Helena Justina. She thinks I’m cool and sophisticated and that my past is full of very plain girls.’