Greek or Latin comedies is like feeding roast peacock to a stone.'
'So what now?' I asked when the tirade finally ended. 'Are we all trooping back across the desert to Damascus without speaking a line?'
'If only that were true!' remarked Phrygia under her breath. More than ever she seemed to be nursing some immense grudge. Tonight it was even making her incapable of being constructive about her beloved company.
Maybe that was because after all its vicissitudes, the company was finally cracking up. Chremes turned to me. His bluster was leaving him. 'There was a bit of bother today among the lads and lasses.' At first I assumed he was coming to me for help, in view of my success at turning around the stagehands' and musicians' strike. I was wrong, however. 'The worst is, Philocrates has given notice. Having no stage available here is more than he can take.'
I laughed briefly. 'Don't you mean he's depressed by the lack of available women?'
'That doesn't help!' Phrygia agreed sourly. 'There is some suggestion he's also upset because a certain party accused him of causing past events – '
'The certain party was me,' I admitted. 'Just stirring. He can't have taken it seriously.'
'Don't believe it!' Thalia put in. 'If Philocrates is the dot with the itchy piece and the big opinion of himself, he's shitting elephant plop.' She missed nothing. She had only been with us a few days, but already knew who was a real poser.
'He's not the only one anxious to leave, Falco.' Phrygia sounded ready to give up herself. So was I, come to that. 'A whole mob are demanding their severance pay.'
'I fear the troupe is falling apart,' Chremes told me. 'We have one last night together, however.' As usual he rallied with a flourish, though an unimpressive one. His 'last night' sounded like some grim party where your creditors turn up, the wine runs out, and a bad oyster dramatically lays you low.
'Chremes, you said you had failed to get the theatre?'
'Ah! I try never to fail, Falco!' I tried to keep my face neutral. 'There is a small Roman garrison,' Chremes informed me, as if he had changed the subject. 'Not very visible in the neighbourhood, perhaps, though I believe that may be policy. They are here to undertake road surveys -nothing to which the Palmyrenes could take exception.'
'If the roads are heading out to the Euphrates, the Parthians may baulk.' I had answered the political point without thinking. Then I guessed what the manager was saying and I groaned. 'Oh, I don't believe mis: Tell us the worst, Chremes!'
'I happened to meet one of their officers. He has placed at our disposal a small amphitheatre which the troops have built for themselves.'
I was horrified. 'Dear gods! Have you ever attended a garrison theatre?'
'Have you?' As usual he dodged.
'Plenty!'
'Oh I'm sure we can manage -'
'You're ignoring the little matter of having no front stage,' Phrygia gloatingly broke in, as she confirmed the unsuitable venue Chremes had accepted. 'A performance in the round. No fixed scenery, no exits and entrances, no trapdoors from below, and nowhere to hide the lifting machinery if we want to do flying scenes. Giving our all to an audience of bullies, all screaming for obscenities and supplying them if we don't -'
'Hush!' Helena soothed her. Then her common sense broke through. 'I do see it may be hard to keep soldiers happy fora whole play:'
'Torture!' I rasped. 'If they only chuck rocks, we'll be lucky.'
'This is where you come in,' Chremes informed me eagerly.
'I doubt it.' I was planning to load the ox-cart and turn back to Damascus that night. 'I think you'll find this is where I back out.'
'Marcus Didius, listen. You'll be pleased by our idea.' I doubted that too. 'I've discussed this with the company and we all feel that what we need to hold the soldiers' attention is something short, light, dramatic and above all, different.'
'So what?' I asked, wondering why Helena suddenly giggled behind her stole.
Chremes for his part appeared to be blushing. 'So we wondered if you were ready to let us rehearse your famous ghost play?'
That was how my elegant creation, The Spook mho Spoke, came to receive its sole performance on a hot August evening, in the Palmyra garrison amphitheatre. If you can think of worse, I'd be intrigued to hear it. The soldiers, incidentally, only turned out at all because they had been told one of the support acts was a suggestive snake dancer.
They got more than they bargained for. But then, so did we all.
Chapter LXV
One problem we faced was that as a result of all the derision people had poured on my idea, most of the play was not even written. All writers must know that sinking feeling, when the goods are demanded in the firm expectation of a delivery you know is impossible: But by now I was so professional that the mere lack of a script left me undeterred. We wanted the drama to have speed and bite; what better than to improvise?
I soon knew that my play would not have to carry the entire evening: Thalia's travelling sideshow had caught up with us.
I first noticed something new when a lion cub appeared in our tent. He was sweet but ungainly, and so boisterous it was frightening. Investigation revealed extra waggons. One of them consisted of two large carts fixed together, on top of which loomed a massive structure shrouded in skins and sheets. 'Whatever's that?'
'Water organ.'
'You haven't got an organist!'
'You're fixing that, Falco.'
I cringed. 'Don't back that bet with money:'
Among the new arrivals were one or two seedy characters from Thalia's troupe in Rome. 'My dancing partner arrived too,' Thalia said: the famous snake she called 'the big one'.
'Where is he?'
'In charge of my keen new snakekeeper.' She sounded as if she knew something the rest of us had missed. 'Want to see?'
We followed her to a waggon on the far side of camp. The lion cub gambolled after us. 'What does keeping the snake entail?' Helena enquired politely as we walked, keeping an eye on the cub.
'Catching mice, or anything bigger, then poking them into the basket, preferably still alive. A large python needs a lot of lunch. Back in Rome, I had a gang of lads who brought rats to me. They liked to watch things being swallowed. We had some trouble once when there was a spate of lost cats in the Quirinal lanes. People wondered why their pet pussies kept disappearing: Zeno ate a baby ostrich once, but that was a mistake.'
'How can you swallow a whole ostrich by mistake?' I laughed.
'Oh it wasn't a mistake to Zeno!' Thalia grinned. Fronto was owner of the circus then. He was livid.' Fronto's menagerie had a history of creatures finding unfortunate meals. Fronto himself had become one eventually. Thalia was still reminiscing: 'Apart from losing the feathers, watching the long neck go in was the worst bit: and then we had Fronto creating. We could hardly pretend it hadn't happened, what with the lump slowly gliding head first down inside Zeno, and the legs still sticking out. And of course they don't always do this, but just to make sure Fronto couldn't forget the loss, he spat out the bits that had once been the bones.'
Helena and I were still gulping as we climbed into the waggon.
The light was dim. A large rectangular basket, worryingly knocked about and with holes in it, stood in the back of the cart. 'Bit of trouble on the journey,' Thalia commented. 'The keeper's trying to find the baby a strong new cradle:' I refrained from asking what the trouble had been, hoping the damage had resulted from ruts in the desert road rather than delinquent activity from the giant snake. Thalia lifted the lid and leaned in, affectionately
