"Well, I must have known-how thrilling! We have been having a terrible time-Falco has dragged me everywhere in Africa."
"Official business?"
"Oh Euphrasia, I don't ask!"
I choked, as Helena pretended to be a downtrodden, weary, excluded wife. If Euphrasia remembered the dinner party we attended, she cannot have been fooled.
"Is it to do with his Census work?" Euphrasia was intending to press the point, however hard Helena feigned disinterest.
I peeked through a door crack. Helena had her back to me, which was fortunate as it prevented any danger that one of us would start giggling. Euphrasia, resplendent in glowing stripes of scarlet and purple, a triumph of rich murex dyes, lolled in a long cane chair. She looked relaxed, though those handsome eyes were sharp and she displayed an inner tension that intrigued me. I wondered if Saturninus had sent her here, or whether he even knew that she had come.
Refreshments were sent for. Then the baby was sent for too. Julia Junilla let herself be passed around, kissed, pinched and tickled, had her little tunic straightened, had her fine wisps of hair ruffled, then when she was placed on a floor rug, she produced a bravura display of crawling and playing with dolls. Instead of screaming with disgust she hiccupped cutely. My daughter was a star.
"The darling! How old is she?"
"Not quite one." Julia's birthday was ten days away; another reason to try to reach home beforehand and placate her two doting grandmothers.
"She's charming-and so intelligent!"
"Takes after her father," said Helena, knowing I would be listening. I half expected her to go on with a few teasing insults, but she was probably preoccupied with wondering about the reason for Euphrasia's call.
"And how is dear Falco?"
"When I ever get to see him, he seems his usual self-deep in causes and schemes as usual." Even from my hiding place I thought Euphrasia's eyes narrowed. Helena would be close enough to tell for sure. "And how are you and your husband, Euphrasia?"
"Oh much happier. We had to get away from Rome, you know, Helena. All that squabbling and double-dealing was too much." That comment would include the domestic aftereffects of Euphrasia's affair with Rumex, no doubt. "The atmosphere in the provinces is far more pleasant; we may stay here permanently now-"
Helena was reclining gracefully in a similar chair to her guest. I could see one of her bare arms dangling casually. Its familiar smooth curve raised the hairs on my neck as I thought about tracing my finger along her skin in the way that made her arch her back and laugh… "Can your husband run his business from Tripolitania?"
"Oh yes. Anyway, I want him to retire." Women always say that, though not many are prepared to put up with cutting back on the housekeeping. "He's done enough. So what brings Falco to Lepcis Magna?"
Helena finally took pity: "He's working for a private client."
"Anyone I know?"
"Oh nothing terribly exciting. It's just a commission for a woman who needs help to bring a lawsuit, I believe."
"It seems a long way for you to come."
"We were out here for family reasons," Helena replied reassuringly.
Euphrasia ignored that. "I'm fascinated… however would your husband find a client in a strange province? Did he advertise?"
"Not at all." Helena was perfectly calm, in marked contrast to the other woman's obvious edginess. "We were on holiday. The client found us. She was somebody who had heard of Falco in Rome."
Euphrasia could no longer bear the suspense and came out with her question bluntly: "He's not working for that hard trout who was involved with Pomponius Urtica?"
"Do you mean Scilla?" asked Helena innocently.
"I know she wants to cause trouble," Euphrasia said, backing off slightly and becoming more offhand again. "She has been harassing my husband. I dare say she's been on at Calliopus too. We know he's in Lepcis," Euphrasia continued, now speaking bitterly. "With that wife of his, I hear. Artemisia has had a lot to answer for!"
"Why would that be?" asked Helena, in quiet astonishment. As far as we knew, all Artemisia had done was to let herself be married to Calliopus, a man who reckoned that being wealthy meant owning a full set of everything-including a mistress called Saccarina in Borealis Street. Euphrasia's accusatory tone seemed uncalled for. Mind you, I had now seen that Artemisia was young and beautiful, which many another woman would find unforgivable.
"Oh never mind her," Euphrasia said dismissively. "If Artemisia takes chances, Calliopus puts her right with his fist. If you ask me," she leaned forward, looking earnest, "Scilla's the one who intends to cause serious trouble. She's the maggot to watch."
"I quite liked her," Helena commented, resisting Euphrasia's condemnation.
"You're too tolerant. She's trying to force a confrontation with my husband and Calliopus. We're certain she's persuaded that dreadful man Hanno to back her."
"She had a terrible experience when the lion attacked her lover," Helena remonstrated gently. "I'm sure it wasn't her fault. I don't believe she ever asked for a private display in her honor. It seems to have been her fiancé's idea; she disapproved of it. He made a misjudgment, a typical male error. It's very sad for Scilla that Pomponius died that way."
"You know quite a lot about her then?" Euphrasia asked narrowly.
"She approached me first. Falco was off on a jaunt with my brother, so in a way I vetted her. As I say, I did feel for her. Some compensation for her loss would seem to be desirable."
There was a short silence.
"I was there of course," Euphrasia barked.
"Where, Euphrasia?" Helena may not have grasped immediately what she meant. I could tell she soon remembered that Saturninus had told me the four evening diners at the intended private show had been Pomponius and Scilla, plus himself-and also his wife. We should have asked Euphrasia for her version before this.
"At Pomponius' house. When the lion got loose."
"You saw what happened then?" Helena replied quietly.
"Oh yes. I shan't say any more; my husband would be furious. It was agreed that nothing would be said. Pomponius wanted it that way."
"I don't understand."
"Naturally, it was to protect her. Scilla, I mean. Pomponius was loyal, you have to give him that. When he realized he was dying, he was more insistent than ever. She had enough of a reputation without all Rome hearing about the lion incident."
"Well, Pomponius is dead now-"
"Stupid man!" Euphrasia snarled. "Don't ask me about it," she repeated. "But Scilla could tell you. Before you start feeling sorry for that little madam, Helena Justina, you should make her admit the truth. Ask Scilla," commanded Euphrasia resoundingly, "who really killed that lion!"
She swept to her feet. As she did so, she must have disturbed something, a small golden creature which darted along a skirting not far from where the baby was inspecting her own pink little toes on the floor.
"Is that a mouse?" Helena gasped.
"No, a scorpion."
I walked into the room, like a husband just returning from a morning on the quayside. Keeping up the charade, I let my face register all the right things: surprise at seeing Euphrasia, alarm at Helena's set white face, rapid reaction to the emergency.
I scooped up the baby; passed her to Helena; moved Helena out of the way; pushed past Euphrasia. I seized a vase and dropped it over the scorpion. Helena had closed her eyes, rigid with shock.
"Helena once had a bad scorpion sting," I explained tersely.
I shepherded them all from the room then went back to deal with the scuttling thing. After I had battered it to pieces, taking revenge for what the other had done to the precious girl I loved, I sat on my haunches in private for a moment, remembering how Helena nearly died.