Jupiter Myth

XXXV

Helena discovered me studying a street map. She leaned over my shoulder, inspecting a note table on which I had written down a list of names. "Shower of Gold, Ganymede, Swan-Swan must be as in Leda, seduced by Jupiter in the form of a big white birdie. Shower of Gold would be I his other conquest, Dana?. Ganymede is Jove's cupbearer-"

"You follow my thinking," I agreed.

"The wine shops your gangsters prey on all now have names linked to Jupiter? It's a theme! How thrilling," Helena exclaimed, with her own brand of well-bred mockery. "Some man thinks well of himself for dreaming up this."

"As an antique dealer's son, I do like things that come in sets," I confirmed dryly. "So helpful for their accountants too-bound to be accountants plural, of course: 'File all signed-up cauponae under Jove!' Then again, proprietors who want to resist the pressure will see just how powerful the enforcers are, as they notice more and more Jupiter bars."

"We could go for a walk," Helena decided. "We have time before dinner. We could take the map and mark up places. See how far the enforcement area extends."

Nux was already chasing around us excitedly.

We spent a couple of hours crisscrossing the street grid from near the river to the forum. It made us both depressed. The permissive god's adulterous girlfriends were all featured: Io, Europa, Dana?, Alcmene, Leda, Niobe, and Semele. What a boy! The ever-jealous Queen of Heaven, Hera, would not like to spend a festival break in Londinium seeing all these rivals given prominence. For the safety of this town, I was myself wishing the Celestial King had kept his divine prick under wraps more. The beauteous bedmates were just the start. Thunderbolts adorned innocuous-looking pot-of-pulse parlors, and scepters ruled over British beer gardens. Painters who could do attractive bolts of lightning must have been in heaven. Or rather, they were using up their fees swigging Lower German red at the Olympus Winery on the corner of downtown Fish Street. With hot or cold ambrosia served in gritty flatbread every lunchtime, no doubt.

Prices were very expensive. Well, they had to be. The people who ran these Jovian snack-counters needed to subsidize their payments to the heavy squad. Somebody somewhere was raking in money from this dead-end shantytown, hot money in huge quantities. This walk really brought it home to me that the gang leaders would be furious that Pyro and Splice, who collected the cash, had been locked up by the governor-at my suggestion.

Back home, Helena dismissed the slave who came to curl her hair, and instead of primping she crouched beside a window to catch the evening light while she marked up our map with neat blobs of red ink. I came back from a lukewarm bath, then saw how the map looked, and swore. The dots encroached on the commercial quarter to the east of the bridge, running right up across the Decumanus Maximus to the forum.

I sent the map along to Frontinus, to depress him while he was shaved. I sat in the wraparound chair. Helena had a rapid sponge-wash, tweaked a gown from her clothes chest, clipped on jewelry. She touched my cheek. "You look tired, Marcus."

"I'm wondering what I have got myself into."

She came across to me, combing her fine hair. After a vague attempt to pin it up, she let the whole swathe tumble. Knowing the comb would stick in my curls, she neatened them instead with her long fingers. "You know this is vital."

"I know it's dangerous."

"You think it's right."

"They need to be stopped by someone, yes."

"But you wonder why you?" Helena knew that sometimes I relied on her to reassure me. "Because you have the persistence, Marcus. You have the courage, the intellectual skills, the sheer anger that is needed to face up to such wickedness."

I put my arms around her, hiding my face against her stomach. She stood, crouching a little over me, one hand running inside the neck of my tunic to massage my spine. I heard myself groan wearily. "I want to go home!"

"Marcus, we can't go, not until you have finished here."

"It never ends, though, sweetheart." I leaned back and looked up at her. "Organized crime keeps coming. One success only quells it temporarily and opens possibilities for new rackets."

"Don't be so disheartened."

I smiled ruefully. "I'm tired. I didn't sleep two nights ago. My girlfriend had a fight with me… Love me?"

Her thumb caressed my forehead. "If I didn't love you, I would not have had the fight."

That was when I chose to tell her-when I had to tell her-we were liable to see Chloris at the residence that night.

Helena released her hold on me, but when I caught her hands in mine she did not resist. "Don't get this wrong, love. Chloris has to make her deposition for the governor and she has also been asked to look at our dinner guests. Both Norbanus and Popillius have been invited tonight, along with other newcomers who could be the gang leaders. This is business, Helena. I'm not playing about."

Helena merely said quietly, "What she is doing is perilous." I know." I was terse. "She does not seem to know that her status makes the witness statement unusable in court."

"She is doing it for you."

"She's doing it because she likes stirring!" She always did. Women like that don't change. "I am not sure she sees just what danger she courts."

"Her career is based on physical risk," Helena pointed out.

"Yes, but that's her choice. She enjoys the thrills and she earns a great deal of money. She and the other girls have come here to Britain because fighting in the new amphitheater will make them independent for life- if they survive. But tangling with street criminals is different. The odds on survival are far worse. If I were an ethical person I would spell out the truth to her."

"But you need what she tells you."

"Well, I could myself report to Frontinus what she said, but he won't act on hearsay."

"She saw what happened," Helena insisted. "Infamous or not, if Frontinus interviews her in private and he believes her, then she will give his actions validity."

"Closed-room verdicts are not my favorite scene, Helena."

"You're a grumpy old republican! Oh, I despise them too, Marcus, but if they have to happen I would rather it was in a cause like this."

"Bad politics." I hated this situation. The Claudian emperors were fond of it, subjecting their enemies to secret trials at the Palace, rather than facing them in the Senate or open court. I had hoped that with our Flavian dynasty the practice would die out. It was for panicking leaders, to remove imagined rivals after swift closet questioning-often based on trumped-up evidence. Informers, I regret to say, were often the filthy instruments of such private trials. I had never worked like that.

As we went to dinner, the procurator popped out of an office and signaled me. He had been lying in wait with Amicus. Helena went on ahead, while Hilaris and I held a hurried consultation with the torturer.

"Titus is just putting things away-" I caught Hilaris looking pale again as Amicus reported. "I got the waiters' stories. They all match; its nice and neat. Apparently, the two men you are holding run a helpful service. They deter troublemakers and sneak-thieves who might grab the takings. All the wine shops appreciate the extra security, and are happy to contribute modest sums to obtain it."

Hilaris and I gazed at him in surprise.

"Well, that was today's silly story," Amicus scoffed in a comfortable tone. "Tomorrow I shall crank things up a bit. They think they've got away with it. When I reappear with the bag, they'll be ripe to tell me their life histories in ten volumes of fine poetry. Mind you, the barber stuck. I knew it. Bastards!" He then inquired anxiously, "Is there any hurry?"

"Everything seems quiet currently" Hilaris said, sounding cautious.

Amicus suddenly transferred his attention to me. "Falco! Do you have a witness to any of the killings?"

I wondered why he asked. "The murder of the Briton, probably. Do you want details?"

"No. I just like to warn the nasty fibbers that I can obtain corroboration."

I was slightly shy of telling this professional I was using Chloris. Better for her sake, anyway, that I kept her name quiet.

Hilaris invited Amicus to dine with us. He refused gruffly. It seems torturers prefer not to socialize.

Tonight we had more guests than on other occasions; it had to be a buffet party rather than a formal dinner on couches. We spilled out from the dining room into the garden, with music from the Hilaris family's tibia-player and the Norbanus harpist. The tibia-player was excellent; he must have put in plenty of practice here in boring Britain. The harpist, presumably trained in Rome where there were more distractions, was simply adequate. The evening remained sedate. Anyone who hoped for half-naked gymnastic dancers hoped in vain.

Due to the plucking and tootling, conversation did not thrive. Norbanus himself hung around Maia as usual. However, at one point he approached me rather deliberately; I was sitting with Helena, unfashionably conversing with my wife.

"I ought to have a word, Marcus Didius. About your sister-" I raised an eyebrow. His manner was open, friendly, even honest. He managed to avoid acting like a creep, and although he was a businessman, clearly accustomed to his own way in most things, he was scrupulously polite over this. "It cannot have escaped you that I enjoy Maia's company. But if my attentions offend you, then of course I shall withdraw" (His sad smile, said Helena afterward, was a delicate touch.)

I told Norbanus gruffly that my sister made her own decisions. He looked pleased, as if I had given him boarding rights. In fact I thought the only way she would see through him was if nobody interfered. Mind you, I had made that ridiculous assumption once before, over that swine Anacrites.

Norbanus Murena went back to my sister, who was staring across at me suspiciously. I watched him, keeping my face neutral; he was good-looking, confident, and as the women kept saying, he seemed a nice man. I could see Maia was finding him welcome company. He was not being pushy. Perhaps this kind of courteous, well-heeled self-made man was just what she needed.

On his way around the gravel paths to the seat where Maia had placed herself, Norbanus had passed Popillius. They must have met before, the previous night when the lawyer first made himself known at the residence (when I was out, having my weak spots tested by darling Chloris). Now the two men exchanged brief nods. They did not speak. They looked like mere acquaintances.

Popillius was a typical off-duty lawyer. Socializing happily, he ignored the fact that his two clients were still incarcerated in this very house. He and Frontinus had chatted tonight as if their wrangle over Pyro and Splice had never occurred. By tomorrow Popillius would be back on the attack, while Frontinus would resist the lawyer's efforts as strongly as if he had never been tonight's genial host.

I hated that kind of hypocrisy. Helena said that in a province with a small social circle it was inevitable. She was justifying the system, though I could see she agreed with me. She had been brought up in a senatorial household, but since her father Camillus Verus had never sought public office, he had managed to avoid holding open house. Cash-starved and secluded, the Camilli kept their hospitality for family and friends.

"Life with your uncle and aunt may be comfortable," I said, "but I cant take to this constant diplomatic plate-pushing."

Helena smiled-then showed sudden alarm as we were interrupted by a distant child yelling, "Julia's got a bee!" We heard the sounds of other children scarpering. All but the teenagers ought to be in bed. I rose calmly and excused myself to investigate.

My elder daughter, deserted when the others ran off, was stark naked except for her little sandals as she crouched on her heels beside a pond. She had been in the pond at some stage. Her skin was cold and her dark curls were sticking together in wet clumps. I gulped, imagining the perils for a toddler who loved splashing about but who could not swim.

The bee, a large bumble, looked virtually dead. It was standing on the path, motionless, being stared at by my two-year-old from inches away. This was a fine clear night, with no need for lamps yet; I could see why the children had escaped from the nursery staff. I tried feeble remonstra-tions about water being off-limits. Julia pointed her tiny finger and said firmly, "Bee!"

"Yes, sweetheart. He's not feeling very well." I squatted down obediently and took a look. His pollen sacs were bulging; he was exhausted by the heat.

Julia waved her fist at the insect, while I tried to remove her gently from stinging range. "Poorly bee!" she shrieked.

Time to inculcate a sense of kindness in my child, who could be violent. I tried putting water on a folded leaf. The bee expressed some interest, yet it was too feeble to drink. I would have just left it here, for the gardeners to sweep up tomorrow; by then it would undoubtedly be dead. Julia leaned up against me happily, trusting me to rescue it from its predicament. I left her to hold the leaf gently near the bee's head, while I went back to the food tables. I looked around for Helena but she had vanished somewhere. I dipped an olive spoon in honey from the wine waiter's equipment bench, then returned to Julia.

As soon as I put the spoon near the bee, it responded. Julia and I Watched enthralled as its long black proboscis unraveled and dipped into the honey. I held the spoon steady with one hand, keeping Julia under control in my other arm. To be feeding a bee did feel rather wonderful. Visibly reviving right before our eyes, it began to shake its heavy wings. We sat back. The bee crawled about slowly, testing out its legs; it fluttered once or twice. Then it suddenly took off and zoomed away in powerful flight, high over the garden.

"He's gone home to his crib now. And you're going to yours!"

I picked up Julia and stood upright. As I turned toward the house, I noticed that Helena was now upstairs on the balcony. Someone was standing in the shadows with her, veiled and discreet: a woman. Julia and I waved to them.

My daughter insisted that I put her to bed. I managed to avoid storytelling; rescuing a bee was enough tonight, apparently. I had a quick look at Favonia, who was sound asleep. Then I rushed to find Helena. She was back at the party, now alone.

We spoke in low tones. "Did I see you with-"

"Amazonia."

The blind harpist had strayed too near, insistently serenading us. I gestured to the boy, who led him around to take him off elsewhere. Musicians have always irritated me. "Where is she?"

"Gone home."

"I would have spoken to her."

"She watched you being a good father," Helena murmured. "Maybe it disconcerted her."

For some reason I felt embarrassed. Informers are hard men; we don't generally go around rescuing weary bumblebees. We are famous for making women walk out on us and for expecting our children to be brought up as strangers. Still, doing it my way, I would never have some unknown fifteen-year-old who had quarreled with Mummy turning up on my doorstep with her luggage and her bad habits. Julia and Favonia would have their quarrels direct with me.

"Well? What did Chloris have to say?"

"She has given her statement," Helena said quietly. "Then I showed her the visitors. It was no good. She could not recognize the man who was arguing with Verovolcus at the bar."

So he was not Norbanus, not Popillius, not any of the entrepreneurs who had come to Londinium and approached the governor. While that fitted what I had said all along, that chief gangsters would keep a low profile, we now had no idea who they might be, nor where to look for them.

It seemed a quiet night, as Hilaris had said earlier. Too quiet.