Ovid

'Have you seen your father recently?'

'Maybe. Why?'

She lifted an elegant shoulder. 'Just curiosity. I saw him myself not too long ago. We had quite a civilised little chat.'

'You spoke to him?' I remembered Dad mentioning that he'd seen Mother, but not that they'd actually talked.

'Of course I spoke to him. Why shouldn't I? We may be divorced, but we aren't enemies.'

I didn't answer.

'He's worried about you, Marcus. He thinks you're wasting yourself.'

'Nice of him.'

'I wish you wouldn't run your father down so much, dear. It isn't fair. We don't get on, of course, but he's well meaning enough in his own dull way. And if you must know in this at least I agree with him.'

I stared at her. I'd never heard Mother say she agreed with Dad in my life. Sure, she'd never actually said she disagreed either; she'd simply, separately and without comment, given her own opinion which happened never to be his. That isn't the same thing at all.

'Oh, I know,' she went on. 'You're of age and can decide things for yourself. I also realise that because my father was misguided enough to leave you a large slice of his estate you're financially independent. But these things are beside the point.'

'I'm not interested in politics, Mother. Not Dad's kind, anyway, and there doesn't seem to be any alternative.'

'I said your father thinks you're wasting yourself and that I agree. I didn't say we wanted to force you into public office.'

'You may not want to, but Dad does. And anyway what else is there?'

'Marcus, I don't know! That's for you to decide. You're twenty-one now, twenty-two next month. Old enough surely to know what you want to do with your life.'

'I do know. I want to enjoy it.'

She sighed. 'Don't be melodramatic, dear. You'll be bored silly before you're thirty. Anyway, I'm not going to lecture you, it's your own business, not mine. I've told you what I think and whether or not you pay attention to it is up to you.'

We were getting onto dangerous ground. I changed the subject. 'How's Stepfather?'

'Oh, Titus is well enough. He's in Veii at the moment on a genealogical binge.' Her brow furrowed. 'At least I think it's Veii. But I'm absolutely sure the binge is genealogical.'

'You don't find the old guy dull?'

'Unlike your father, Titus has hidden depths.' She smiled in a very unmatronly way. I wondered if maybe I hadn't misjudged Helvius Priscus. 'You'd be surprised. At least not you personally but you know what I mean. Speaking of which, why don't you tell me about this girl of yours.'

'What?'

I must've looked as shocked as I felt because she laughed.

'Oh, yes, I know all about young Rufia Perilla, Marcus. You've caused quite a little scandal between the two of you. Not that I mind personally. From all accounts the poor girl needed taking out of herself. That Suillius Rufus is a shit.'

'How did you know about Perilla? Who told you?'

'I don't think I can remember all the names, dear. But I shouldn't worry. Sympathy seems to be on your side. Is she applying for a divorce?'

'Yes.'

'I hope she gets it, then. It may be a little difficult with her husband being so close to the emperor's son, but there's nothing worse, Marcus, than being married to someone you don't like. Let alone love. Wherever the faults lie. Do you understand me, dear?'

I stared back at her, woodenly. 'Yes. I think so.'

'Good.' She settled back into her chair. 'Now tell me about Perilla.'

I did. Not the personal stuff, of course, nor what had brought us together originally: if Mother knew anything about that she had the good sense not to mention it. They'd've got on well together, I thought, although they were completely different characters. Mother was glass to Perilla's marble.

'You must bring her round for dinner some evening,' she said when I'd finished. 'I'm sure Titus would enjoy talking to her too. Rufius is such an unusual family name.' I glanced at her sharply, and sure enough there was laughter in her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. 'No, but I'm serious, Marcus. I'd love to meet her and so would Titus. Don't worry, I'll keep the old bore on a tight leash. Perhaps we should invite your father and his new wife as well.'

'Mother!'

'Just a joke, dear. If you insist we take it as such. It would make for a rather turgid evening, but I'm sure Perilla wouldn't mind.'

No, I had to admit she probably wouldn't. However although I'd promised her I'd try to get along with my father I drew the line at dining with him. I was shocked that Mother had suggested it.

We talked for a bit longer, about this and that. I enjoy talking with my mother. She has a jay's quickness, a brightness and irreverence that is a complete contrast to my father's ponderous dignity. Then I caught the sound of footsteps behind me. A slave had entered the room carrying a tray with a wine jug and cups.

'Thank you, Glaucus. Just pour for us and go, would you?' My mother turned back to me and smiled. 'I got this in specially for you, Marcus. I couldn't resist it.'

Knowing Mother, I should've had my suspicions. However it had been a long hard day. I could feel the nectar bathe my tonsils already. 'Really? What is it?'

The smile broadened. 'Pomegranate juice, dear,' she said. 'With a touch of cassia.'

Yeah, that was Mother. To pretend I'd missed the point (not that that fooled her) I had to drink some of the stuff. When the time came to go back home I still hadn't got the taste out of my mouth.

34

Perilla was out the next morning, too; and when I checked with Callias it turned out she hadn't been home at all.

'Why the hell didn't you tell me last night?' I yelled at him.

'I'm sorry, sir. I just assumed…'

'You assumed what?'

The guy was grey with worry, and I made a mental note to ease off. Shouting at the slaves wouldn't help, and it wasn't Callias's fault.

'When the mistress didn't come home I confirmed with the Lady Marcia that she had in fact left. Such being the case, sir, I assumed, erroneously, that…ah…'

He subsided into embarrassed silence.

'Callias, if you thought she was at my place then why didn't you send someone to make sure?'

'Sir.' The old slave drew himself up with what I had to admit was great dignity. 'I am my master's property, not my mistress's, and my primary responsibility is to him. Accordingly there are some things that I would rather not know about or if I do know about them that I would rather not acknowledge. You understand me, sir.'

'Yeah, sure. I'm sorry.' I stopped striding about the reception hall and sat down on the marble lip of the pool. I noticed with interest that my hands were shaking, and that however hard I tried I couldn't make them stop. 'So what time did she leave her aunt's house?'

'An hour before dusk, sir.'

'In a litter?'

'Yes, sir.'

'And the litter-team haven't returned either?'

'No, sir.'

'Your own litter? Or hired?'

Callias's mouth pursed.

'A house litter, sir, of course. I would never permit the mistress to go out in a hired litter.'

Despite my anxiety, I grinned. Slaves can be snobbish as hell; and I'd back a snobbish slave against a patrician dowager any day.

'Okay. You've…ah…you've checked with the Watch?' The question had to be asked.

'Yes, sir. Of course. No fatalities whatsoever in this region last night, sir.'

I breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't likely she'd been attacked, not that early in the evening, not between the Esquiline and the Palatine. Still, it was a load off my mind to have murder ruled out as a possibility.

'Where else would she go?'

'Nowhere else, sir. Not without telling us. And the Lady Rufia Perilla doesn't…didn't go out very often. Certainly not overnight.'

So what the hell does that leave? I asked myself. It wasn't a question I cared to answer. 'Let me know immediately she comes back, okay, Callias? Immediately!'