‘I’ll check, Falco. That request might be a smidgeon tricky.’
See what I mean? Useless.
I gave the sign that he need not bother. Quickly, he sidled out of reach.
Somewhere must be a tribune, who was nominally in charge of finance. Better still, I knew from experience, in a small accounts office off a poorly decorated corridor, plying his abacus furiously, would lurk an imperial freedman who could find me what I needed.
‘You’re tired.’ Helena had read my expression. Before we came, I had been allowed to go out to the baths, which enlivened me, but the effect was temporary. On the way here I had given her the gist of my afternoon’s investigations so she knew my head was whirling with facts to digest - not to mention our joint experiences at the Board meeting and the zoo. Plucking a triangular cheese tart from a passing tray, she fed it to me. Tiny shreds of onion invaded the gaps in my teeth. That would give me something to play with if I was bored.
‘Come along; I’ve found out where the entertainment room is. You can loll on cushions like Mark Antony and doze off while someone plays a lyre at us.’
Helena jerked her head; Albia shed her covey of admirers and scampered after us. I was sure I heard my foster-daughter mutter ‘Prunes!’
‘You are talking about the cream of Roman diplomacy, Albia,’ I said.
‘Not all young men are idiots,’ Helena soothed her.
‘No; I remain an optimist.’ Helena had taught Albia the knack of sounding strait-laced while being satirical. ‘Thanks to you, I am travelling large distances and seeing very many foreign lands. I am sure one day I shall meet the only fellow in the world who has a drip of intelligence. I learned today,’ breezed Albia, grazing a salver of almond fancies as we passed, ‘the earth is a sphere. I only hope the one man with a brain has not fallen off the other side while I am looking.’
‘You made her like this,’ I grumbled at Helena.
‘No, the men she knows did that.’
‘Your views are just as scathing.’
‘Perhaps - but I believe my role as a mother is to instil fair-mindedness and hope. Anyway -’ Helena’s fine dark eyes gleamed with reflections from many lights on a mighty candelabrum - ‘I know men can be good, bright and honest. I know you, dearest.’
You could rely on a Ptolemaic palace to have long, wide, apparently deserted corridors, with handsome statues on enormous plinths and with shiny floors up which you could chase women, sliding along and larking about with squeals of glee.
‘There is probably a wily eunuch spying on us!’ Helena whispered, pulling up.
‘A priestly conspirator, who will send us to a lingering death to satisfy his raven-headed god’s demands!’Albia must have been reading the same myths. She was enjoying herself this evening and darted around us like a scatterbrained butterfly. More attendants appeared, so we all slowed to walk more sedately; I placed Helena’s right hand formally upon my own as if we were a pair of bandaged corpses going to the Egyptian underworld.
‘Nuts, Albia. Your conspirator is going to be that man who lurks outside Uncle Fulvius’ house, forever trying to guide us to the Pyramids.’
The women collapsed, giggling, until Albia became serious. ‘He followed you and Helena Justina when you went out to the Museion this morning,’ she told me, a little anxiously. I had taught her that my work could involve danger, and she must report anything suspicious.
‘Uncle Fulvius calls him Katutis.’ I never saw him tailing us. We must have lost him along the route. I gave both my girls a reassuring squeeze.
We let ourselves be steered by the hired-in party managers, who shooed us into the great hall where music, dancing and acrobatics were to take place for our entertainment. Half-naked Nubians waving ostrich feather fans confirmed the clichéd taste of the current Prefect. Fortunately there was more wine; by now I was ready to drink anything that came along in a goblet.
A large group of Alexandrian glass exporters had arrived ahead of us and ensconced themselves in the best seats. They were perfectly friendly, however, and happy to move up for a pregnant woman and an excitable young girl; even I got a look-in, because they thought I was Helena and Albia’s escort-slave. They were talking in their own language but we exchanged greetings in Greek, then nods and smiles, and passed each other titbit bowls from time to time. Less approachable were a pair of well-dressed women, in attire so expensive they had to keep rearranging skirts and bangles in case anyone had missed their price-tags. They continued gossiping together the whole time and never spoke to anyone else. It could be that one was the wife of the Prefect, or they were just from that tiny top layer of society in Alexandria who were settled Romans. They could not be senatorial, but they were solidly wealthy and incurably snobbish. Apart from commercial visitors, everyone else here was from the next layer down, either Greek or Jewish - people with enough money and status to become Roman citizens (they had to call themselves Alexandrians). Needless to say, I saw none of the native Egyptians who toiled at useful trades and were stuck fast at the bottom of the social pile.
The two women eyed up Helena Justina coolly. They were absolutely blatant, taking in each detail of her silk gown with its deep embroidered hem, the way she draped her lustrous stole, her gold filigree necklace with pendant oriental pearls, the gold net with which she attempted to control her fine, flyaway dark hair. She let them stare, murmuring under her breath, ’Right clothes, right jewels - I am doing well - but no; a desperate error! See their fascination dwindling now . . . Marcus Didius, this is just no good. Your generosity must become much more elastic - I must travel with a hairdresser.’
‘You look adorable.’
‘No, love - I am damned. Wrong hair!’
Albia joined in, exclaiming that nobody in polite Alexandrian society would now invite them to a poetry soiree or a mint tea morning. We were shamed; we must go home immediately ... It suited me. Sadly, she was only winding the joke further. Besides, the music was starting. Until we were saved by an interval, we were unable to leave.
More people arrived to swell the audience. Among them were Fulvius and Cassius, who waved to us across the room grandly. They must have made friends with a flunkey, because extra-plump cushions in expensive-looking fabrics were obsequiously laid for them to recline upon, while a small wooden table with satyr’s legs was positioned before them. Upon this, drinks in elegant cups and saucers of nuts appeared, placed with graceful gestures. My uncle and his partner picked at the saucers politely. They looked as if they enjoyed this kind of attention all the time. Every few moments the saucers were removed and replaced with full ones. Once Cassius smilingly refused the replenishment and signalled for the little dish to be brought across to my party. We were given more wine, and it seemed better quality. Everyone else leered jealously at this special treatment.
The music was bearable. Jugglers juggled with not too many foul-ups. The room grew warm. My eyes were heavy. Albia wriggled. Even Helena had the set expression of intense interest that meant she was growing restless.
One of the glass exporters leaned across and imparted eagerly, ‘Special dancing!’ Bright-eyed, he nodded at the curtained arch through which the various acts were being released to amuse us. Could it be that even at this farthermost point of the Mediterranean, we would find the ubiquitous Spanish girls? Would the sophisticated Alexandrians like their back-breaking romps with tambourines, even though they had the option of scintillating Syrian flute-players, who could whiffle and undulate at the same time?