'Certainly not,' Helena interrupted calmly. 'Marcus was such an innocent in those days, I had to show him what girls were for.'
Albia broke up in giggles. It was good to see her smile.
I topped up everybody's water cup while I tried to reassert the myth of a respectable past.
We agreed it was time to go after Claudius Pius. Assuming his brother had told Petro and me the truth, then Pius was visiting his wife, that fragile soul Byrta. It meant another trip into the marshes, though at least that would let me go over to Antium and liaise with Silvius, of the Urban Cohorts. Petronius had checked with Rubella, who still refused to release him from Rome, even to work with Silvius. So Justinus, with his experience on our first trip, won the ballot to come with me.
Next day at dawn, I was all packed and about to mount a mule outside my house, when Helena ran out after me. She told me anxiously that Albia was not in her room. Our conversation the day before had had unwelcome results. The girl had left a note – at least she was that sensible – - to say she was going to Anacrites' house 'to have a look around'. If she went last evening, he had kept her overnight.
'Don't worry,' Helena reassured me, though her voice was tense. 'You get off – I'll fetch her back somehow.' I wanted to stay, but I had five slaves chomping at the bit behind me and had made arrangements with Justinus to depart at first light. 'Leave it to me, Marcus. Don't fret. Take care, my love.'
'Always. You too. Sweetheart, I love you.'
'I love you too. Come home soon.'
As I rode through Rome in the thin air of a very early morning, on my way to collect Justinus at the Capena Gate, I thought about those words. How many people have said them as a talisman, but never saw their precious love again? I wondered if Livia Primilla, the elderly wife of Julius Modestus, had spoken the words when her husband rode to challenge the Claudii. If I failed to return from this journey, Helena Justina would come after me too. I should have told her not to do it, not without an army. But that would have meant planting the suggestion that her brother and I might be in serious danger.
At the Capena Gate, Aelianus emerged to wave us off. He was mildly jealous, though as an assistant he always enjoyed being left in charge. I mentioned what had happened to Albia. 'Aulus, it's not your affair. Obviously this is awkward for you, but could you check with Helena that everything is all right? Will you tell her I had a thought as I came through the Forum: if she goes to see the spy, take my mother.'
'Will he listen to your mother?'
'Mediation! Helena will know – - in a crisis with an enemy, it's a fine Roman tradition to send in an elderly woman, with a long black veil and a very stern lecture.'
Justinus suggested leaving behind Lentullus, who could bring us news later.
So Justinus and I, taking a handful of slaves as back-up, rode off once more to Latium. Thirty miles later, as near we could get discreetly, we camped overnight, not showing ourselves at any inns where landlords might give advance warning of our presence. We planned the traditional dawn raid.
At first light, with the promise of an unpleasantly hot late August day, we reached the end of the track. Here, we knew, three of the Claudius brothers lived when it suited them, in poverty and filth, with two skinny, subdued wives and innumerable wild children. We had already passed the shack where their brother Probus mouldered; we saw no sign of him, nor his ferocious dog, Fangs.
The woodlands were sultry. Fetid steam rose from depleted pools as the marshes dried out through the summer. It must have rained recently; there was a dank, unpleasant smell everywhere. Clouds of flies rose up from tangles of half-decayed undergrowth, skirling in our faces in predatory black curtains as we disturbed them. The insects were worse than we remembered, the going more difficult, the isolation drearier.
We rode up as quietly as possible. We all dismounted. With drawn swords, Justinus and I went straight to the hovel where Pius and his wife lived, while our slaves checked around the back. We banged the door, but there was no answer. The hutment which belonged to Nobilis looked as deserted as before. While we continued knocking, a man appeared in the doorway of the third hut. A woman's voice sounded behind him.
'What's that noise?' he shouted. It was the other 'Melitan'. I recognised him, and he recognised me – though he cannot have known quite how familiar he seemed. Anacrites had said the twins were not identical; maybe this one was half a digit taller, a few pounds heavier, but there was little in it.
'Claudius Pius?' If so, he was on the wrong doorstep, growling over his shoulder at the wrong woman. Mind you, it did not surprise me that one of the Claudii should be screwing his brother's wife.
He rounded aggressively. 'No. I am Virtus.'
I believed him. We had muddled them up. I should have known. Anyone who has ever seen a theatrical farce would expect the wrong one to pop out of a doorway. That's what you get with twins.
LV
He could be lying. Impersonating each other to fool people is a lifelong game for twins. When I was at school, the Masti were famous for it; their loving mother helped by always dressing them in identical tunics, with their hair curled in the same ridiculous quiff. They spent their days tormenting our teacher, then later were reputed to swap girlfriends. Causing confusion would have gone on forever, if Lucius Mastus had not been run over by a stonemason's wagon. His brother Gaius was never the same afterwards. All the joy went out of him.
Virtus had the same build, skin, freckles, light eyes and upturned nose as the man Petro and I had captured. I felt uncomfortable with it, though I did not believe the telepathy of twins could have told him what his brother went through. I suppose I had a bad conscience.
After grumbling noises from indoors, Byrta sidled into view next to him. In the act of re-draping her clothes, she hitched a scarf around her neck. Maybe it was to hide love bites, if she called their relationship love. It was some rich red colour, decent material. I supposed Virtus must have brought it for her from Rome as a present.
She vouched for him being Virtus not Pius. I said he had to come with us. He reluctantly complied. His wife did not rush to pack him a travelling bag. We searched his home before we left, but found nothing, not even weapons. If he really was Virtus, he had left his armoury in the Transtiberina apartment, so it was now secured at the Fourth Cohort's station house. The woman stayed behind with their children.
We asked about his brother Probus. Virtus said men had come and arrested him – - Silvius and the Urban Cohorts, presumably. 'Why didn't they get you at the same time?'
'I heard them coming.'
We took him with us to Antium, where we joined up with Silvius. Silvius confirmed he had Probus in custody. Probus seemed to be breaking ranks and denouncing Nobilis, though it was too early to say if he would distance himself enough to give us evidence. When Silvius wanted to question Virtus, I had had enough with the other twin, so I gave him the prisoner without quibbling. Justinus and I sat in. I insisted on that.
In two days of hard questioning, Virtus said little useful. His line now was that he had never had anything to do with any of his brothers' cruel practices – - and, as he knew well, we had nothing to tie him to the murders.
'None of us ever knew what Nobilis was up to.' That tired cliche. 'These things you are saying about him and Pius are terrible. Thank the gods our father will never know about it.'
'Aristocles was no moralist! Look at the disgusting rabble he and Casta produced. Strong family bonds, have you?' asked Silvius, insinuating,