SHADOWS IN BRONZE

towel across my lap.

'Do I take it this is news to you?' the Senator asked levelly.

'True.'

My reluctance to believe that she could keep back something so vital clashed against vivid memories of Helena fainting; unwell; turning back from climbing Vesuvius; worried about money… Helena crying in my arms for reasons I had never found out. Then other memories, more intimate and more intense. 'Evidently not my business to know!'

'Ah,' said her father, accepting this bleakly. 'I'll be blunt: my wife and I assumed it was.' I said nothing. He began to look more doubtful. 'Are you denying that it is possible?'

'No.' I never doubted that Camillus Verus had guessed my feelings for his daughter early on. I adopted professional banter as a temporary defence; 'Look, a private informer who leads a lively social life is bound to find women who want more from him than he bargained for. So far I never had any difficulty persuading a magistrate they were vexatious claims!'

'Be serious, Falco.'

I drew a harsh breath. 'I don't suppose you want me to congratulate you, sir. I don't imagine you are congratulating me…' If I sounded irritable, that was because I was starting to burn with a furious sense of injustice.

'Would it be so terrible?'

'Just terrifying!' I said, which was the truth.

The Senator gave me a stressful smile. I already knew he thought enough of me to think that if I was what his daughter wanted, the two of us were capable of managing, even without the usual domestic trappings of money to pay the baker or parental support… He dropped a hand onto my arm. 'Have I upset you?'

'Frankly, I'm not sure.'

Camillus then tried to draw me in as his ally. 'Look, there is no point me trying to protest my senatorial rights like some old-fashioned censor. This is not illegal-'

'And it's not helpful!' I exclaimed.

'Don't say that! There was enough harm done when Helena was married to Atius Pertinax; that was a mistake which I have promised myself never to repeat. I want to see her happy.' He sounded desperate. Of course he loved his daughter more than he should-but then, so did I.

'I can't protect her from herself!' I stopped. 'No, that's unfair. She never ceases to amaze me with her clear- eyed good sense-' Her father started to protest. 'No, she's right, sir! She deserves a better life than she could ever have with me. Her children deserve better; as a matter of fact, so do mine! Sir, I can't discuss this.' For one thing, she would hate to know we were doing it. 'Can we change the subject? There is something else we need to consider urgently. You mentioned Atius Pertinax, and he's the crux of it. Have you heard what the situation is?'

He let out an angry expression; Camillus Verus had no time for his son-in-law. Most fathers feel that, but in his case he was right: his daughter was too good for the man, who was contemptible.

He knew Pertinax was still alive; I warned him that the fugitive might have transferred himself to Rome.

'With hindsight, sending Helena here was none too wise. But I know your views, sir. Until I can apprehend him, will you ensure she stays safe at home?'

'Of course. Well… as far as I can. But her condition should stop her rushing about,' he reminded me unavoidably.

I paused. 'Is she well?'

'No one tells me anything,' her father complained. When he spoke of his womenfolk Camillus Verus always adopted a downtrodden pose, as if they took the traditional view of a pater familias: someone who was there to pay the bills, make a lot of noise no one listened to-and be led by the nose. 'She looks peaky.'

'Yes, I noticed that.'

We exchanged a tense glance.

•

We finished our bath together, went through to the changing room and dressed. At the top of the gymnasium steps, we clasped hands. If Helena Justina's father was as shrewd as I suspected, he could tell from my face how bitter I felt.

He hesitated awkwardly. 'Will you be coming to see her?'

'No.' One way or the other, that made me out a sewer rat. A lonely occupation. 'But tell her-'

'Falco?'

'Forget it. Better not.'

The father of his future grandchild should be the happiest man in Rome. What price the pathetic candidate who had made it plain he was not required to acknowledge his position?

Well be reasonable. Nobody could expect such a highborn Roman lady-father in the Senate, two brothers on active service, adequate education, passable face, property worth a quarter of a million in her own right-to own up that she had allowed herself a dalliance with a low-bred, uncivilized brigand from the Aventine like me.

LXXVIII

It was late. It would soon be dark. I had the restless feet of a man who needed to visit his ladyfriend but could not bear to go. The obvious alternative was to plough into a wineshop and drink so deep I would only have to worry whether anyone good-natured would point me in a homeward direction afterwards, and if they did, whether I could stagger as far as my apartment or fall down dead drunk in the road.

I went to the Palace instead.

•

They kept me waiting. I was so angry at Helena's secrecy that for once the last thing I wanted was time to think. I hunched on a couch, growing more and more devastated by the injustice, until I was in two minds to storm off home and get drunk on my own balcony. The moment I decided to do it a flunkey called me in. I could not even enjoy myself getting annoyed because as soon as he saw me Vespasian apologized.

'Sorry, Falco. Matters of state.' Chatting with his concubine, no doubt. 'You look glum!'

'Oh, thinking about women, sir.'

'No wonder then! Want a cup of wine?' I wanted it so badly it seemed safest to decline.

'Enjoy your trip?'

'Well I still get seasick, and I still can't swim…'

The Emperor gave me a thoughtful look as if he could tell I was feeling cynical.

I was far too tired, and not in the mood; I made a bodge of narrating my report. Other people, more important people, had told him most of it anyway. Going over the sorry details of how Aufidius Crispus was pointlessly drowned felt like a waste of time.

'The Censor published the news as 'an unfortunate boating accident',' the Emperor grumbled angrily. 'Who commanded the trireme that's in need of steering practice?'

'The Herculaneum praetor, sir.'

'Him! He turned up in Rome; I met him yesterday.'

'Showing his profile round the Palace, in the hope of a fancy foreign post! Sextus Aemilius Rufus Clemens-' I proclaimed. 'Good old family and a wealth of mediocre public service to his name. He's an idiot, but how can he