XXV
Well, well! This is such a treat!' She beamed. 'Missed me?'
'Why; did I know you or something?' she joked.
'Never noticed that I'd gone,' I riposted stalwartly.
'Oh, I left you, Marcus darling.' If she wanted to think that, fair enough. 'The person I was really leaving was your evil old mother.'
'Now then, my mother's a wonderful woman, and she was extremely fond of you.'
Chloris gazed at me. 'I don't think so,' she said, sounding dangerous. Here we go, I thought.
I had been led off to a private bower, strewn with very expensive animal skins. Mostly well crushed, I regret to say. Chloris had always liked plenty of places to loll. Whenever she dropped to a reclining position, her intention was not restful. This room had seen plenty of the action she loved, if I was any judge.
It was stunningly painted with much drama: dark red walls, punctuated with black details. If you dared to look closely, the illustrations featured violent myths where unhappy people were torn asunder or tied to wheels. These pictures were mostly tiny. I did not disturb myself too much by looking at the wildly plunging bulls and maddened victims; it was rash to take your eyes off Chloris. 'What's happened to the teenager?'
'Run off again.' At least Chloris was never a girl to engage in subterfuge. That was the trouble in the old days: she had always liked Ma to know exactly what was going on. My mother was shocked, since I wisely never told her anything.
'You let the girl leave?' I showed my annoyance. 'Look, if any of you spot her again, will you haul her in, please? She's an urchin in trouble. Name's Albia. I don't want any harm to befall her.'
'She will probably run straight back to the brothel, little idiot.' Chloris was unfortunately right, I guessed. 'What's your interest, Falco? Is she a witness in your case?'
'The drowned man?' I had not thought of it, though it was possible. Albia had scavenged around the Shower of Gold; she might well know something. 'I never even asked her. No, my wife took her in.'
'Your wife?' Chloris shrieked. 'What-some poor bag finally moved in with you? Do I know her?' she demanded suspiciously.
'No.' I was certain of that.
'What's she called?'
'Helena Justina.'
'Helena is Greek. Is she a slave?'
'Only if her noble papa has been telling very big lies for twenty years. He's a senator. I went respectable.'
I knew what kind of raucous reaction that would cause.
When Chloris stopped laughing, she wiped the tears from her eyes. Then she went off again, helplessly. 'Oh, I just can't believe it!'
'Believe it,' I ordered levelly.
My tone stopped the hysteria. 'Don't go pompous on me, Marcus love.'
I gave her a grin. It was fake. Just like a lot of things had been in our relationship. It would be tactless to say I was married now because once she had dumped me I had at last found my true love. Chloris, a demonstrative girl, would probably throw up.
'What about you? What's all this?' I asked.
'I knew how to use a sword.' In her circus act Chloris had had them as balancers, when she was not waving parasols or feather fans. Males in the audience had liked the frisson of the swords, though most preferred the fans because it looked as if she wore nothing underneath. I happened to know-because she had told me-she wore leather undergarments to prevent rope burns anywhere sensitive. Her motto was: keep your equipment in good order. I expected she still followed that. 'I wanted a change when I ditched you, darling. I took up fighting professionally. I knew the organizers already; they soon took me seriously. I'm good!'
'You would be.'
A gleam lit her face, half boasting, half invitation. She scrabbled upright on the quicksand of furs, then began working off her boots-high, tight-laced items with hard soles for kicking and thick thongs for protection. With her near-transparent feminine white drapery the contrast was unsettling. That had always been the attraction: a petite girlish figure on someone unexpectedly strong. As she wriggled her bare toes, I began to sweat with erotic recollection. Chloris owned feet that were trained to grip ropes and trapezes; she could use them to curl fiercely around pretty well anything…
'Tell me about your British setup.'
'Ooh, Marcus. It sounds as if I'm under investigation.'
'Just curious. Why here of all places?'
'Britain? I heard about it enough from you. We formed a team specifically to come out here. Plenty of bored men, with few outlets for entertainment. Perfect spot. A brand-new arena. Best of all, no built-in male gladiator groups, hogging the action and ganging up to stop us working.'
'Who's your fixer, your lanista?'
'Stuff that!'
Wrong question. I should have known. Chloris had always been independent. Being prey to managers, who were ignorant of her skills and who stole the appearance fees, had annoyed her in the circus life too. Having a trainer was really not her style.
'We can train ourselves,' she said. 'We practice every day, and observe each other's progress. Women are damned good analysts.'
'Yes, I remember you used to spend a lot of time analyzing what was wrong with me… You lead the team?'
'Analyzing your faults was too exhausting, darling!' she interposed.
'Thanks. You are the leader?' I repeated doggedly.
'We don't have a leader. But I brought the group together. They listen to me. They know I have the best balance and fitness. And I can do two styles-retiarus and secutor-plus I'm working up Thracian too.'
I whistled. Not many male gladiators could offer three fighting styles.
'Want to try me out?' she beamed.
'No. I've been thwacked enough for one day.'
'Yes, mummy's boy has made himself all tired and grubby with the fat lady… Come here and I'll make you feel better.' Chloris stretched, limbering up for an hour's hard workout on me. The mere thought was dispiriting.
She meant it. She thought that I wanted what she wanted, as women do. You could make a philosophical treatise out of it, but I was too preoccupied with staying out of reach. 'Look, I'm appalled to be so feeble, but I'm far too hungry, Chloris. I'm no use to you. I just couldn't concentrate.'
'Oh, you haven't changed.' She thought I was teasing. Dangerously, she enjoyed the thought. 'It's make up your mind time!'
'Oh, Chloris, surely you're not going to say, it's screwing me or eating?'
'Sounds a good choice!' She jumped up and came for me. There was no time even to gulp before she was winding herself around me as only an acrobat can. If I had forgotten what that felt like, memory soon surged back.'-So which is it, darling?' She chortled.
I sighed with what might pass for polite regret. 'Look, I'm absolutely starving. May I have some dinner, please?'
Chloris punched me in the kidneys, though it was a loose, wild swipe that only did partial damage. She flounced from the room. I collapsed, sweating. Then, as I had thought she would, she had a tray sent in to me. I chose my old girlfriends pretty well. There had never been malice in Chloris.
'Later!' she had promised meaningfully as she strode off.
O Mercury, patron of travelers-either get me out of this or just smite me dead so I don't know that it's happening! In Rome I was Procurator of the Sacred Geese and Chickens. O Mercury, never let Chloris discover that! Now I myself was a soft little pullet in my cage, being fattened up. I munched dutifully. I would need my strength.
You don't mix it with a gladiator. Besides, she was a wonderful armful and I certainly knew it. Once, I would have let myself be persuaded without a struggle. There was too much at stake now. I had moved on- way, way
