In the face of this, the Fourteenth's man pulled himself up. 'If what you say is true, the culprits will be found and disciplined. But I'm protesting about the secretive way this has all been handled. I don't care for the way you had me brought across here alone. I want my own observers present, I want one of my centurions to take notes at the scene of the crime-'
As he soared off into complaint, I broke in: 'There will be no cover-up. But no one wants another riot like your legion's public rumpus at Augusta Taurinorum!'
Macrinus ignored me. 'Who did it?'
'The barber.'
That set him back. We could see him remembering how Xanthus had been called the Emperor's hit man. We all stared at Xanthus. As a hit man he looked pretty meek.
'Some of us are going to feel uneasy the next time we need a shave,' I said. A fine spray of the dead soldier's blood disfigured the crisp white linen of the barber's tunic. As usual, he was turned out so smartly that away from the court his brilliant presence became embarrassing. The stains were doubly disconcerting, as if he had been careless during a routine shave.
'In my job,' he answered quietly, 'a man can become a target for abuse quite easily. I've had to learn how to defend myself.'
'That's no excuse for murdering a soldier!' Macrinus barked. He had no finesse.
'The soldier,' I pointed out rationally, 'had no excuse for trying to murder me!'
At this stylish rebuke he condescended to subside. It was apparent that Justinus intended to take control of any necessary enquiry, which, since the crime had occurred within the First's jurisdiction, was his entitlement. Macrinus grumpily fell back on one last jibe: 'You mentioned a witness. I hope it's one we can rely on!'
'Perfectly,' Justinus answered, with a faint impression of gritting his teeth.
'I think I must insist on knowing who.' Macrinus had sensed a joke, but was too crass to withdraw.
'My sister,' Justinus told him placidly.
I winced. He had been right earlier when he had teased me. Things certainly were worse than I had realised: Helena Justina was here.
We glanced up at the window above us. She was still standing there, as she must have been during some of my fight. Her face lay in darkness. Her unmistakable figure, the outline of her smoothly upswept hair and even the elegant pendant drops of her earrings sent down a perfect, elongated shadow that reached the corpse, hiding its ghastly wound in decent shade.
The tribune Macrinus straightened up, smoothed back his crisp, curly locks, and produced a salute suitably emphatic for a tribune who thought a lot of himself greeting the only unmarried senator's daughter this side of the Alps.
I was wearing the wrong boots for heel-clicking. I waved at her, grinned at her brother, and strode indoors.
XXIX
'Fighting again, Falco?' Mild medicine from her.
She was in long-sleeved wool, with rather sombre jet earrings. Her dark, silky hair had been caught up in combs either side of her head, perhaps with more care than usual, and I could detect her perfume from two strides away. But after travelling, or possibly after seeing me attacked, she looked washed out and tense.
I was not in the mood for pleasantries. 'I gather it tickled you to watch me suffering?'
'I sent people to help.'
'You sent me a barber!'
'He seems capable.'
'You weren't to know that-I don't think he knew himself.'
'Don't quibble. He was the first person I found: You kept us waiting for dinner!' she grumbled, as if that settled it.
I threw back my head and commented to the gods, 'Well, things seem to be normal again!'
We always sparked like this after spending time apart. Especially when we met again with strangers watching us. For me, it held off the moment when I had to admit to missing her. For Helena, who knows? At least now she had spoken to me there was a spark in her eyes that I didn't object to seeing there.
Her brother had brought Xanthus indoors and was shepherding us all into a reception room. He had refrained from suggesting that his tribunal colleague come and be introduced to the noble newcomer, so watching Macrinus showing off was one horror we were spared. Xanthus was kept with us to be applauded and cosseted after his ordeal.
We found ourselves in the dining-room. A meal lay ready, which had obviously been set for some time. At this point I felt prepared for formalities. I would have marched over and kissed Helena's cheek, but she plonked herself decisively on her brother's dining-couch. Unless I offended Justinus by invading the host's eating space, she was out of reach. It annoyed me. Failing to greet her made it look as if I didn't care.
I excused myself to clean up-some blood, but mostly dirt. When I returned I had missed the hors-d'oeuvres (my favourite course) and Helena was regaling the company with outrageous stories of her journey. I ate in silence, trying not to listen. When she reached the part about the wheel coming off her carriage and the chief of the mountain bandits kidnapping her for ransom, I yawned and went to my room.
An hour or so later, I re-emerged. The house had fallen quiet. I searched its bowels until I found Xanthus, lying on his bed and writing up his diary. I knew from travelling out with him that he was keeping a richly boring travelogue.
'At least 'the day I killed the soldier' should keep your grandchildren enthralled! And here's another excitement: this is going to be the night when you give me a proper shave.'
'You going out?'
'No. Staying in.'
He had rolled to his feet and was unpacking his gear, though mildly unimpressed by the bonanza I was offering. Wine at dinner had calmed him down to the point of utter silliness. 'Has a brush with death made you vow to dedicate your stubble to the gods in an alabaster pyx, Falco? I'm not sure they make vases big enough!' I let him sit me down and envelop me in a fine cambric wrap, but I ignored the joshing. 'What does sir prefer- depilatory liniment? I use a nice white vine paste. I never recommend my gentlemen to try the weird stuff like bat's blood-' He was enjoying himself more than I reckoned to tolerate.
'A razor will do.' Superstition made me hope he would change to a different blade from the one that he had used earlier.
'Sure? I can do you ground pumice or individual tweezing just as easily. My word, you've been neglecting yourself. It's probably best to try and burn this off with bitumen!' I think the last one was a joke.
'Whatever will have the smoothest result. And I want a haircut as well-but leave some curl. Just trim off the worst shagginess:' Xanthus put an engraved copper mirror into my hand, like somebody keeping a baby quiet with a rattle. I carried on describing what I wanted, even though I knew barbers never listen. A private informer needs to possess some stubbornness.
'Jupiter, Falco! Who are you trying to impress?'
'Mind your own business.'
'Oh!' Xanthus spat on his whetstone. ' Oh, I see!' Even he caught on eventually. His normal eagerness to please turned into the ribaldry I met everywhere on this subject: 'You'll have your work cut out there!' Quite often that was Helena Justina's line too, I remembered pessimistically. 'This calls for my Norican steel:'
I wanted the best, so was unable to quibble. But I felt pretty sure that the Norican steel was what he had used to cut my attacker's throat.
To his credit, he made the best of the unpromising material I had placed at his disposal. I had never been
