shaved so closely, nor with so little discomfort, and even the haircut just about fitted the style of subdued dishevelment with which I felt most at home. After years of delicately gauging the wishes of emperors, Xanthus could judge his client as nicely as you'd expect in a barber who would be sent to the public strangler if he snipped a wrong curl.
As it turned out, he might have spared himself the trouble. Still, I dare say it was not the first time he had spent hours preparing someone for an assignation that flopped.
With a stinging chin and in a fug of disconcerting unguents, I quietly admitted myself to what I knew was the best guest-bedroom. I kept telling myself that everything would be all right once I had cornered Helena on her own and treated her to my adoring attentions. I could hardly wait to see her. I had a fairly pressing need to reestablish normal relationships.
No such luck. There was a taper, but the large room lay half in darkness. I stood for a moment, adjusting to the dim light and trying to think up a suave line of conversation if my beloved was reclining on swansdown and reading a light ode or two while she waited impatiently for me: No point: there was no Helena. The high bed with its tortoiseshell frame, fringed coverlet and engagingly carved footstool stood empty. Instead, a small hunched figure lay snoring on a lower couch-presumably a slavegirl she had brought to look after her.
So much for me! No chance of a passionate reunion with a servant looking on! I could remember when she never let a slave stay in her room at night if I was in the vicinity.
I stepped back. Closing the door, my pent-up emotion gripped me. She must have known I would come. She must be keeping out of the way deliberately. Chatting with Justinus. Frightening that simple soul with her tales of broken wheels and brigands. Chewing over family business. Putting his career to rights. Anything that would avoid having to face me, angry at the way she had disappeared from Rome, yet badly wanting to go to bed with her.
I decided to take my outrageously barbered person out on the town and get as drunk as possible.
Indignation carried me as far as the front door. Then I remembered that Moguntiacum had small-town, small-minded habits. There was nowhere open for entertainment, except for the usual places too sordid to contemplate. Besides, the prospect of trying to work tomorrow with a head like a sack of oatmeal after a night gossiping inanely with some drab in a tavern when I had hoped to spend it with Helena, became too hard to bear. I sat in the tribune's garden for a while, feeling miserable, but Justinus was no devotee of landscape and it was a poor spot to sulk in. His dog found me and climbed alongside on the seat to chew at my tunic hem, but even the bench had damp moss on it and he soon jumped down and snuffled off into the darkness. I too slunk away to my room.
I had my back to the door. I had just pulled off my tunic (a clean one; too good for sleeping in) when someone came in.
'As nice a view of a nude wood sprite's back as I ever had the privilege to glimpse!'
Helena.
Having been attacked once that day, I spun round jumpily. Helena's warm appraising eyes were smiling as I lowered my handful of tunic in an attempt at decency. Her smile always had an irresistible effect on me.
'This is a private room, lady.'
'Good!' she said. I could feel my face colouring, but applied a scornful expression; it only encouraged her. 'Hello, Marcus.' I said nothing. 'I thought you wanted to see me?'
'What gave you that idea?'
'A strong scent of lotions in my room.' She sniffed. I cursed Xanthus. He had doused me in pomade until a bloodhound could have tracked me all the way from the Gallic Strait to Cappadocia.
Helena tipped her head to one side, watching me. She was leaning on the door behind her, as if to stop me escaping. My jaw set. 'How's Titus?'
'How should I know?'
'So what brings a stylish young lady to this wilderness?'
'Someone I follow about.' Helena had the knack of making her most illogical action sound like a rational response to some crazy slight from me.
'You left me!' I accused her, in a low tone.
'And how was Veii?' Her well-bred voice had a sarcastic note that dried my mouth like grape skins.
'Veii's a dump.' Suddenly, for no obvious reason, I felt tired.
'Are the widows attractive?' As I expected, it sounded like fighting talk. Now I knew why I felt defeated.
'Some of them think so.'
'I was talking to one,' Helena said crisply. 'She implied that your trip to Veii was a wild success.'
'The widow's a liar.'
Helena looked at me. She and I were friends for a good reason: we knew one another well enough to be able to pick a resounding fight, yet we both knew how to appeal for a truce. 'That's what I tell myself,' she answered quietly. 'But why, Marcus?'
'Jealous that I refused her and went home to you. What were you doing in Veii?'
'Trying to find you.'
Somewhere between us the quarrel died. 'You've found me now,' I said.
Helena Justina came across the room. She had a purposeful air I was not quite ready for, though I would be. 'What's on your mind, lady?'
'Nothing you won't like:' She tugged the tunic from my hand.
For pride's sake I tried to bluff it out: 'I warn you, I hate forward women-'
'Wrong. You like a girl who looks as if she knows exactly what you're thinking, and doesn't care:'
All the same, uncertainty flickered. She stepped back. I stepped after her.
I could feel her physical warmth even before her bare arms came through mine. She must have changed from the woollen dress I had seen earlier to a lighter one. If I undid two brooches, the flimsy material would drift to the floor, leaving all of her available. They looked like brooches with easy clasps. I put my hands on her shoulders, as if undecided whether to hold her off or hold her closer. My thumbs found the clasps automatically.
Helena started to pull away from me. It brought us effortlessly to the bed. 'Don't look so nervous, lady!'
'I don't frighten that easily.'
'You should do:'
'Oh stop pretending to be tough!' Helena knew most things about me, and what she didn't know she guessed. 'You're not a thug; you know how to be affectionate:' I felt affectionate all right. I felt so affectionate I could think of nothing else.
We landed on the bed. I let her take charge. She always liked organising. Tonight I liked whatever she liked. Today had posed enough problems. Now I had Helena Justina in my arms, in the friendliest of moods; I had everything I wanted, and was prepared for anything.
She was making herself comfortable, arranging the bedclothes, taking off her earrings, unfastening her hair, killing the lamp: 'Relax, Marcus!'
I relaxed. I relaxed utterly. All the anxieties in my hectic brain grew calmer. I hauled Helena closer still and sighed heavily while my hands travelled slowly over the familiar shape of her, reacquainting themselves with her secrets. I held her, and closed my eyes in gratitude. Then I did the only thing a man could be expected to do in the circumstances.
I went to sleep.
XXX
Most of the night had passed. I woke in a sweat, realising what I must have done.
'Pleasant nap?' She was still there anyway.
'You told me to relax: I'm awake now,' I said, trying to make it sound meaningful.
Helena merely laughed at me, and snuggled against my shoulder. 'Sometimes when I'm trying to make friends
