being crammed with linseed or barleymeal kneaded with water into soft pellets. I was informed it took just under four weeks to bring them up to a good marketable size.
“Is this regime cruel, Fabius?”
“Don’t talk like a soft townie.”
“Well, be practical then. Is their flavor as good as that of the ones who run free?”
“People don’t pay for flavor, you know. What buyers look at is size.”
This astuteness must be why the Romans thought so highly of their agricultural forebears. In mine, I was descended from true masters of the land. No wonder Ma, like that smelly old peasant Romulus, had escaped to the city life.
Against the constant clucking of the birds, Fabius relentlessly detailed his financial projections, which led him to the conclusion that in two years he would be a millionaire. After an hour of tosh, I lost my temper. “Fabius, I have heard this before. If every get-rich scheme that came out of this family had worked, we would be a legend among the Forum banking fraternity. Instead, we just go downhill from year to year-and our reputation stinks.”
“The trouble with you,” said Fabius, in his maddeningly grave way, “is that you never want to take a risk.”
I could have told him that my life was based on hazard, but it seemed cruel to boast when his own was grounded in hopelessness.
I always liked visiting the country. It reminded me why my mother had been so keen to get away that even marrying Pa had seemed worth it. It refreshed my view of the joys of city life. I always went home a true Roman: full of my own superiority.
XXII
THE DAY BEFORE the Nones of June: the festival of Hercules the Great Custodian. A voting day.
At first, it looked as if Laelius Scaurus would not show. That’s a common drudgery in the world of informing. I had spent half my life waiting for time-wasters who made no attempt to keep appointments.
Now the misery was aggravated by Helena’s mockery: “Meldina fooled you! She looked so desirable, grinning at you as she was bursting out of her tunic-she couldn’t possibly be lying, could she?”
I went along with it. “Seems she is so busy being a fertility goddess, she has no time to pass on simple messages.”
“Or maybe Scaurus is still stuck in Rome,” Helena conceded.
“Oh, I expect he’s back here. He just sees me as an interfering outsider: that’s a family trait,” I said.
“And true, of course.”
Having seen both his pallid wife and his sumptuous girlfriend, I reckoned Scaurus would cut short his city visit. In his position, there were better pleasures on the farm. But I kept that to myself. I’ m not stupid.
I hung about a while longer, discussing with Phoebe whether she could take in one of my young nephews, one of Galla’s brood who needed to be lifted from Rome before life on the streets was the ruin of him. Ma sat in the cart, ready to go, pursing her lips and pronouncing that Galla would never agree to let Gaius leave home, even if it was for his own good. She had a point. I had already extracted his elder brother Larius and left him enjoying life as an artist at the Bay of Neapolis, so my sister now saw me as a child-thief. For some reason, Great-Auntie Phoebe had faith in my talents, so she promised to make preparations to receive Gaius right away. He was a revolting little tyke, but I had faith in her too. If he could be saved, she would do it.
I was collecting my party when Fabius came wandering by. “Listen, Marcus, I have had a thought-”
I managed to restrain my irritation.
“We have to go now!” Ma chipped in loudly. She had had seventy years of trying to bring her brother Fabius to the point. Anyway, she had stuffed our cart with vegetables and wanted to get them to Rome while they were still fresh. (I mean, she needed to leave before Phoebe realized quite how many nets of onions and baskets of young asparagus Ma had decided her affectionate relatives would hand over as free gifts.)
“No, look-now that you have responsibility for the Sacred Chickens, maybe we can work something out,” Fabius suggested, looking dangerously keen.
“I don’t want to sound pompous, but there is no chance of putting the augury birds into body baskets to fatten them up, Uncle Fabius. The whole point is to give them free movement so they can express the will of the gods in an untrammeled way.”
“I can see that, Marcus,” replied my uncle ponderously. “I was thinking about supplying you with new birds from time to time.”
“Sorry. They supply their own. We hatch their eggs.”
“What, even in the town?”
“Cities are hotbeds of nature, Fabius. Encyclopedists sit on every street fountain making notes of the copulating species they have seen that day and the peculiar spawn they have watched hatch out.”
Metaphor and satire were equally lost on Fabius. “Well, it was just a thought.”
“Thanks.” I forced myself to beam at him. Friendliness was stupid, but I fooled myself I had now escaped.
No such luck: “And what about the guano from the Sacred Geese?” he then asked even more intensely. “Did you know that bird dung is extremely nutritious to crops? The sacred element would be a good catchall advertisement. Have you thought of selling it off for muckspreading?”
A whole vista of dangerously corrupt subcontract fiddles had opened up with my new rank. Being respectable could be very hard work if I took up every opportunity for graft that people kindly flung my way. Grinding my teeth, I leaped up to the driving seat of my cart.
I was actually whipping the mule out through the gate to the road home when we met head-on with a man on a donkey who turned out to be the missing Scaurus.
I knew it was him straightaway. As I had reckoned, he must be in his thirties, though he had the manner of somebody older. Depressingly, he had the same washed-out, defeated look as his wife. Even though he now lived in the country, he looked as if he dwindled in captivity indoors. He was lanky, with a high forehead, his thin shoulders diffidently stooped. He also had the kind of well-meaning attitude that would quickly drive me mad.
“You’re Laelius Scaurus!”
When I dragged the mule to a halt, he looked surprised that I knew him. “Are you Falco?”
There must be something about the air on the Campagna that made every woolly baa-lamb out here prone to stating the obvious. Now I was trapped. I had to interview him at a farm gate, with Ma, the baby, Nux, and Helena all looking on. He stuck on his donkey. I stayed on the cart.
“Yes, I’m Falco. Thank you for coming out here; I know you have had a busy couple of days traveling-”
“Oh, that’s all right.”
I hate people who let themselves be put upon, especially by me. I refused to feel too guilty, however. “Look, I won’t delay you long.. .” Not with my mother’s gimlet eyes boring into me, saying I had already kept her waiting enough after she had been promised she would be driven home before her leeks wilted.
To my relief, Scaurus now slowly dismounted from his donkey. I therefore hopped down too, and we two men strolled apart from the others. “You are Gaia Laelia’s father, aren’t you?” It was too much to expect this dry stick to retort with the old So my wife tells me joke. “I don’t know if you managed to see your young daughter when you were in Rome?” I said.
“I saw all my family,” he answered me gravely. As a runaway son he was about as exciting as a bowl of cold dripping.
I decided to be blunt. “I heard your aunt sent for you. Do you mind telling me why you had been summoned?”
Scaurus looked up at the sky nervously. “No, there can be no real objection.” I bet his father would have found
