it?'
'Oh, the cook can visit his auntie!' I assured him blithely. 'I always attend to my turbots for myself…'
In Caraway Sauce.
Two people made a killing. One was Titus Caesar, who could reliably expect that as the elder son of a great Emperor he would find himself a favourite with the gods. The other, for which I shall never forgive him, was my pernicious, devious, close-mouthed, horse-doctoring brother-in-law Famia.
They had a big family party, the rest of them. I had to endure it, knowing this would be the one night of my life when other people would be glad to buy my wine for me, but I needed a clear head. All I can remember of the ghastly entertainment is Famia carousing, and my three-year-old niece playing with Tullia's useless gift to me of the Pertinax betting tokens… Marcia, spreading the sad little bone disks all around her on the floor while people ineffectually told her to stop eating them.
•
As soon as I could I went to see Gordianus. He had little to add to what I already knew about events on the Quirinal yesterday-but I had news for him.
'Sir, a Transtiberina barmaid will be bringing you a document later this evening. It has to have an alteration made to it first.'
'What is it?'
'A marriage contract. Coming to you from the bridegroom. He thinks his bride has asked to inspect it, prior to the formalities. Tomorrow you and I have an appointment with Atius Pertinax.'
'How's that, Falco?'
'We are arranging his wedding,' I said.
The day we married Atius Pertinax was refreshingly clear, after rattling rainshowers in the night.
My first task was to nip down to the Cattle Market Forum to buy a sheep. The cheapest I could get which would be acceptable to the five gods of matrimony was a little mottled fellow, who looked perfect enough for the purposes of religion, though a puny sort of lamb if we had wanted a pot roast in red wine sauce. However, we would not be needing the gods to remember our sacrifice gratefully for long.
Next a rancid garlandseller at the Temple of Castor shucked off some tired wreaths onto me. My sister Maia loaned us her wedding veil. Maia had worked the looms at a cloakmaker's before she married; the weaver had had a soft spot for our Maia so her saffron veil was a distinctly superior length of cloth. Maia lent it out to poor girls on the Aventine; it had done duty at many an unstable coupling before it adorned the Pertinax bash. My mother would have baked us a must cake, but I left my mother out of this.
When I met up with Gordianus, leading my woolly contribution, he joked, 'I hope you see today as a rehearsal for a wedding of your own!'
The sheep, who was on my side, let out a sickly bleat.
•
We met Tullia in the Forum of Julius, on the steps of the Temple of Venus Genetrix.
'Will he come?' demanded the priest excitably.
'He was in the wineshop last night, looking for me. My mother gave him the message and collected the contract off him; she thought he believed her…'
'If he fails to show,' I said calmly, 'we all go home.'
'We could lose him,' grumbled Gordianus, worrying as usual, 'if he hears that his father has remarried anyway!'
'Aemilia Fausta promised me her marriage would not be publicly announced,' I reassured him. 'Don't worry until we have to. Let's go!'
Sunlight glanced on the golden roofs of the Capitol as we all left the Forum and turned north. It was a small bridal party, as we had promised Pertinax: the bride, the priest, the priest's assistant with his box of secret implements, and a very large flautist tweedling a tiny flute. The priest's assistant was in military boots, but was hardly the first callow youth who had followed his religious calling unsuitably shod.
We left the flautist (Milo) on guard outside. Admitting our meagre procession, the door porter peered closely at the assistant priest (me-heavily veiled for 'religious purposes'); I gave him the price of a good dinner and warned him to lose himself. As he left he announced that the bridegroom had already arrived. He could have been arrested at once but we still had to go through with the wedding; I had promised the bride.
Atius Pertinax, alias Barnabas, stood in the atrium. He had honoured the occasion by coming clean-shaven in a toga, but instead of a bridegroom's air of worried ecstasy he had his normal surly face. He looked slightly ill when he saw Gordianus, but probably the fact of his talking to Helena outside the house that day confirmed the explanation Gordianus grimly gave: 'I would prefer to have no part in your affairs, Pertinax-but I have known the lady many years and she begged me to officiate.'
'We can omit the formalities!' snarled Pertinax, tight-lipped. I noticed a slight quiver beneath the refulgent saffron, though the bride maintained her modest silence. A tall, graceful girl, who moved well, glimmering in my sister's magnificent veil; it was fine enough for her to see her way, though it completely hid her from view.
'Very well. In marriage, as in death,' pronounced Gordianus sombrely, 'ceremonial can be optional. To satisfy the gods, the law and society, all you require is a sacrifice, a contract, and the bringing of the bride to her husband's house. The bride is already conducted here-unusual, but not an impediment. In the absence of her relations the lady had elected to give herself-'
'Trust her!' said Atius Pertinax. Those present who knew Helena Justina saw no reason to contradict. 'Shall we get on?'
Wreaths were handed round glumly. With impressive despatch, Curtius Gordianus covered his head and set up a portable altar in the empty atrium. The watchman had started the fountain before he slipped away-a single elegantly festive touch.
After a perfunctory prayer, the priest called his white-veiled assistant to lead forward the sheep. A second later poor lambkin was dead. Gordianus made a neat, untroubled job of it. His time at Cape Colonna had given him a good eye with the sacrificial knife.
He studied the organs, which looked distinctly seedy, then turned to the bride and announced without the slightest shade of irony, 'You will lead a long, happy and productive life!'
Pertinax looked nervous now, not without reason. If marrying for the first time is a drastic gamble, doing it twice over must seem utterly ludicrous. The priest had brought his contracts; Pertinax was induced to sign first. The priest's assistant carried the documents to the bride, who inscribed her name with maddening slowness while Gordianus engaged Pertinax in talk.
Signing the contracts completed this basic ceremony. Curtis Gordianus let out a short, grim laugh.
'Well! Time for the happy bridegroom to kiss his lucky bride…'
There were four yards between them when she lifted her veil and Pertinax braced himself for Helena's usual cool, reasoning contempt. He met a younger, brasher prettiness: huge dark eyes and tiny white teeth, clear skin, tinsel earrings, and an air of perfect innocence that was flagrantly false.
'Oh dear!' I exclaimed sympathetically. 'We seem to have brought his honour the wrong bride!'
