Nemesis

I went with the simile. 'I don't want the nasty little menace to have a fit and smash my toys!'

'Well, keep your toys on a high shelf, Marcus.'

It was late. We were tired, not exhausted but not yet ready to go up to bed. In a family household, this was a rare moment of quiet. We stayed hand in hand, savouring the situation, re-establishing our strong partnership after a period of upset and absence. Helena caressed my cheek with her free hand; I bent and gently kissed her wrist. We were a man and his wife, at home in private, enjoying one another's presence. Nothing really intimate was occurring – or not yet – but the last thing we wanted was an interruption. So that was when the bastard came, of course.

I mean, Anacrites.

I was dimly aware of noises downstairs – - not urgent, no cause for us to involve ourselves. Then a slave I did not remember owning knocked and came in. This was what it meant to be wealthy: total strangers were living in my house, knew who I was, addressed me humbly as their master.

'Sir, will you receive a visitor?'

The visitor must have had a suspicion what my answer would be. He followed the lad and rudely pushed in after him. 'I do apologise for calling so late – I just heard about your father, Marcus. I came immediately!'

Helena murmured, 'Thank you,' to the young slave, so he would know we saw it was not his fault. He slipped away. She and I remained in position just long enough to let anyone less crass than the spy see he was intruding. He had probably come from the office; he even looked around as if hoping for a titbit tray. Failing a guest went against our idea of hospitality, but like stoics we refused to offer him refreshments.

I stood up, sighing openly. A mistake, because it allowed Anacrites to bound right up, grasping my hands in his. I wanted to snatch back my paws, apply them round his beautifully barbered neck and strangle him; but we were standing on an attractive rag rug, and I was reluctant to defile it with his corpse.

'Ah, Marcus, I am so sorry for your loss!' He let go of me and turned to Helena who had stayed on the couch out of his reach. 'How is this poor fellow doing?' His voice was doleful with sympathy.

Helena sighed glumly. 'He is managing. The money helps.'

Anacrites took a second to catch on. 'You two! You joke about absolutely everything.'

'Graveyard humour,' I assured him, resuming my place beside Helena. 'A grimace in the teeth of Fate, to hide our desolation. Though as my smart wife says – - Geminus left me a stupefying legacy.' I bet Anacrites had made sure he knew that before he came. 'Apart from the inconvenience of probate, rummaging through his coffers does assuage the grief.'

Anacrites took a seat opposite, though we had not invited him to do so. He leaned forwards, elbows on his knees. He was still addressing me with the unbearable earnestness people ladle like sweet sauce over the bereaved. 'I am afraid I never really knew your father.'

'He kept out of the way of people like you.' This was not always true. Once, Pa had thought Anacrites was sniffing too closely around my mother like a gigolo – - an idea so unbelievable we had all believed it at the time. My outraged father, taking it personally, rushed to the Palace and took a swipe at the spy. I was there and witnessed the crazy fist-swinging. Anacrites seemed to have forgotten. Perhaps the bad head wound a few years ago excused selective memory loss. It did not, however, excuse anything else he did.

'And how is your dear mother?' He had been Ma's lodger for a time. Though she was so shrewd in many things, she thought he was wonderful. He in turn spoke of her with veneration. He knew it made me sick.

'Junilla Tacita bears her loss with fortitude,' Helena interposed gravely. Anacrites looked at her, grateful to encounter a normal platitude. 'She only gloats in the afternoon; she says in the mornings she's too busy around the house to taunt his ghost.'

I smiled gently at the spy's discomfiture.

He wore an umber-coloured tunic, his idea of sophisticated camouflage. His skin looked strangely plump and smooth; he must have come from the baths. With that oiled hair and a straight bearing, he could be called personable; well, by a woman of the night, with time on her hands and bills to pay. I doubted that any decent woman ever looked at him, not that I had seen him seeking female company since Maia dumped him. I was convinced he had no friends.

He was a strange mixture of competence and ineptitude. Undoubtedly intelligent, he was an able public speaker; I had heard him spout excuses like any clerk covering up his failures. There was no need for him to endure a tiny office and low-grade agents; his was a high public position, attached to the Praetorians; he could have conjured up a decent budget if he had applied himself.

His next foray was to say to Helena, 'I hear your brother is back from Athens – and married! Wasn't that unexpected?'

This was typical. Laeta had said Anacrites only returned to Rome three days ago, yet he had already discovered private facts about my family and me. He pressed too close. If I complained it would sound paranoid, yet I knew Helena saw why I loathed him.

'Who told you that?' She sat up abruptly.

'Oh it's my job to know everything,' Anacrites boasted, giving her a significant smile.

'Surely you should only watch the Emperor's enemies?' Helena retaliated.

'Helena Justina, you were pregnant!' Anacrites exclaimed, wide-eyed, as if it had only just struck him. 'Has the happy event occurred?'

'Our baby died.' I bet the bastard knew that too.

'Oh my dears! Again, I am so sorry… Was it a boy?'

Helena bridled visibly. 'What does that matter? Any healthy child would have pleased us; any lost child is our tragedy.'

'Such a waste – -'

'Don't upset yourself over our private troubles,' Helena said coldly. He had pushed her too far. 'I suppose,' she jibed, 'a man in your position does not know what it is to have family? You must always have looked intelligent. When some unknown slave girl bore you, were you taken up as soon as that was spotted, to be regimented in a soulless stylus-school?'

Anacrites relied on pretending we were all best friends; otherwise, I fancied there might have been real venom in his expression. 'As you say, they could spot potential. I was indeed favoured with government training from a young age,' he replied in a quiet voice. Helena refused to show shame. 'I knew my alphabet at three, Helena – both in Latin and Greek.'

Though she did not remark on it, Helena had already taught our Julia both alphabets, plus how to write her name in rulered lines. Perhaps she relaxed slightly, however. For one thing, Helena always enjoyed sparring. 'And what else did they teach you?'

'Self-reliance and perseverance.'

'Is that enough for the work you do now?'

'It goes a long way.'

'Do you have a conscience, Anacrites?'

'Does Falco?' he countered.

'Oh yes,' replied Helena Justina sternly. 'He leaves home with it daily, along with his boots and his notebook. That is why,' she said, fixing him with a steady gaze, 'Marcus was so interested in working on the Julius Modestus case.'

'Modestus?' Anacrites' bafflement seemed genuine.

'Compulsory letter-writer,' I put in. 'Dealer from Antium. Found stone dead in a tomb – - hands cut off and hideous rites committed – - after a squabble with some marsh-waders known as the Claudii.'

I thought Anacrites twitched. 'Oh you were involved with that?' It was disingenuous; he knew it, and looked shifty. 'I pulled back the case from Laeta. He should never have been involved. In fact, I'm glad I've seen you tonight, Falco. I need a handover review. Shall we say mid-morning tomorrow at my office? Bring your vigiles friend.'