Saturnalia

XXVII

Surprisingly, by the time I walked into my house, I had encountered no further adventures. I was cold, starved, bruised, dirty, stinking and disconsolate. Normal, some would say.

Helena Justina, wearing a house-gown and with loose hair, was talking to Clemens in the hall. She looked anxious even before she saw me arrive in only my underwear. I gave her a brisk report: 'Robbed, knocked over, tramps, ghost, witches, learned absolutely nothing. Left alone to die!' I snarled at the centurion, who looked scared, though not scared enough.

I grabbed my washing equipment and a clean tunic, whistled up the dog, spun on my heel and went back out again. I hoped I had caused a sensation and left panic in my wake. Nux pattered along beside me, as if this was an ordinary evening walk. I enjoyed a long steam in our nearest bath house. The facilities were basic, aimed mainly at dock workers, the stevedores who unloaded goods on the riverbank and became filthy doing it. None were around at this time of night to disturb my gloomy thoughts, so I was calmer when I returned to the changing room and found Helena waiting. She eyed me warily.

Nux had been guarding the original clean garment I brought out; Helena supplied extras. She helped dry me and pull tunics over my head. Better still, she silently handed me a bread roll stuffed with sliced sausage, which I devoured in between adding warm layers of clothing. Sitting on the bench, I then worked at my finger where the vagrants had tried to screw off my equestrian ring. They had failed to remove it, but had left my knuckle badly swollen. With spit and persistence, I managed to remove the ring before it became fatally embedded. Then I filled out my previous abbreviated story for Helena. She kicked her heels angrily against the stonework of the bench, though she could see I was unhurt and even regaining my good temper. 'Clemens and Sentius claimed they "lost" you. They say they spent a long time looking for you, Marcus. They only arrived back just before you did.' I bit my bread roll, growling. 'Chew thoroughly. There are gherkins.' 'I know how to eat.' 'And if you took advice, you might avoid indigestion.' She was right, but I burped at her rebelliously. Then, after a moment, I went over to a fountain and drank plenty from the low gurgle of icy water. It would revive me, and help the food down. Helena watched, sitting with her long hands linked on her girdle, as dispassionate as a goddess.

There was still no one about, so we stayed there. The bald doorkeeper peered in a few times, glaring at Helena for intruding in the men's dressing room. He shook the greasy money-bag that hung on his twisted belt, but when we ignored this half-hearted plea for a bribe he gave up and left us to it. We could talk here. At home, there would be endless interruptions.

I went over everything that had happened, although there is a special short version – even of the truth – that a man tells his loved one.

'No need to be worried, fruit.' Helena accepted the reassurance, but she leaned her head upon my shoulder. Her great dark eyes were closed, to hide what she thought. I nuzzled her fine, soft hair, breathing in the delicate scent of the herbs in which she washed it. I was trying to kill today's foul memories. I had shed the strange musty odours of the witches, but the rank smell of the vagrants would be with me for days; it seemed to infuse my own pores, even after fanatical oiling and scraping with my curved bone strigil.

Sometimes when Helena Justina had been frightened for my safety, she let fly with rampaging rebuke. When she was really scared, she said nothing. That was when I worried.

I wound my arms around her, then leaned my head back on the wall, relaxing. Helena settled against me, enjoying the relief of my return. The doorkeeper looked in again. 'No funny business!' He was a complete menace. We took the hint and left. Only as we were walking slowly home, trailed by Nux who was fastidiously sniffing every kerbstone, did Helena mention Titus Caesar. 'Oh! Titus, eh?.. Note that I didn't ask.' 'But he was on your mind. I know you, Marcus.' Helena kept me waiting as long as she could. I thought she was being mischievous, but she was annoyed with her princely pal. The imperial do-gooder had done no good at all for Quintus. 'Off day, was it?' I asked, all innocence. 'Don't sound so annoying!' 'Touch of a cold? His corns chafing him?' 'He was in a dismal mood. Apparently – and this is a secret – Titus and Berenice have agreed that they must part.' 'Ouch. Not the best moment to approach for a favour.' His infatuation with the Judaean Queen was absolutely genuine. When his father became emperor, she had followed Titus to Rome, in the blissful hope that they would live together. After openly sharing quarters at the Palace long enough to affront the snobs, it seemed they had now accepted that it could never be. This was probably the worst moment to remind Titus Caesar of another young man who had fallen for a beautiful barbarian.

Heartbroken but stolidly conscientious, Titus had nonetheless heard Helena out. Then he summoned and quizzed Anacrites, while she was allowed to listen. The Spy regaled Titus with his coruscating scheme to use Justinus to entrap Veleda. On hearing this plan from Anacrites (whom I wouldn't trust to keep a pet rat), Titus reassured Helena that her brother was safe and well treated. 'So my darling, while you fumed, did Titus Caesar make Anacrites confess where the prisoner is held?' 'No,' Helena said, sounding short. 'Anacrites – patronising swine asserts it is best if our family do not know.' I snorted. 'So – as I asked the idiot Spy myself-how is the lovelorn Veleda to notice the handsome bait he's put out for her?'

'Oh there's a devious plan,' scoffed Helena sarcastically. 'Listen to this gem: the Praetorians have put up a personal notice in the Forum. You know the sort: Gaius from Metapontus is hoping his friends from abroad will see this and find him at the Golden Apple in Garlic Street.'

'Ridiculous!' I chortled. 'Everyone knows Gaius from Metapontus is a stifling bore, and his friends try to avoid him. In fact, now he's in Rome, they have all sailed off to the Maritime Alps in a boatload of fish-pickle – ' 'Be serious, Marcus.' 'I am. The Golden Apple is a dump; anyone who stays there is dicing with ruin -' Helena admitted defeat and played my game: 'While Garlic Street is well known as a thieves' kitchen, even though it's not as bad as Haymakers' Lane… I didn't bother arguing with Anacrites. There are other ways to deal with fools. I just smiled sweetly and thanked Titus for listening to me.' 'And?' 'What would you have done, Marcus? When I left the audience, I walked down to the Forum and looked for the advertisement.'

I stopped. Nux took advantage of this to inspect a rotting half chicken carcass in the gutter. I kissed Helena gently on the forehead, then I gazed at her with undiluted affection. No informer could want a more intelligent and trustworthy partner. I liked to think my training had played some part in her aptitude, but she gave me a stem look and I refrained from claiming credit. 'You are exceptional.'

'Anyone could do it.' Many would not have done. 'On the other hand,' Helena continued, still cruelly dismissive of the Chief Spy's stratagem, 'Veleda can have no idea she should look for a personal advertisement. She will never see it. Anyway, most Celtic tribes can't read.' 'And did you find the cunning invitation painted up?' 'Elegant lettering in dark red paint. Looks like an election poster; nobody will read the thing, Marcus. And you will hate this: Quintus is "staying with friends by the Palatine". He is the house guest of a certain Tiberius Claudius Anacrites.'