Shadows in Bronze

'A man needs some pleasure!'

'Oh shut up, Falco! You must find out what Crispus intends and prevent it-'

'I' I said briefly, but she went storming on.

'If you won't do it for the Emperor, at least think of your own career-'

'That stinks! I'll do it for you.'

Too late I saw her flinch. ‘I'm not your tribune's girlfriend making herself available to the new intake of recruits; Falco, spare me the cheap dialogue!'

'Cool down. I'm doing my best. What you call 'pottering' is a methodical search-'

'Well have you found anything?'

'Aufidius Crispus goes nowhere and sees no one – according to them. There's a conspiracy of silence among the well-heeled seekers of sea air -' I watched her anxiously; women of her rank were well taken care of, yet her eyes had a heaviness which even discreet cosmetic had failed to disguise. Paint can be a cruel friend. I risked seizing her hand again. 'What's bothering you, treasure?' She escaped from me angrily. 'Helena – what's de matter?'

‘Nothing.'

'Oh, cobnuts! Well, what was the other thing you had to say?'

‘Never mind.'

'Nice girls don't quarrel with men who buy them langoustines!'

'There was no need for that!' Her face set, hating me for what she saw as false concern. 'You and your friends had shrimps; I don't expect special treatment-'

'If you did, you wouldn't get to eat with my friends-' ‘I like shrimps-'

‘That's why you like me… Lady, I thought we were talking about the peace of the Empire – tell me your story!'

She took a deep breath and abandoned our spat. 'When Aufidius Crispus left the villa Rustica after seeing Marcellus, I happened to walk through the room where they had been, before it was cleared. The flagon was empty. And on the tray were three wine cups.'

'All used?'

‘All used.'

I considered it. 'Maybe Crispus brought someone with him; his litter was closed-'

'I was on our roof garden when he left; he was alone.'

Sweet thought: a senator's daughter spying over balustrades and discreetly counting cups! 'Could this mean Barnabas?'

'I doubt it, Falco. My father-in-law never allowed Barnabas the run of his house. While I was married, staying with Marcellus was the only time I enjoyed normal family life; he excluded the freedman and allowed me my proper place – in fact he still does. He might grant Barnabas shelter, but he would never include him at a private meeting with a senator.'

‘Don't discount the possibility,' I warned. 'Could Marcellus be entertaining some secretive house guest?'

She shook her head. 'Helena Justina, I need access to explore the villa Rustica-'

'First find Aufidius Crispus!' she interrupted fiercely. 'Find Crispus – do what Vespasian is paying you for!'

Scowling, I paid up; then we left the restaurant. '

We walked slowly on the road by the shore while we waited for her bearers to reappear. The hard note remained in her voice: ‘Do you want me to introduce you to Aemilius Rufus in Herculaneum?'

‘No thanks.'

‘So you won't go!'

'I'll go if I find I need to.' She exclaimed with annoyance as I tried to rally her. 'Look, let's not fight… Here are your chair men. Come on, fruit-'

'Fruit? That got her, bursting into her rare, sweet, unexpected laugh.

'Did Pertinax have a pet name for you?'

'No.' Her laughter subsided instantly. No comment seemed necessary. Then she turned to me with a deliberate look. 'Will you tell me something? Was it when you were working at my ex-husband's house that you changed your mind about us?'

My face must have answered her.

I remembered the comfortable stylishness of that house on the Quirinal, which I knew had been a wedding gift from Marcellus to Helena and Pertinax. Only the gods could say what other sumptuous luxuries had been showered on the young couple by their relations and friends. Geminus and I must have catalogued some of it. Tortoiseshell bedheads. Mosaic glass serving bowls. Gold filigree plates. Exotic embroidered coverlets Queen Dido might have slept under. Polished maple table tops. Ivory chairs. Lampstands and candelabra. Camphorwood chests… and innumerable perfect sets of spoons.

'Marcus, surely even you could understand that if a house was all I wanted, I would never have arranged my own divorce from Pertinax?'

Just being realistic!'

Helena slipped from my side and into her chair before I could even consider how to say goodbye. She closed the half-door herself. The bearers were stooping to the carrying poles; I grasped at the door, wanting to hold her back. 'Don't!' she commanded.

'Wait – shall I see you again?'

'No; there's no point.'

'There is!' There had to be.

I gestured the bearers to stop but they would only take orders from her. As the chair lurched when they raised it, I glimpsed her expression. She was comparing me with Pertinax. Rejection by a husband who was too crass to know what he was doing had been bad enough; though since no senator's daughter has much say in the choice of her husband, Pertinax was simply a false entry in life's ledger that could be cursed and written off. To go straight from him to a cynical lover who left her after the most casual kind of usage was entirely her own mistake.

Of course, I could have told her it happens every day. Women who know they know better frequently cast themselves at treacherous men whose sense of commitment only lasts as long as the rascally smile that gets them into bed…

Unlike Helena Justina, most women forgive themselves.

Just when I was prepared to be totally honest in order to keep her, she dragged the window curtain right across and shut me out. I had no need to consult the Sybil at Cumae to realize my exclusion from Helena's life was intended to be permanent.

I stood there, still with my mouth open to tell her that I loved her, while the bearers sneered at me churlishly and carried their lady away.

Part Four HARPING IN HERCULANEUM THE BAY OF NEAPOLIS

July

Perhaps you may be expect* a trot* of dancers,

Gov girls, with their wanton songs and routines

JUVENAL, Satire XI

XLII

The town of Herculaneum was very small, very sleepy, and if any interesting women lived there, they were hidden behind locked doors.

There was no rubbish in the streets. At Pompeii the town council had to provide stepping stones to help pedestrians cross the dubious substances which seeped and stagnated from their roads; the Herculaneum councillors believed in wider pavements – wide enough to hold a hot-piemen's convention, only it was a place which frowned on pies. And at Herculaneum rubbish never showed its face.

I hated Herculaneum. It had tasteful, well-scrubbed houses owned by people of little character who thought a lot of themselves. They lived in prim little streets. The men spent their days counting their money (of which they had plenty), while their good ladies were carried in closed litters from their own safe doorsteps into the homes of other respectable women, where they sat around plates of almond cakes and talked about nothing until it was time to go home again.

Unlike Pompeii, where we had to bawl to make ourselves heard, in Herculaneum you could stand in the Forum at the top of the town and still hear the seagulls at the port. If a child cried in Herculaneum its nursemaid dashed to gag it before it was sued for a breach of the peace. At Herculaneum the gladiators in the amphitheatre probably said 'I beg your pardon? each time their swords did anything so impolite as landing a nick.

Frankly, Herculaneum made me want to jump on a public fountain and shout a very rude word.