Helena had thrown off her shoes and her jewellery, pulled out the ornamental pins from her fine hair and was massaging her head with those long fingers as if the pull of a chignon had made her scalp hurt. But I was the real headache.
'Listen, fruit. The old rules apply. If you ask me not to, I won't go.'
Helena thought about that, for about two heartbeats, which was longer than usual in fact. 'The rule is we travel together, Marcus.'
Now I was stuck, as she intended. If I said it would be irresponsible and unfair to our children for both parents to risk death in the marshes, it just emphasised how stupid it was even for one of us to go.
Helena did not wait for me to bluster. 'I can't come. Julia and Favonia need me here for reassurance.' They had played up a lot after we lost the baby. They probably needed me here too. Typically, Helena did not waste breath pointing that out.
'I am sorry a big case has come up so soon. Well, maybe I'm sorry it has come up at all.'
'Marcus, I know you will always need to work.'
'I could become a full-time antique dealer, a permanent auctioneer. Do you want me to do that?'
Helena made an impatient gesture, left-handed; lamplight hit silver in a ring I once gave her. We had not addressed the issue of my future, but now we dealt with it. 'I think you will be good at it,' Helena told me, 'but you would hate to do it permanently. You enjoy being an informer – it was one of the first things that struck me about you. And you're very good. So be honest. You and Lucius Petronius have been offered a mystery and as usual you can't resist.'
'My connection with Modestus caused it. Apparently a new career won't save me from mysteries!'
'So your argument is, you owe something to Modestus? Not profits. I know what the statues brought in.'
'You checked!'
'I check a lot of things,' Helena said, to worry me. I grinned happily. I kept few secrets from her. She was too likely to expose me.
Davis, Lindsey – Falco 20
Nemesis (2010)
When the statues went forward to the amphitheatre project, their modest price was the best Geminus could negotiate. Vespasian never wasted cash. 'Pa always decried sudden swish rewards,' I said. 'He reckoned it's the regular accumulation of small sums that matters, not a hiccup that may thrill you for a moment yet never come again.'
Helena smiled. She had been oddly fond of my father, as he always was of her. 'He was right – though I believe he had his thrills too. What pleased your father could be a beautiful artefact – -' Often in the form of a willing woman, though I refrained from interrupting with that comment. 'But to him, any business finesse was delectable. You inherited it, Marcus. You get the same boost from your work. So you want the satisfaction of explaining what happened to this man and his wife, especially when nobody else can solve it. Then, since no one else will take them on, you and Lucius see these Claudii as your challenge.'
Helena understood – but explaining was not the point. 'You don't want me to go.'
'That's not it, Marcus. I want you to come back!'
Helena took in a breath, not despair, more exasperation. It was no more than if I had gone out in my newest tunic when the streets were muddy. She would let me go to the marshes once I promised to take care. Promises were not worth making in this situation, though for her I stretched the point.
Next morning, Helena and Maia visited apothecaries. A large basket of herbal ointments to keep away flies would be going on the mission 'with us. If we were sensible men we would use them.
If Petro and I were not sensible, our women would find out. So we thanked them politely for caring and agreed to take precautions against dying. 'You are taking swords, aren't you? What's the difference?'
I loved Helena Justina. I wanted to survive with her for many years. But did she think Hercules slathered himself with brimstone and pennyroyal when he departed for his twelve labours?. Actually it was worse. Petronius and I had been supplied with bunches of nettles to hang all around the ox cart, then numerous soapstone boxes of a concoction in which not only pennyroyal but wormwood, rue, sage, tansy, myrtle and spearmint were mingled in an olive oil base. Some individual ingredients were attractively aromatic, but the combination smelt foul.
'I'll use this stuff, if you will,' I told Petro.
He said, anything would be worth it to save us being bitten. For bites, he showed me, our determined women had sent another box. Their sandalwood and lavender bite-salve would scent us like a pair of Pamphyllian dancing masters. We were hard men, but that really terrified us.
XVI
We detoured to call on Sextus Silanus. We had to pass on the tragic news of his uncle's death. Petronius would explain the circumstances. My role would be to watch this conversation unobserved, judging the nephew's reaction. He had benefited financially from the death. Some investigators would pin the murder straight on him. When motive gives you a quick way to clear up a case, who needs facts?
Silanus came to the shop door, saw our cavalcade, recognised me, and expected the worst. Petronius Longus always looked as if he had a grim purpose. His bearing and sombre face gave away the reason for our visit. The numbers in our group also indicated that Modestus and his fate were at last of official concern.
We had the ox cart, containing some of us and our baggage. On dilapidated mules were a couple of Petro's men, all he could safely scrounge from duty: Auctus looked too fragile to fight fires but he had been in the cohort for years and everyone accepted him; he was riding Basiliscus, a skeletal beast with a bent ear and bad breath. Ampliatus had an eye missing and rode a brindled, knock-kneed mule called Corex who kept running away. Although the vigiles are ex-slaves, most were not quite so off-putting; these were the only two men who would volunteer for our destination.
Petronius had left Fusculus behind in charge, though we wished we could have had that steady fellow with us. Somebody had to do Marcus Rubella's vital job; at least, that would be Rubella's view.
In charge of the cart, Petro's brother had a similar relaxed driving style, holding the reins in one hand loosely and letting the ox make his own pace. Otherwise there was little resemblance between them. Maybe there had been a frisky lupin-seller in the neighbourhood just before Rectus was born, though I did not risk the joke. Rectus was older, shorter, of squashy shape and slumped posture, an unsociable fellow who seemed hard to like. They had had very little to do with one another for years. I was sure Petro once told me his brother was a bit of a fixer and mixer, though he gave no sign of it. Perhaps age or the marsh fever had slowed him down. When anyone asked Rectus about the fever (which we did frequently, because we were all petrified), he just grunted; if pushed further, he let out a sardonic laugh and turned away. I decided not to discuss him with Petronius. Let him volunteer a comment if he wanted to.
Completing our party was a brother of Helena's, Justinus. I worked with him in Rome and had also taken him on missions in rough country. I knew he would be reliable. Helena had begged me not to expose him to danger, but he was no longer a lad; it was his choice. He was keen to escape the bad atmosphere at home, caused by his brother's new wife and pushy father-in-law. On this trip Justinus had brought his barmy batman, Lentullus. The dopiest, clumsiest ex-legionary in the Empire, Lentullus was devoted to Quintus in a wide-eyed way. He limped badly on one leg and would probably try to tame the Pontine flies as pets.
I planned that if we ran into hostility from local dignitaries, resentful of imperial interference, then Camillus Justinus, as a senator's son with the smart travel clothes and uppercrust accent, could be shoved forward to charm them.