Last Act In Palmyra

Chapter LXIX

'Hello, this is a bit of luck!'

I had been stopped by a tiny chap with one arm cut off at the elbow and a hopeful toothless grin. Being trapped was unusual; normally I'm much too smart for street hustlers. I thought he was trying to sell me something – and I was right. He wanted me to have his goat.

My play was starting. I could hear Ribes playing a delicate introductory melody on the lyre.

Before I could buff aside the man who had stopped me, something made me think again. The loon looked familiar.

His companion seemed to know me too, for it butted me in the kidneys as familiarly as a nephew. It was a brown-and-white-patched billy goat, about waist high, with a sad expression. Both its ears had nervous tics. Its neck had a queer kink.

I knew about this goat. The owner made some hopeless claim that it had been born with its head facing backwards.

'Sorry – ' I tried to make off.

'We met at Gerasa! I've been trying to find you!' the owner piped.

'Look, friend; I have to go – '

He looked downcast. They made a gloomy pair. 'I thought you were interested,' protested the man. The goat had the sense to know I just wanted to escape.

'Sorry?'

'In buying the goat!' Dear gods.

'What made you think that?'

'Gerasa!' he repeated doggedly. A dim memory of viewing his beast for a copper or two in a mad moment came floating back. A more terrible memory – of foolishly discussing the beast with its owner – followed rapidly. 'I still want to sell him. I thought we had a bargain… I came looking for you that night, in fact.'

It was time to be blunt. 'You've got the wrong idea, friend. I just asked you about him because he reminded me of a goat I once owned myself.'

He didn't believe me. It sounded weak only because it was the truth. Once, for very complex reasons, I had rescued a runaway nanny from a temple on a seashore. My excuse is, I was living rough (I was doing a job for Vespasian, always prone to leave me short of tavern fees) and any companion had seemed better than none at the time.

I had always been a sentimental type. Now sometimes I let myself indulge in conversations with owners of peculiar goats just to show off my former expertise. So, I had talked to this man in Gerasa. I remembered he had told me he wanted to sell up and plant beans. We had discussed what price he wanted for his quaintly angled exhibit, but I had never had any intention of rejoining the goat owners' guild.

'Look, I'm sorry, but I like a pet who looks you in the eye.'

'Depends where you stand,' the menace persisted logically. He tried to edge me into position behind his billy's left shoulder. 'See?'

'I've got a girlfriend now; she takes all my energy – '

'He draws the crowds!'

'I bet he does.' Lies. As a sideshow the goat was completely useless. He was also nibbling my tunic hem, despite his disability. In fact, the crooked neck seemed to place him more readily in line with people's clothes. The last thing I needed was a series of domestic writs for damaged skirts and togas.

'What was yours called?' demanded the owner. He was definitely mad.

'What? Oh my goat. She didn't have a name. Growing too familiar only leads to heartache on both sides.'

'That's right…' The goat owner could tell I understood his problems. 'This is Alexander, because he's great.' Wrong. He was just terrible.

'Don't sell him!' I urged, suddenly unable to bear the thought of them parting. It seemed to me mis couple of deadbeats depended on each other more than either realised. 'You need to know he has a good home. If you're going to retire from the road, take him with you.'

'He'll eat the beans.' True. He would eat everything. Goats actually tear up plants and shrubs by the roots. Nothing they come near to ever sprouts again. 'You seemed like a good sort, Falco-'

'Don't bet on it.'

'He has his funny ways, but he repays affection… Still, maybe you're right. He belongs with me.' I had been reprieved. 'I'm glad I've seen you again; it's cleared my mind.' I pulled Alexander by the ears, almost regretfully. Obviously a connoisseur of quality, he tried to eat my belt.

I was leaving them when the long-faced goat owner suddenly asked, 'That night in Gerasa, did your friend ever find his way to the pools?'