Calpurnia Cara knew she had never met me, but she may have been unsure who Mama was. In case they were old acquaintances who had talked for four hours at the last secret gathering for the Good Goddess, she felt obliged to be polite.'
I shuddered. Traditional religion has that effect. I was relieved that Helena had never expressed any interest in the notorious female goings-on in honour of the so-called Good Goddess. My own religious observance stopped short at the guano-spattered environs of the Temple of Juno, where I had duties as the Procurator of Juno's Sacred Geese – a merry jest of the Emperor's. `So what is Calpurnia like?'
`Between fifty and sixty, as you would expect from her husband's and son's positions in the Senate. I wouldn't call her handsome, but -' Helena paused. `She had bearing and presence.'
That sounded as if Calpurnia was a vicious old bat. Since my own life's companion certainly had presence, I was careful of my phrasing: `She would have been no cipher in the marriage?'
`Oh no. She's a little defensive -'
`Bad tempered?'
`Let's say, very confident. Well groomed, but not wearing much jewellery. She seems cultured; there were reading-scrolls in the room. Mind you, there was a wool basket too, yet I reckon that was just for show! I can't see the lady actually spinning like a traditional good wife.'
`You suspect a slave had been sent out in a hurry to buy some wool so they could stage-manage appearances?'
`Could be. She had a mousy maid in attendance, to look modest.'
`How formal? Was she veiled?'
`Don't be silly, Marcus; she was at home. Her manner was reserved, but it should be, with nosy strangers coming to her house for days, trying to catch her out.'
`She was receiving well-wishers, though?'
`A queue of callers; I gathered I was lucky to find her alone. I felt that accepting condolences – from both genuine friends and even the wickedly curious – was an ordeal which Calpurnia Cara quite enjoys.'
`A duty?'
`A challenge.'
`She wants to test her own endurance?' I wondered.
`Oh I think she knows how capable she is,' Helena replied warmly.
The air temperature was dropping. Helena reached for her stole, which I helped to tuck around her. As usual it was a good excuse to explore her body affectionately.
`Do you want to hear this, Marcus?'
`Of course.' I was perfectly capable of groping a woman while extracting her evidence. My profession calls for a man to be physically adroit and mentally versatile, often at the same time. I could take notes while scratching my bum too.
`She told me what you already knew. Nothing added and nothing different. It seems very well rehearsed.' Despite the dusk, I knew that Helena had read my thoughts and smiled. `That does not necessarily make it untrue.'
`Perhaps,' I agreed.
`One other thing -' There was a new note of mischief in Helena's tone. `I didn't see the son, of course. I couldn't tell if he was in the house. They call him Birdy, by the way; I don't know why. I took the opportunity to ask one of the staff for an address for junior's divorced wife – ostensibly so I could pay condolences there too.' I said nothing. `Unless you want to take over that visit?' she enquired, in apparent innocence.
`You know me so well.'
`I expect you will claim,' Helena scoffed, `the divorcee may give us another side of the story. This may be a crucial breakthrough and you need to expose her directly to your experienced interrogatory skills?'
`My love, how comfortable it is to have a wife who understands my business.'
`Her name is Saffia Donata – and you need to know in advance that she is causing trouble!'
I said that sounded like exactly the kind of sweet little breakthrough I was looking for.
`She has three children and some money.' An excellent briefing. Helena Justina made a wonderful work partner – thorough, discreet, witty, and even fair to me. `I did not ask if she is pretty.'
I said I could discover that for myself
VI
NEXT MORNING I began to see why Silius Italicus was so secretive about where he lived: self-protection. We were still at breakfast when a message was brought up that Ursulina Prisca had arrived downstairs. I sent Justinus to get rid of her. I could be magnanimous. Let her have a few minutes of pleasure being rebuffed by a handsome, polite young fellow.
Once that role would have been mine. Now I was middle-class, middle-aged, and full of middle-rank anxieties. When you have no money there is no point worrying. Once you obtain some, all that ends.
While dear Quintus interviewed the persistent baggage, using a side room which we kept tidy for that purpose, I kissed Helena, pulled a face at the baby, tickled Julia, locked the dog in a bedroom, and slipped out of the house. (Leaving home in a hurry was much slicker when I was single.) If Ursulina decided our boy was adorable, she might dig in her talons. My youngest brother-in-law was very polite and hated saying no to women in distress. I knew that all women were hard as nuts, but he would easily be manoeuvred into taking the commission. Fine. He could do it. Now our team had a nagging granny specialist.
I was off to try my skills on a much more difficult female. Forget the divorcee. My motto was hit them gently to see what happens – then hit them again, hard. I was going to revisit Calpurnia Cara.
There is a trick informers use. If you have assailed a house once in the afternoon and want another attempt, go next time in the morning. If the household is wealthy, they may work their porters in shifts. Mind you, many rich families work their door porters to death, thinking that the provision of a cubicle with a stool means the porter has an easy life. It's a boring career, and that can work to your advantage. On the whole though, door porters become obstructive, maybe because sitting on a stool all day cuts off the circulation painfully in their legs. It affects their brains too. They get above themselves. I hate the swine.
The Metelli, as I might by then have expected, kept their porter in situ all day. I observed this from the same unfriendly snackbar where I had rested my trotters on the counter yesterday. This meant I might have to wait around for hours before that other informing trick: knocking on the door at lunchtime when the porter takes his meal break. Luckily, I did not need to wait so long. While the door was open for a delivery, I heard the porter ask another slave to stand in while he went off for a pee.
Thank you, gods!
(Which reminded me again that I was Procurator of the Sacred Geese of Juno, and I ought to say hello to my fat feathered charges, now I was back in Rome.)
`Morning. My name is Didius Falco; I was here yesterday on business with your mistress. Could I possibly see her again for a few minutes, please?'
`I'm supposed to ask the steward,' the stand-in said. `I think.' He was a kitchen worker normally; he had an apron on, stained with oil and sauce.
`That's right,' I agreed, smiling helpfully. `The other Janus – what's his name?'
'Perseus.'
'Perseus asked the steward yesterday.'
`Oh he asked him, did he? Well, that's all right then. She's in the garden; this way, sir -'
The stand-in had left the door open. Assuming my helpful guise, I pointed out that while he escorted me to find Calpurnia Cara, wrongdoers might sneak in. That worried him. So he stayed there but gave me instructions how to cross the atrium, pass through a colonnade, and find the garden area by myself. I handed him a quarter denarius. It was the least I could do. I knew, though he apparently did not, he had just earned himself a severe beating for letting loose an informer in the house.
It was worth a quiet wander around. I like gardens. This peaceful enclosed space between wings of the silent
