Jupiter Myth

XVIII

Seeing Hilaris at one end of the corridor as I emerged, I bunked off the other way. I wanted space; I had to reach decisions. Did I take this further in person, or hand the whole packet over to the authorities?

I knew what was making me hesitate. Acknowledging there were rackets, and in a province where the Emperor had once served with distinction, was politically inconvenient. I thought they were likely to drop the case.

Music and the sound of voices drew me to a salon. The womenfolk were listening politely to a blind harpist. He was ill-shaven and expressionless, with a sullen, even pugnacious, young boy crouched at his feet, presumably to lead him around. He could play. I wouldn't have walked far to hear him, but his technique passed. It was background music. Bland, melodious pattering that allowed people to talk over it. After a while you could forget the harpist was there. Maybe that was the point.

I nudged up against Helena on a couch. "What's this? Are we auditioning him for an orgy tonight, or taking culture a bit far?"

"Hush! Norbanus Murena has sent him on loan to Maia. Such a kind thought."

"What prompted that?" I sounded like an ungracious brute. "I remember us talking to him last night about music."

"Maia was?" I managed not to laugh.

Helena biffed me gently with the back of her wrist. "No, I think it was me, but you can't expect a man to remember things properly."

I frowned. "Did you like Norbanus?" I trusted her instincts with people.

Helena paused, almost undetectably. She may not even have known that she did so. "He seemed straight, decent, and ordinary. A nice man."

I sucked my teeth. "You don't care for nice men."

Helena suddenly smiled at me, her eyes soft. I swallowed. One of the things I had always loved about her was her brutal self-awareness. She was eccentric; she knew it; she did not want to change. Nor did I want her to be a conventional matron with narrow vision and appalling friends. "No," she agreed. "But I'm a grouse, aren't I?"

The harpist twiddled to the end of a tune. We clapped demurely. "How long have we got him for?"

"I think as long as Maia likes."

"Olympus! That's a cheat. Making up to a women by giving her a necklace, at least she gets to keep the jewels. This way, Norbanus takes his harpist back at the end of his flirtation, and meanwhile Hilaris has to feed the swine. I don't suppose Maia suggested she must ask her head of household for permission?" I saw myself as Maia's head of household-not that she ever did.

"No, Marcus." Helena looked pained, though not at the joke about my status; she thought my suggestion was rude. "Are you insisting she send him straight back? That would be an unkind rebuff. It's just a loan. No one but you would see any harm in it."

Exactly.

"We are pushed into accepting the loan," said a quiet voice. "That is why Marcus hates it."

I looked back over my shoulder. Hilaris must have followed me here. He was now standing behind us and listening. I consulted him in an undertone: "Norbanus. One of your visitors last night. In property. Likes women, apparently. Gets his wicked way using flashy loans and gifts."

"I met him; I found him intelligent and well-mannered." Hilaris

paused. I could not tell whether he approved of those qualities or of property speculators generally. Perhaps not. "Uneasy?" he murmured in a low tone.

I was, for some reason. "Why do I feel pressured, Gaius?"

He dropped his hand on my shoulder for a moment and muttered, "I'm sure you are overreacting."

"My sister can look after herself," I said, as if that was it.

"Then let's keep the musician for a while, if Maia wants to do so." The choice was his; it was his house. "Do you have a moment, Mar-cusr

He wanted to discuss my meeting with the King. Well, it was his province too. And if there was a problem, it was his problem.

Walking down a painted corridor, vaguely heading for an office, we held a short, efficient discussion. Hilaris now acknowledged that Londinium had been targeted by extortionists. He said it happened everywhere, and that the provincial staff would address it as a normal law-and-order issue. I would continue to work on the Verovolcus death.

He was a brilliant bureaucrat. It felt as if we had just devised a communique on major issues. Nothing substantial had changed, however.

"I'm glad we are of one mind," said Flavius Hilaris, in his diplomatic mode.

"I'm glad you think so," I replied, an informer still.

"We shall beat this menace," he maintained.

He smiled and I did not. As I say, nothing had changed.

The establishment might convince itself that social corruption was a force it could combat in practical ways, denouncing it with edicts. That baker, Epaphroditus, who made a stand but then fled in the face of certain retribution, knew the truth.

"There's another thing, Gaius-you've put the military onto the streets at night, but don't get too complacent. I won't say anyone at that shambles you pass off as a fort has been coerced-but you need to monitor them carefully."

Hilaris looked startled. "The commander is an excellent officer-"

"Really." I gave him a glance that said Frontinus needed to pep up the commander.

"I'll make a note: Falco recommends acquiring a decent fort-with a disciplinarian in charge! How is it, my dear Marcus, that when you are around, we always start with a small problem-or even no problem-then end up facing major chaos?"

"You had the chaos all along," I said. "I only exposed it."

"Thank you!" replied Hilaris with a rueful grin.

Then we turned a corner and met a different kind of riot.

Albia, Helena's wild girl, had just hurled a vase and smashed it.

Hilaris and I popped up like stage ghosts through a trapdoor; it caused an abrupt silence. Children, some my host's, some Maia's, one mine, froze and waited for the worst. Hilaris and I only paused, because we were each hoping the other father would weigh in like a good Roman disciplinarian.

He cleared his throat and asked what was going on. Gingerly, I picked up a broken shard of fine turquoise-colored glass. The smashed vase had come from a new display in a room whose door stood open; the manufacturer we met at dinner last night had given samples as presents to Aelia Camilla. I plucked at the tunics of Julia and the Hilaris girl, Gaia, who were standing nearest to the breakage, shaking out the little girls' garments to clear off any sprayed glass needles. I motioned all the children to step back from the broken fragments on the black-and-white mosaic.

Flavia told her father quietly that Albia had wanted to go to the kitchen for food. Aelia Camilla had given orders against this. Yesterday there had been a row over missing raisins; Albia had devoured a full platter intended for the official evening dinner. It had messed up the dessert menu, annoyed the cook, and then Albia had of course been sick. Today the children had tried to explain that she must wait until lunch, but she took it badly.

"Albia doesn't understand," Flavia said.

I looked at the scavenger. "Oh, I think she does."

Albia and Flavia must be about the same age. Albia was smaller, skin-

nier of course, and stubbornly expressionless. I saw no reason to think her any less intelligent than the fine-featured Flavia.

Albia had glanced at me once, then looked away, deliberately staring at the ground. Just before the vase broke there had been screaming- willful, unrestrained fury and noise, hysteria that even my little Julia would be ashamed of. I gripped Albia by the shoulders. Through the blue dress, I could feel the bones as I turned her to face me. Her pale face and thin bare arms were still badly grazed from when she rescued the dogs. Cleaned up, she had a washed-out look, with bloodless skin. Her hair was light brown, her eyes bright blue-that dark blue color most prevalent here in the north. But her unformed young features seemed familiar in style. I guessed she might be half British and half Roman.

"She doesn't understand!" squealed little Rhea defensively. Albia's mouth was pressed in a tight line, as if to emphasize that.

"Even a dumb bunny could understand!" I growled. "We took her in: she lives by our rules. Aelia Camilla will be very hurt that her beautiful glass has been broken. And on purpose, Albia!"

The girl stayed mute.

I was losing ground. With every second I seemed more like a cruel master threatening a troubled victim.

"Are you going to make her be a slave?" demanded Gaia breathlessly. What had brought that on? It might be what the wild girl feared, but if she wouldn't speak, how had she told the children? I sensed conspiracy.

"Certainly not. And don't tell her that I will. She's not a prisoner of war, and nobody sold her to me. But listen to me, Albia-and the rest of you mark what I'm saying too! I will not tolerate willful damage. One more piece of destruction-and it's back on the streets."

Well, that told them. M. Didius Falco, tough bastard and Roman father. My own tiny daughter's eyes were wide with amazement.

Hilaris and I walked on together. By the time we reached the end of the corridor, we heard another crash. Albia had defiantly smashed a second piece of ornamental glass. She did not even make a run for it but waited, chin up, while we walked back.

I had given my ultimatum: there was no escape. So Flavius Hilaris, procurator of Britain, found himself with the task of quieting seven weeping children. I had been going out into town anyway, so I went at once-and I took Albia. With my hand heavy on her shoulder, I marched her back to the alleys she came from. I did not pause to let myself think what a typical middle-rank swine I had become.

Nor did I dare tell Helena.