Nemesis

I dismounted stiffly at the Eagle Laundry and tied up the mule among the wet flapping sheets in what passed for a colonnade. Lenia, the laundress emerged nosily: a familiar figure, all frenzied red hair and drinker's cough, tottering on high cork heels, unsteady after her afternoon bevvy. She winked heavily. She knew why I was here. I gave her a wave that passed for debonair, and as she snorted easy insults, I set off up the worn stone stairs. My rule was, three flights then take a breather; two more then pause a second time; take the last flight at a run before you collapsed among the woodlice and worse things that littered your path.

The doorpost of my old apartment still had the painted tile that advertised my name for clients. An old nail, carefully bent about ten years ago, was still hidden in a pot on the landing; as a spare latch-lifter it still worked. I put the nail back, pushed open the door very gently in case someone jumped me; I went in, feeling an odd patter of the heart.

It looked empty. There were two rooms. In the first stood a small wooden table, partly eaten away as if it were fossilised; two stools of different heights, one missing a leg; a cooking-bench; a shelf that once held pots and bowls but was now bare of fripperies. In the second room was just a narrow bed, made up neatly.

I called out that it was me. I heard pigeons flutter on the roof.

There was a folding door from the main room to a tiny balcony. I jerked the door with a special hitch that was needed to move it. Then I stepped out through the opening into the old, incongruously glamorous view over Rome, now bathed in warm afternoon sunlight. For a moment I soaked up that familiar scene, out over the northern Aventine to the Vaticanus Hill beyond the river.

Albia was basking on the small stone bench. Coming from Britain, she adored the sun. The building was so badly maintained by its landlord Smaractus that one day the whole balcony would fall off, taking the bench and anyone who was sitting on it. For the moment it held. It had held for the six or seven years that I lived here, in view of which it was easiest to continue to have blind faith than to try and make the unbearable Smaractus carry out repairs. The kind of builders he used would only weaken it fatally.

My fosterling wore an old blue dress, tight plaits, a simple bead necklace. She sat with her fingers linked, pretending to be happy, calm, and unafraid. There was no chance she was afraid of me. I was her father, just a joke. But she must know her situation. Someone else had terrified her.

'I thought I would find you here.' She made no answer. 'You had better stay until I have a chance to straighten things out with Anacrites. Are you all right, Albia? Do you have food money?'

'Lenia gave me a loan.'

'I hope you fixed a good rate of interest!'

'Helena came. She settled up.'

'Well, I'll send you an allowance until it's safe to come home.'

'I won't be coming,' Albia informed me suddenly and earnestly. 'I have something to say, Marcus Didius. I love you all, but it cannot be my home.'

I wanted to argue but I was too tired. Anyway, I understood. I experienced deep sadness for her. 'So we failed you, sweetheart.'

'No.' Albia spoke gently. 'Let's not have a family argument, like other tiresome people.'

'Why not? Arguments are what families are for. You have a family now, you know that. You're stuck, I'm afraid. Try not to be estranged from us, the way I was from my father.'

'Do you regret that?'

I grinned abruptly, even laughed out loud. 'Never for one moment – nor did he, the old menace!… Have you told Helena this big idea of yours? Striking out on your own?'

'She was upset.'

'She would be!'

Albia turned to me, her face pale, her blue-grey eyes dark with panic despite her attempted bravado. 'You gave me a chance; I am grateful. I want to stay in Rome. But I am going to make myself a life, a life that is suitable and sustainable. Don't tell me I cannot try.'

Huffing gently, I squashed in on the bench beside her. Albia moved up, grumbling on principle. 'So let's hear about it?'

Uncertain of my reaction, she confided, 'I cannot have the life you hoped to give me. Adoption only half works. I stay provincial – - if not a barbarian. Someone who hates us might find out where I came from. In this city, spiteful rumours could damage you and Helena.'

'Anacrites?'

'He intends to do it.' Albia spoke quietly; all self-confidence had drained out of her.

I wondered how he had so badly crushed her spirit. 'And what about you? Did he try something on?'

'No.' Albia was inscrutable. She had made up her mind not to tell me. If Anacrites had seduced or raped her, she would spare me incandescent anger; she would protect Helena, too, from the pain of knowing. But even the fact that Anacrites had lured her into danger gave me motives to pursue him.

'You sure?' Pointless question.

'He was not the same. He had changed – - or at least had stopped hiding what he is really like. You were right about him: he looked lecherous. I decided straight away I must escape. Then I found Claudius Nobilis.'

'Did he lay hands on you?'

'No. He meant to. But Anacrites barged in and said "leave her to me".' Albia shuddered, looking older than her years. 'Repulsive man!'

'Don't you think we are all the same?' I teased, alluding to her opinion of Camillus Aelianus.

To my surprise, Albia smiled sweetly and replied, 'Not quite all of you!'

'So, Flavia Albia, you are leaving home. What are you planning?'

'To live here. Do what you did.'

'Right.'

'No argument?'

'No point. So you want to be an informer? Well, that could work.' I put my head back against the rough surface of the wall, remembering the experience. Part of me was envious, though I hid it. 'Start small. Work for women. Don't accept any job that comes along – - gain a name for being picky, then folks will feel flattered if you take them on. It's a hard life, depressing and dangerous. The rewards are few, you can never relax, and even when you achieve success, your miserable cheating clients will not thank you.'

'I can do this,' Albia insisted. 'I have the proper attitude – the right bitterness. And I have sympathy for desperate people. I have been orphaned, abandoned, starved, neglected, beaten, even in the clutches of a violent pimp. There will be no surprises,' she concluded.

'I see you have convinced yourself! Nothing scares you – - even when it should.' The romantic in me wanted to have faith in her. 'You are too young. You have too much to learn,' I warned, as the father in me took over.

'I have been pushed into it before I'm ready, so it's not ideal,' replied Albia coolly. She had spent several days here, thinking up answers to thwart me. Then, because Helena Justina's teaching had made an impression, she added demurely, 'But I shall have you to teach me, Father.'

My throat went raw. 'First time you ever called me that!'

'Don't get overexcited,' Flavia Albia answered matter-of-factly. 'You have to earn it, if you want it permanent.'

'That's my girl!' I exclaimed proudly.

I stood up, easing my stiffback. I needed to see Glaucus at the gym, get back in shape. Before I left the apartment, I made a few adjustments to the old potted rose trees, pinching off dead wood from spindly branches. 'Professional question, Albia: when you encountered Nobilis – did you notice his eyes?'

She jumped up eagerly. 'Yes! I wanted to tell you – -'

'Save it. Come down to the house tomorrow. It will be a good exercise in moving around Rome unrecognised.'

'What for?'

'Family conference. We need to talk about Anacrites.'