"Yet she carried it?"
"Refused to have an abortion. Took a moral stand."
"Bit late!" I scoffed. The senator looked uncomfortable. "So you brought the child up for them, among your own family?"
"Yes. My brother agreed to adopt her I wondered how much pressure Decimus had had to exert to persuade Publius to do that. "From time to time I let the woman know how Sosia was, and she insisted on giving me money to buy her daughter presents, but it seemed best for them not to meet. That does not make it at all easy now!"
"What happened today?"
"Oh… the poor woman said a lot of things I could not blame her for. The worst was, she accused my wife and I of negligence."
"Oh that's unfair, surely sir?"
"I hope so," he muttered anxiously, evidently much exercised by the possibility. "Julia Justa and I certainly tried to do our best for Sosia. All my family were deeply fond of her. After that attempt to kidnap her, my wife forbade Sosia to leave the house; we thought that was enough. What else could we do? Were we wrong? But Sosia's mother accuses me of letting her run round the streets like a Transdberina match girl…"
He was distressed. I was finding the conversation pretty painful myself, so I did my best to calm him down and changed the subject as soon as I could.
I asked if he had heard any more from the Palace about apprehending the conspirators. Glancing around in case we were being overheard (the surest way to ensure we were), the senator lowered his voice.
"Titus Caesar whispers that certain gentlemen have dispersed!"
This furtive stuff was fun for him but not much practical help.
"Sir, I need to know who, and where to."
He sucked his lip, but told me. Faustus Ferentinus had sailed for Lycia; he had gone without permission which is forbidden to senators, who have to reside in Rome. Cornelius Gracilis asked for an interview with the Emperor, though his servants found him stretched out stiff with a sword in his right hand (he was left-handed) before he could attend; suicide apparently.
Curtius Gordianus and his brother Longinus had inherited sudden priest hoods at a minor temple beside the Ionian Sea, which was probably more punishing than any exile our kindly old tyrant Vespasian would devise for them himself. Aufidius Crispus had been spotted among the seaside crowds in Oplontis. It seemed to me no one who could lay his hands on a private mint of silver would let himself suffer high summer among the smart set in the fashionable villas along the Naples shore.
"What do you think?" Decimus asked.
Titus ought to have Aufidius watched. Oplontis is only a few days from Rome. If nothing else turns up I'll go down there myself, but I'm reluctant to leave while there's any chance of locating the silver pigs. Has Titus found anything in Nap Lane?"
He shook his head. "My daughter will have access very soon."
From the swimming pool to our left came the awkward flub as an overweight hearty with no real diving style launched himself off the side.
"I assume you won't let Helena go there," I warned him quietly. I ought to have used her full name, but it was too late now.
"No, no. My brother can inspect the place; he'll be advising her on selling off the spice."
"The building itself still belongs to the old man Marcellus?"
"Mmm. We shall empty it quickly as a courtesy to him, though Helena and old Marcellus are on good terms. He still regards her as his daughter-in-law. She has a knack of charming elderly men."
I lay on my back, trying to appear like a man who might have failed to notice his Helena's charm.
Helena's father gazed thoughtfully upwards too.
"I worry about my daughter," he revealed. With a wild pang of hysteria I thought, the horse has talked! "I made a mistake over Pertinax; I expect you know. She never blamed me, but I shall always blame myself."
"She has very high standards," I said, closing my eyes as if I was simply sleepy after my bathe. Hearing Decimus turn onto his elbow, I looked up.
Now I had studied Helena so closely, I could see in her father's face physical similarities another man would miss. That stiff bush of hair was all his own, but the direct expression, the tilt of the cheekbones, the slight crease at the corners of the mouth in response to irony, were hers; sometimes, too, she shared inflexions from his voice. He was watching me with the glint of sharp amusement that I had always liked. I felt glad that I liked her father, grateful to remember I had liked him from the start.
"High standards," repeated Decimus Camillus Verus, apparently inspecting me. He sighed, almost imperceptibly. "Well, Helena always seems to know what she wants!"
He was worried about his daughter; I suppose he was worried about me.
There are some things a common citizen cannot say to the parents of a highborn, respectable lady. If I declared to a senator that any ground his daughter stood upon became for me a consecrated place, he would not (I could see) feel reassured.
Luckily then the Man from Tarsus approached us with a towel on his arm. I made Decimus have the first massage, hoping his large tip would leave the Tarsan giant kinder towards me. It didn't work; it only fuelled him with a greater energy.
LI
My mother came back that afternoon to tell me I was expected to preside over the huge family party which was going to hog a scaffold at Vespasian's Triumph next day. This promised a real feast of sunstroke, sisters backbiting, and tired children screaming with illogical rage; my favourite sort of day. Ma herself was decamping to share a quiet balcony with three ancient crones she knew. Still, she had brought me a great golden-headed Imperial bream to soften the blow.
"You tidied your room!" she sniffed. "Growing up at last?"
"Might get a visitor I want to impress."
The visitor I wanted never came.
As she passed the bench behind me, my mother ruffled up the hair on the back of my head, then smoothed it down. I couldn't help it if she despaired of me; I was in a state of high old despair myself.
Sitting out on the balcony pretending to philosophize, I recognized a light step outside the door. Someone knocked, then came in without waiting. Rigid with anticipation, I was on my feet. In this way, through the folding door, I observed my wonderful mother apprehending a young woman in my room.
It was not the confrontation ma was accustomed to have. She expected mock coral anklets and girlish confusion, not soft drapes in muted clours and those serious eyes.
"Good afternoon. My name is Helena Justina," declared Helena, who knew how to behave with tranquillity even when facing my parent wielding a bowl of almond stuffing and a twelve-inch boning knife. "My father is the senator Camillus Verus. My maid is, of course, waiting for me outside. I was hoping for an interview with Didius Falco; I am a client."
"I am his mother!" stated my mother, like Venus of the Foamy Feet wading in on behalf of Aeneas. (Mind you, I don't suppose pious Aeneas, that insufferable prig, flourished on fish his lovely goddess mother boned and stuffed for him herself.)
"I thought you must be," replied Helena in her quiet, pleasant way, eyeing my uncooked dinner as if she longed to be asked to stay. "You once took care of my cousin Sosia; I'm so glad of this opportunity to thank you." After which, adjusting her veil, she fell modestly silent as a younger woman addressing an older lady does if she has good sense. (It was the first time any woman who knew me had deferred to mama with any show of sense.)
"Marcus!" screeched ma, rather put out at being so politely outfaced. "Business for you!"