After all the bloodshed I had seen in my life, it seemed foolish to be squeamish about a statue. But there was something gruesome about the scarred, chipped metal that showed along the rupture that had torn her in half, and something distasteful about examining her so intimately from the inside out. On the surface, she was so serenely perfect, gleaming, seemingly indestructible. On the hollow inner surface, she was all a mass of protruding plugs and rough spots and blisters. And all the time she had towered on her lofty pedestal overlooking my garden, radiating wisdom, there had been a terrible flaw inside her. A murderous mob had knocked her from her pedestal, and the flaw had torn her apart. Now the artisan was telling me that there was no satisfactory way to put her back together again.
'But I can't just leave her lying here in the garden like this, staring up at me every time I pass.' 'wisdom in two pieces, with weeds growing up around her!
'The statue could always be melted down. Of course you wouldn't recover more than a small fraction of the value…'
I shook my head. 'Out of the question.' The statue, like the house, was a legacy of my old patrician patron, Lucius Claudius. Cicero himself had envied her. Melt her down? Never! But what was to be done? I had slept for only a few hours after returning from the tavern, but the moment I awoke, to the exclusion of all other problems, my mind had settled on the Minerva. Nothing would really seem right until she was back on her pedestal.
The artisan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. There was said to be no man in Rome who knew more about casting bronze. He was a small bearded fellow, a Greek, the property of a foundry owner for whom I had once solved a problem involving a missing slave and a statue that seemed too heavy.
'You might be able to make a bust out of her,' the Greek suggested.
'What!'
'If you made a clean cut, straight across below her breasts…'
It was clear that the fellow might be a skilled artisan, but he was no artist. Nor did he seem to have any religious respect for the statue at all. I suppose it was a hazard of his work, dealing so much with the malleability and tensile strength of various alloys, that he should lose touch with the mystery inside the metal.
'I simply want her put back into one piece again. Can it be done or not?'
'Oh, it can be done.' The Greek turned aside for a moment I knew he was rolling his eyes at my Roman wilfulness. 'But you'll be able to see the patch if you look for it, and it won't hold forever. A sharp knock, an earthquake — '
'Let's do it.'
'As I said, it will be expensive.' 'Are you authorized to bid for your master?' I am.
'Then let's bargain.'
The lowest figure the man would settle for was still too much for the household coffers to bear. But I would get the money somehow. I dismissed him and stepped from the garden into my study. What was next for the day? I felt surprisingly energetic for having whiled away so many drunken hours the night before, and peculiarly sanguine, considering the storm clouds that had burst in my own home. When such a bright mood comes to a man of my years, I think it is best to enjoy it without question.
Pompey's guards had already left, while I slept. Eco and Menenia were busy transporting their household back to the Esquiline; it was remarkable how many objects had gravitated from their house to mine during their stay. I would miss seeing the twins' toys — little painted ships and carved chariots and Egyptian board games with brightly coloured pebbles — but I would not miss tripping over them. Bethesda felt obliged to oversee the move. She had apparently said whatever she had to say to Diana the night before. Diana herself stayed out of sight. Davus had apparently decided that there was an urgent need for a lookout on the roof) and had stationed himself there, conveniently out of the way.
I clapped my hands. One of the slaves who was helping Eco stopped and looked into the room. 'Do you know where my daughter is?' I said.
'In her room I think… Master.' He looked uncomfortable.
They all knew about Diana by now, of course.
'Go and tell her I wish to see her.'
'Yes, Master!'
My heart sank when she stepped into the room. She looked much too haggard for a girl of seventeen who was carrying a child. I felt many things — anger, apprehension, regret — but nothing as strong as the impulse to put my arms around her and simply stand that way for a moment, pressing her to me. It was Diana who broke the embrace and stepped away, averting her eyes.
'Was it awful, after I left last night?' I said.
'Mother, you mean?' She managed a little smile. 'Not as awful as I expected. She blustered and shrieked at first But once she calmed down, she acted more disappointed than angry. I don't understand her. She was born a slave herself Now she acts as if I was born to marry a patrician, and I've spoiled it.'
'It is precisely because your mother was born a slave that she wants you to marry well.'
'I suppose. Today she's simply ignoring me.'
I sighed. 'I know how that feels, all too well. But Diana, how is your health? I know less than I should of what's to be expected with such things. Your mother would know — '
'That was her first concern, after her tantrum last night. She asked me a lot of questions. Everything seems to be as it should be, though I do feel wretched much of the time. That's been the worst tiling about all this — worrying and wanting to talk to her about it, and wanting to talk to you, Papa, and being afraid to. At least that's over.'
I fiddled with a stylus. 'Perhaps you're not fit for this pregnancy. Again, I'm woefully ignorant of specifics, but I'm sure your mother knows of ways to — '
'No, Papa. I don't want to end it.'
'What is it that you do want, Diana?'
'Papa, don't you understand? I'm in love with Davus.' She shuddered and blinked. Her lips trembled.
'Diana, please don't cry any more. Your eyes are red enough as it is. But whatever idea you may have in your mind concerning Davus, dismiss it.'
'But Davus and I — '
'Impossible, Diana!'
'But why not? Mother was a slave. You married her, didn't you? And that was because she was pregnant with me, wasn't it? Meto was a slave when he was a little boy, and Eco was hardly better, a street urchin, but you adopted them. Why should it be any different — '
'Diana, no!'
The tears came at full flood. 'Oh, you're no better than she is! What hypocrites you both are. Well, I'm not a Vestal Virgin! You can't bury me alive just because I love a man! I'm not ashamed that I'm carrying his child!'
'Why don't you yell a bit louder, so they can hear you at Cicero's house? Now I suppose you'll go running from the room.'
'No. Why should I? It doesn't matter where I am. I'm miserable! You're a man, you can't know how miserable I am. I'd want to die, if it wasn't for the baby…'
So much for my sanguine mood. 'Diana, we’ll talk more about this when I get back.' 'Where are you going?'
'The day is still young. I have an errand to run, down the Appian Way. If nothing else, it will give me an excuse to spend another night away from this house.'
Diana retreated back to her room. I stepped into the garden, avoided Minerva's accusing stare and climbed the ladder to the roof. I came upon Davus near the front of the house, sitting with his arms around his knees. When he heard me he gave such a start I thought he might fall to the street below.
'By Hercules, Belbo, be careful!'
'Davus,' he mumbled, hurriedly righting himself and standing. 'What?'
'Davus, Master. Not Belbo.'
'Oh. Of course. What was I thinking? Belbo had the common sense to be careful on a rooftop. And he never took advantage of a member of my family.'
'Oh, Master!' Davus dropped to his knees. Those in the room below must have flinched at the concussion. He bowed his head and clasped his hands. 'Have mercy on me! Don't torture me, Master — kill me outright if you must.
