Nemesis

Inevitably my father's death had brought Marina, dragging Marcia, to pay respects (her words). She had her large beautiful eyes on the legacy.

'Marcia will be no trouble. I brought her a lunch pack. I'll pick her up when I've run a few errands…'

Marina was a fabulous specimen, though common. She turned heads so frequently she had no idea it was possible for a woman to walk past a scaffold, a wine bar, a fish stall or a cohort of soldiers without whistles and loud invitations to share grimy fellows' flagons. It looked as if the food she had so unnecessarily brought for her daughter was part of a workman's sardine ration, in fact. Women loathed her. Helena, and even young Albia, greeted her arrival with embittered sighs. While they hoped she would leave quickly, I prayed she had not worked out how much money to ask me for. She had, of course.

'You never even invited Marcia to your party at Saturnalia. Everyone ignores us nowadays. Whoever thought Festus would be so quickly forgotten? Marcia hadn't seen her gramps for ages and now she'll never have the chance again -' (Wails from Marina's well-primed daughter.) 'Geminus was so fond of her; it's such a tragedy! And I blame you, Marcus.'

Since the child was listening, I refrained from spelling out that Geminus lost count of his grandchildren, and that my niece could have been brought to see Pa at the Saepta any day. Suitably prompted, he would have reminisced about Festus and handed out hot pancakes. Given his eye for a promising woman, Marina would probably have walked away with some piece of jewellery. The fact was, she had been too busy leading her life of play and pleasure – until she heard that Pa was gone and how much he had left behind.

Marina dumped Marcia on us 'to play with her little cousins'. Marcia was a fast-growing skinny-rib of ten, so she and my much younger girls had nothing in common, but Marcia spent hours diligently tying hair ribbons and my daughters were willing little dolls.

Primed by her mother, Marcia set about charming me in her own style. 'Uncle Marcus, just give us the money.'

What money?'

'A big bag of cash to make us feel less sad that Grandpa died.'

'How does that work?'

'Mother is happy, so I'm happy – and you will be happy too. You don't want us littering up your smart hall every morning.'

'Is that going to happen?'

'Yes, Marcus darling- -' Marcia did a priceless imitation of her effusive mama. 'Until you give in, I shall be dumped here to work on you.'

I said I was packing for a business trip to Latium.

My niece turned withering great brown eyes on me. What she lacked in her mother's extraordinary beauty – - and she was on course to inherit most of that – she made up in character. If the character was dubious, it only proved a Didius really had spawned her. A handful at three, at ten she was now ferociously bright and spirited.

Marcia suggested that, if I was busy, I should simply give her the password for my Forum bankbox, then she would withdraw a sum she thought suitable. Nothokleptes, my banker, would probably be so surprised he would hand over everything.

I said Marcia must be joking, then we both collapsed in giggles.

Two days later it was Marcia, a dedicated gossip-winkler, who told me that Petro's brother was at Maia's house.

'Petronius must have sent for him. Auntie Maia is put out.'

'Nobody knew Lucius even had a brother!' Helena exclaimed. We were at lunch, tucking into our own goat's cheese, olives and flatbread, plus more sardines; Marina's scaffolder must be really keen on her, though he had a tedious diet.

'Lucius has a brother.' I wiped my oily chin on a napkin. 'Rectus. He lives in the country; Petro despises that.'

'His brother is always off-colour,' Marcia informed us. Information stuck to her like mud on a wall. 'He has marsh fever. First it nearly killed him, now it keeps coming back. But Lucius Petronius has turned down the official guide you were offered by the man at the Palace and asked his brother instead. He trusts him. Anyway, he's brought Nero.'

'Spot!' Helena and I corrected her briskly. Nero was an ox, of dubiously rakish character. Petronius, his poorly brother and some hick cousins jointly owned him. Calling the beast by the name of an emperor who had been damned-to-the-memory could be defined as an offence. I was once arrested for it in Herculaneum – - though the real reason was that Spot tried to rape a donkey. A snooty Herculaneum citizen, its owner, failed to see the funny side.

'If this is the same ox, he's a sex maniac. I'm not driving him!'

'Why do you need a guide?' Helena interrupted, swift to pick up any detail I was trying to hide. She homed in on the fact that when I first discussed Laeta's mission, I implied Petro and I were just retracing my journey to Antium. She fixed me with accusing eyes. I acted casual. It never works.

'They need a guide,' Marcia piped up before I could stop her, 'to show them the way in the Pontine Marshes. That's where they have to find the murderers, if those men go into hiding and think nobody will ever dare to go after them there since it is so horribly unhealthy.'

'Thank you, Marcia,' I replied coolly. She gave me her clever-little-girlie smile. I would have biffed her, but refused to be dragged down to her level.

Helena Justina, my companion in work and my soulmate in life, was now inspecting me as if I was one of the more repulsive insects from the fetid swamps under discussion. 'O father of my children – -' She adjusted an ear-ring, an expressive punctuation. 'Would that be the Pontine Marshes which have such a reputation for disease and death?'

I wiped my chin again as if I had missed a smear the first time. I placed the napkin on the serving table, neatly alongside my foodbowl; I straightened my spoon, rearranged my chewed olive stones in a more aesthetic pattern, then could no longer stall. 'We may not have to go there.'

'But if you do, Falco?' Helena generally called me 'Falco' when I had let her down unspeakably – and had been so careless that she found out.

I had done my research. I spent the past couple of days in libraries -not what people generally expect of informers, but unless there is a good reason to hang around barmaids and Forum lags, I like to use reputable sources. The scrolls depressed me. 'The good thing,' I chirruped, 'is that we are going in summer, when much of low-lying, scenic Old Latium dries out.'

Unfortunately, Helena was well read too. 'Marcus, the modern theory is that drying out the land seasonally has only provided better summer breeding-grounds for flies!'

'Olympus, is that what they say?' I was genuinely glum.

A row of silver bangles jingled together on Helena's left arm. 'The flies are hideous. Even in the forests, clouds of them rise up at every step. The Pontine Marshes are so dangerous nobody will live there. What's that proverb – - You grow rich in a year, but you die in six months?'

Sometimes I liked having a partner who supplied me with background. At other moments I understood the men who married girls who had no time for arguments as they devoted themselves to athletes and actors. 'I won't be staying a year – not even six months.'

'Six hours will be too long if the wrong fly bites you.'

'Either we can pin the killings on our man, or we come straight home. In any case,' I countered feebly, 'as Marcia said, Petronius Longus is in charge of the logistics. He is bringing the best possible guardian – his own brother.'

My niece Marcia gave us a sniff that reminded me of my mother at her most disparaging. 'Everyone thinks Petronius Rectus has gone off like a pint of bad prawns.'

Much later, that evening when the house was quiet, Helena Justina and I discussed my journey properly in my small private study. I sat in an old basket chair I kept there purposely, so she could lean her elbows on the arms while she told me what a swine I was. At other times, the dog jumped up on it. Tonight, Helena pinched my reading couch, so I was reduced to the chair and the dog jumped on my lap.