"Yes, everyone nowadays complains that the silphium you can buy is nothing like it used to be." Helena Justina had an insatiable appetite for information, though she usually answered her own questions by raiding her father's library. I stared at her warily. She seemed to be playing innocent over something. "Is there a reason for this, Marcus?"
"I'm no expert. Silphium was always the prerogative of the rich."
"It's some kind of herb, isn't it? Imported in ground-up form," Helena mused. "Is it not brought here from Africa?"
"Not anymore." I leaned on my elbows and stared at her. "What's the wrinkle about silphium?" She seemed determined not to tell me, but I knew her well enough to reckon this was more than a general knowledge forum. I racked my brains to get it straight, then declared: "Silphium, known to those who can't afford it as Stinking Goat's Breath-"
"You made that up!"
"As I recall, it does smell. Silphium used to come from Cyrenaïca; the Cyrenians protected their monopoly jealously-"
"You can see it on coins from Cyrene when you get one palmed in your change at market?"
"Looks like a bunch of grotesque onions."
"The Greeks always loved it?"
"Yes. We Romans for once allowed ourselves to copy them, since it involved our stomachs which always overrule our national pride. It was powerful stuff, but the ill-advised rural locals where it used to grow let their flocks overgraze the land until the precious crop disappeared. Presumably that causes much grief to their urban relations who used to run the silphium monopoly. Cyrene must be a dead town. The last known shoot was sent to Nero. You can guess what he did with it."
Helena 's eyes widened. "Do I dare?"
"He ate it. Why, lady; were you imagining some imperial obscenity with the highly prized herbage?"
"Certainly not-go on."
"What's to add? New sprouts failed to appear. Cyrene declined. Roman cooks mourn. Now we import an inferior strain of silphium from the East, and gourmets at banquets moan about the lost Golden Age when stinking herbs really stank."
Helena considered what I had just said, filtering out the exaggerations for herself. "I suppose if anybody rediscovered the Cyrenian species, they could make a fortune?"
"The man who found it would be regarded as the savior of civilization."
"Really, Marcus?" Helena looked enthusiastic. My heart sank.
"Darling, you are not, I hope, suggesting that I should leap on a ship and sail to North Africa with a trowel and a trug? I really would much rather enjoy myself persecuting tax dodgers, even in partnership with Anacrites. Anyway, the Census is more of a certainty."
"Sweetheart, you carry on squeezing defaulters." Helena was decidedly preoccupied; she had allowed me to pick up the cabbage dish and drink the coriander sauce. "My parents have had a letter from young Quintus at last. And so have I."
I replaced the dish on the table as unobtrusively as possible. Quintus Camillus Justinus was the younger of her brothers. He was currently missing, along with a Baetican heiress who had been his elder brother's intended bride. Justinus, who had once possessed the Emperor's personal interest and a promise of a spectacular public career, was now just any disgraced senatorial sprig with no money (the heiress had presumably been disinherited by her thwarted grandparents the moment they arrived in Rome for the wedding that was never to be).
It was still unclear whether Helena 's favorite brother had run off with Claudia Rufina out of true love. If not, he was truly stuck. In retrospect-as soon as they vanished-we had all realized she had adored him; unlike her stodgy betrothed Aelianus, Justinus was a handsome young dog with a wicked expression and winsome ways. What he felt for Claudia I was in two minds about. Still, even if he returned her devotion, he had eloped into disgrace. He had thrown away his hopes of entering the Senate, offending his parents and jumping into what was bound to be a lifelong feud with his brother, whose vindictive reaction nobody could blame. As for me, I had once been his keen supporter, but even my enthusiasm was tempered, and for the soundest of reasons: when Justinus bunked off with his brother's rich bride, everyone blamed me.
"So how is the errant Quintus?" I enquired of his sister. "Or should I say, where is he?"
Helena gazed at me peacefully. Justinus had always been dear to her. It seemed to me, the adventurous streak which had made her come to live with me also made her respond to her brother's shocking behavior with less outrage than she ought to show. She was going to let him off. I bet he always knew she would.
"Quintus has apparently gone to Africa, my darling. Searching for the silphium is an idea he has had."
If he did find it, he would make himself so much money he would certainly rehabilitate himself. Indeed, he would become so rich he need not care what anyone in the Empire thought of him-including the Emperor. On the other hand, though he was a well-educated senator's son and supposedly intelligent, I had never seen any indication that Justinus knew the first thing about plants.
"My brother has asked," said Helena, gazing now at her food bowl with a subdued expression that suggested to me she was on the verge of laughing, "whether you-with your market-gardening family background and your well-known horticultural expertise-could possibly send him a description of what he is looking for?"
Fourteen
SOMETHING 'S HAPPENED AND I can't decide whether to tell you or not," said Anacrites next morning.
"Suit yourself."
Petronius Longus had also loved keeping things to himself, though at least he usually kept quiet until I noticed the signs and forced him to come clean. Why could none of my partners be honest, open types like me?
That day Anacrites and I had both reached the Calliopus barracks at roughly the same time, and at once took up our station poring over the lanista's scrolls like dutiful taxation screws. I could learn to like this life. Knowing that every discrepancy we identified meant more aureae for rebuilding the state made me, as a patriotic citizen, simper with piety. Knowing that I took my percentage from every gold coin kept a big grin on my face too.
Anacrites opted to remain coy. Secrets were his dirty heritage as a spy. I kept working until it was obvious he chose to play the shy maiden, then I rose from my stool quietly and went out of the office. As soon as our profits topped a reasonable figure, I would chain up my partner, smear him with my mother's damson jelly, and place him on a very hot sun terrace that was known to be undermined by biting ants. Could I endure him until summer, though?
Breathing slowly to control my wrath, I walked to the menagerie. Slaves were mucking out the cages but they seemed to assume I had right of entry. Trying not to impede their work, I elbowed through the tall-necked crowd of inanely curious ostriches, then set about taking a full inventory of the beasts. In one stall a sleepy-eyed bull dribbled gloomily; he was labeled "Aurochs" and named "Ruta," but having once fought a wild aurochs on a riverbank way outside the bounds of civilization, I knew this was just some domesticated cud-chewer. Ruta was big, nonetheless. So was the bear, "Borago," chained by one back leg to a post which he was slyly gnawing his way through. Each of them could be matched against an elephant and it would be a balanced fight.
I helped a man to unload a bale of straw. He spread it around in the bear's stall, keeping well out of arm and snout's reach, then stirred the prongs of his fork in a ground-level feeding trough. It was falling to pieces after what must have been a very violent life. "What happened to the manger?"