The Ides of April

LVIII

A corner of his mouth tightened. "You realised."

"You knew I did."

"Sorry about the secrecy. I like to see things for myself."

"All the fun of disguise-scruff, stubble, and best of all, low street manners; you can be rude to everyone." I played it cool. "Luckily I understand, aedile. Our family motto is: If you want something done, there are people you give orders to. If you want it done well, you must do it yourself." I could hear my mother saying it; my father worked that way. Helena herself too.

"You follow family tradition."

"I am my own woman."

Faustus, as I must learn to call him, sounded almost admiring, though being him, not quite: "Oh Albiola, you are that!"

Albiola?

My relatives never used diminutives. Even Farm Boy, who as my husband had the right to be sentimental, called me nothing more personal than "chick," which was the same as he called any donkey he was driving, and even a mouse he once had to entice out of our apartment. From the aedile I had no idea how to take it. He saw that and smiled faintly. For a heartbeat I was going to slap him down, but I left it. He had had enough of that from the ex-wife.

Now I understood why he kissed Laia so pointedly the other day. The formal salutation was his right as her ex-husband. He was asserting that she no longer cowed him. He had been penitent for ten years, but was finally finished with guilt.

I moved up, so the aedile sat down with me.

"What do you want, Faustus?"

"I was worried about you. I thought you might need comfort." I started to deny it, but he cut me off. "The truth is, I am tired and depressed myself. I hate what happened. Maybe I thought if I showed up, you might console me."

I laughed. He endured it. He was tough but tolerant. I liked this man.

So we sat together side by side, slumped and silent for a long while. He was famous for not speaking. I never chatter. I sensed that in his disguise as the runner he had learned to talk to me more than he ever talked to most people; for my part, I had felt able to be open with him. Yet he and I could communicate without words. Together we abandoned the struggle to remain unmoved in the face of appalling events. Silently, we faced our sad mood, our weariness, even our depression and regret for mistakes. Every time a major investigation ends, there is a period of melancholy. This time that poignancy was personal. At least we were sharing it.

I relayed the news about Morellus. Faustus told me he had been to a follow-up meeting after the festival, receiving congratulations for his contribution. He was modest, but I already knew this year's Cerialia was accounted a grand success. It would do well for him, though I did now accept he had sought no personal advancement, but acted as a devout man. Even so, he would, I thought, accept any benefits that ensued. I did not believe all his protestations that he lacked ambition. He wanted, he had told me, to live happily and die with greater hope.

For him, seeking the needle-killers would not end here. Many random deaths had occurred in Rome and the authorities would continue searching; Faustus was now seen as an expert, even though he did not relish the reputation. He offered me a commission to assist but, as he clearly expected, I declined. Too close to home.

Then Faustus fumbled under his toga and came out with something from his belt pouch. He dropped a packet in my lap. "The state wants to reward you, but who knows when or with how much… This is from me." While I investigated, he looked away.

He had bought me a set of sewing needles, well-made bronze that would not rust, with grooved eyes, in several sizes from tenting to fine embroidery. I thanked him, though I was mournful. Now I had to face it; my time with him as the runner had ended. An aedile was different. One of the top hundred. This was goodbye.

"Dutiful needlework, Albia. Keep you indoors out of trouble, busy in your household." I was surprised, both by the aptly chosen gift and the joke.

Suddenly his hand fell onto mine to grab my attention. Beyond the altar to Mars at the centre of the Armilustrium, above the enclosure wall, Manlius Faustus had spotted a pair of pointed ears. I breathed with delight and relief. It was my favourite dog-fox, Robigo.

I had left scraps, never hoping any fox would come. Now Robigo sat up there, watchful but relaxed. Almost as soon as I saw him, he decided to slip down the wall. We stayed quiet and observed: those busy paws brought him to what I had left to be eaten, his nose low. He was close enough for us to see his amber eyes, white muzzle, whiskers, black-tipped tail. He ate, then unusually sat there, looking casual. He yawned. He engaged in rapid scratching of the fur behind one of his black ears.

All the time, I felt Faustus' hand, heavily on mine as if he had forgotten it was there. Only when Robigo had silently streaked away did he release me.

The time had come to go. When I stood to leave, rather abruptly, Faustus screwed himself upright and steadied my elbow. That last afternoon, I was reluctant to break from his company. I wanted to take him to my apartment. Today, he was one man I would welcome there. Was it because he carried the aura of power? Or simply because his maturity and steadiness appealed to me?

My instinct said he wanted to come with me. It would be for inevitable reasons. I wanted to go to bed with him, to make spine-cracking, shout-aloud love so we obliterated recent pain and memory. He wanted consolation too; he had said so. It could be a once-only. We were strong people.

"Are you all right?" he asked, rather intensely.

"Not really."

I said he could see me back to Fountain Court, if he was desperate to be useful. "Nuts, olives-a little afternoon delight?"

We were standing close. I liked the faint smell of him. Close to, it was a lotion so light it could almost be the natural scent of clean skin.

He dropped his forehead lightly onto mine. "Don't tempt me!"

Why not?

I knew some reasons. His history said he could be passionate, but the past had made him wary. He was rich, occupying an elite position; he needed an unsullied image. I was on a vigiles' watch-list. No aedile with ambitions could afford the risk.

His excuse was not one I expected. "It would be more than enjoyable. But you know what would happen. Afterwards, we would be hiding down alleys to avoid each other. I liked working with you, Albia. I had hoped that in future we might help one another again. Let's stay friends."

That hideous cliche. Any woman understands what it really means.

I know to this day that if I had kissed him, he would not have resisted. But I smiled and stepped back, releasing us both from pressure.

I thought back to the day when I first went to see him, when I visited the Temple of Ceres and bumped into Faustus on the threshold of the aediles' office. I had dressed to impress a magistrate, amusing myself with how my sisters believed that when you go to that much trouble you will meet somebody special…

His interest in me as a colleague had a kind of innocence. I knew better. In Rome, you cannot overturn the rules. Still, the man possessed a good heart. He had, after all, taken it upon himself to write up that wall poster, calling for witnesses to the death of little Lucius Bassus. In our bleak world, where most people and few magistrates had consciences, such decency was indeed special.

I told him I was going to the coast; he looked disappointed. I said I would be back before long and his face cleared.

"Do you always have breakfast at the Stargazer?"

"Most days."

"Maybe I could come along and join you sometimes."

"Well, you know where it is."

He would be a no-show; he was fooling himself in the aftermath of a case we had both hated. I left it to him, whether he made good the promise. Working together again would be acceptable, if it ever happened.

So we parted in the Armilustrium, rueful and chaste. The aedile turned towards his uncle's house. I made my way alone to Fountain Court.