“Helena Justina is admirably erudite,” Saturninus complimented me. “And she speaks of pepper as if she owned a whole warehouse!”
She did. I wondered if he had somehow found out. If not, I had no intention of revealing her private wealth.
I had thought Helena might want to ask Saturninus and Euphrasia what they knew about silphium. They came from the right continent, its geographical habitat. But Saturninus was not a man into whose hands she would deliver her younger brother. Justinus was no innocent, but he was a fugitive, therefore vulnerable. It was unlikely Camillus Justinus would ever seek to join a troupe of gladiators-although it was not unknown for the sons of senators to take that course when desperate for cash, or a defiant new life. The thought of our missing lad catching the lanista's eye was creepily suggestive. This was an entrepreneur, a procurer of men. Saturninus would acquire-for any purposes-anyone who seemed useful to him.
That was why we were here tonight.
Had I needed proof; it was to come as we were leaving. In the course of what seemed like a harmless chat about how professional poets in Rome have to operate through patronage or starve, I had let slip that I myself wrote for relaxation. Always a mistake. People want to know if your work has been copied up by scrollsellers, or if you have given readings socially. Saying no shrinks your standing; saying yes makes their eyes glaze defensively. Though I mentioned that I sometimes toyed with the idea of hiring a hall to give an evening of my love poems and satires, it was said ruefully. Everyone, including me, was convinced it was a dream.
I spoke from the clear assumption that self-respect debarred me from toadying to some wealthier man as his client. I would never consent to be a mere commodity, and I wasn't the type to enjoy being grateful. Saturninus lived in a different world and seemed unaware of my attitude: “That's an attractive idea, Falco! I always hankered to expand into something more cultured-I'll invest in your venue with pleasure-”
I let it slide past me as if I had become too feverish to respond. This had seemed a long evening; it was time to go. I needed to be safely back in our litter before I lost my temper. Our host was an entrepreneur all right: the bastard was openly trying to procure me.
31
I WAS BILIOUS all night. It led to a severe outbreak of prejudice. Helena told me that houses which present visitors with a sparkling surface generally have old gravy crusting the cauldrons. The more refined the soiree, the more certain to be rats under the cooking bench. Well, something had polluted my guts.
“Poison!”
“Oh Marcus, don't exaggerate.”
“The ostrich, the Sacred Geese of Juno-and now me.”
“You have a bad cold, and you've eaten strange food tonight.”
“In circumstances where indigestion was inevitable.”
I climbed back into bed, where Helena patiently held me in her arms, stroking my hot forehead. “I found our hosts curiously likable,” she told me, trying not to yawn too much. “So, are you going to tell me what made you so irascible?”
“I was rude?”
“You're an informer.”
“You mean I was very rude?”
“Perhaps a little tetchy and suspicious.” She was laughing.
“That's because the only people who invite us out are even lower in society-and even they only do it when they want something.”
“Saturninus was pretty obvious,” Helena agreed. “Probing him in return was like trying to poke a hole in an iron bar with a dandelion stem.”
“I did pry something out of him.” I told Helena my theory about the death of Leonidas having taken place at Urtica's house.
She listened in silence, then remained still for some moments, testing what I had said for herself and considering the implications. “Was it Saturninus himself who speared the lion?”
“I would say not. He has always admitted he took Rumex with him-besides, the anonymous message to Anacrites specifically blamed Rumex.”
“Even if Rumex killed the poor beast, Saturninus must take responsibility' He organised the party. Who do you think sent the message?”
“It could have been Calliopus, but I still believe he wants this hushed up For one thing, it gives him a hold over Saturninus-and he wants to keep it to himself too. It's good blackmail material. The pet praetor will be in big trouble if it ever gets out that he had a gladiator performing in his house-not to mention causing the death of a Circus man-eater, who was perhaps stolen at the time.”
“But you said Calliopus knew of the escapade in advance.”
“Yes, but he wasn't intended to know.”
Exhausted, I lay prone while Helena pondered. “If the story gets out, Calliopus will disclaim all connection.” Her breath tickled my forehead' Wonderful. “He can't have been directly involved-the lion's death did genuinely disconcert both Calliopus and his keeper.”
“Yes; neither Calliopus nor Buxus had been aware that Leonidas was dead until he was found the next morning in his cage.”
“So we can rule out Calliopus also being at this unsavoury patty at the ex-praetor's house. Marcus, it was odd though that the keeper failed to hear the lion being taken away and returned. Maybe Buxus had been bribed by Saturninus to let him remove an animal-Draco, supposedly. But instead, maybe Buxus was loyal to Calliopus, told him the plan, and they worked the switch to cause trouble…”
I pretended to drift off to sleep, to end the discussion. I did not want Helena to work around to my own fear: that if Saturninus thought he had told me too much, he would decide I was dangerous. I did not know the form if a lanista took out a contract on a human enemy-but I had seen what he could do to somebody's ostrich I did not want to be found with my head dangling and my legs all limp.
Next morning Helena kept me at home again. Later, she took me to the baths. Glaucus my trainer found the sight of me with my strict female escort a huge joke.
“Can't you blow your own nose now? And Jupiter, Falco, where have you been? I heard you were working with the Circus crowd. I've been expecting you to rush in here claiming to be undercover on some vitally important mission, and demanding to be brought up to scratch to play at gladiators-”
“Glaucus, you know I'm too sensible'“ Actually, going undercover in that way might be a good idea-though I could think of somebody I would rather send to the arena: my dear partner Anacrites.
Glaucus used a laugh I didn't care for. “There's an even more unpleasant rumour that you're really weazling for the Censors, Falco, but I don't want to hear your excuse about that.”
I pottered off to see his barber, a sleek fellow who took off two days' growth with an expression as if he were cleaning a drain. His expertise with a Spanish razor was the envy of the Forum, and the fee Glaucus charged for him matched his skill. Helena calmly paid. The barber took her money as if he was mortally offended to see a man fall into feminine clutches. He had a way of smiling that was not much better than his master's laugh. I did my best to sneeze all over him.
We went home I started shivering, and volunteered to go to bed again. I slept soundly for hours, then awoke much refreshed. The baby was asleep or absorbed in her own little world. The dog was just asleep. When Helena came to peek at me, she saw me awake and snuggled up beside me to be sociable.
It was a quiet afternoon, too cold outside for much active street life. Most of the time neither voices nor hoofbeats sounded down in Fountain Court, and our bedroom had an interior aspect so noises from further away could hardly penetrate. The basket-weaver in the shop downstairs had already locked up for a few weeks and gone to the country to enjoy Saturnalia; not that Ennianus or his customers ever made much disturbance.
Lying in bed was soothing, though I had had enough sleep. I did not yet want to start thinking about work, although I wanted to think about something. These few snatched moments with Helena posed a suitable challenge.
