Shadows in Bronze

XXXII

Decorative plaques hung with wind chimes were suspended between the great Doric pillars in the white-stepped portico. Their trembling tintinnabulation added to my sense of unreality.

Larius, who never let grand mansions intimidate him, had just parked our ox at the elegant Marcellus carriage stop; my nephew sat there picking at his pimples while Nero, who had brought a spinning cohort of cattle flies, nibbled into the neat edge of the lawn.

Behind them lay the astonishing blue half-circle of the Bay. In the middle distance a bevy of gardeners were scything a piece of greensward large enough to exercise a legion at full strength; their heads all popped up as Nero bellowed at me. Larius merely gave us a sombre stare.

Her ladyship and I stood together above the steps. Her familiar perfume hammered my senses as neatly as a metal mallet on bronze. I was dreading some new reference to the burial of her uncle. The subject never came up, though I sensed Helena's anger still tingling just below the surface as we talked. ‘Here on holiday?' I croaked.

'Just trying to avoid you!' she assured me serenely.

Fine; if that was her attitude – 'Right! Thanks for seeing me to my ox-'

‘Don't be so sensitive! I came to console my father-in-law.'

She had not enquired about me, but I informed her anyway. 'I'm trying to trace Aufidius Crispus – working for the Emperor.'

‘Are you liking it?'

‘No.'

Her ladyship tilted her head, with a frown. ‘Restless?'

‘I don't talk about it,' I told her brusquely – then because it was Helena I immediately relented: 'It's hopeless. The Palace doesn't like me any more than I like them. All I get is pottering errands-'

‘Will you give it up?'

'No.' Since I had taken this on for her sake, I stared her out. 'Look; will you be discreet with Marcellus about my interest in his son?'

‘Oh, I do understand!' Helena Justina responded, with a hint of rebellion. 'The Consul is a frail old man who can hardly move-'

‘Settle down; I'm not harassing the poor old bird -' I stopped. A large attendant came out from the house and spoke to Helena; he claimed to have been sent by Marcellus, bringing her a parasol to ward off the strong sun.

I pointed out coldly that we were standing in the shade. The slave stuck fast.

My hands began clenching at my sides. He had size, but his body was so soft he wore wristbands like a gladiator to convince himself he was tough. It took more than a few buckled straps to convince me. Here on the Consul's estate he was safe enough. But anywhere of his home ground, I could have doubled him up like a piece of human guyrope and fastened him in a cleat.

My temper reached straining point.

‘Lady, I may have all the social breeding of a cockroach in a wall crack, but you don't need a bodyguard when you're talking to me!' Her face set.

'Wait over there please!' Helena Justina instructed him; he looked truculent, but did shuffle off out of earshot.

‘Stop sounding so brutal!' she ordered me, with a look that would etch cameo glass.

I restrained myself. 'What does your father want?'

‘To thank you for the statue.' I shrugged. Helena was frowning. 'Falco, I know where that statue used to be; tell me how you came by it!'

‘There's no problem with the statue.' Her air of interference was beginning to annoy me. 'It's a good piece, and your father seems the best man to appreciate it.' Her father had trouble controlling her, but he was very fond of Helena. A man of taste. 'Did he like it?'

'It was father who commissioned it. A gift to my husband…' She folded her arms, reddening slightly.

I chose to avoid this glimpse of the courteous Camillus family honouring Atius Pertinax as they betrothed him to their young daughter. Helena was still looking troubled. I finally realized why: she was afraid I had stolen the thing!

'Sorry to disabuse you; I happened to be in your ex- husband's house for legitimate purposes!'

I walked down the steps, anxious to get away. Helena was following me. As I reached the ox cart she muttered, 'Why do you want the freedman Barnabas? Is it really because of his legacy?'

'No.'

'Has he done something wrong, Falco?'

'Probably.'

'Serious?'

'If murder is.'

She bit her lip. 'Shall I make enquiries here for you?'

'Best to keep out of it.' I forced myself to look at her. 'Lady, take care! Barnabas has caused at least one death – and may intend more.' Mine for instance, but I omitted that. It might worry her. Or worse, it might not.

We were standing in full sun now, which gave that lump with her parasol an excuse to come down. Pretending to turn away I confided, 'If you know Barnabas, I need to talk to you-'

'Wait in the olive grove,' she urged in a hurried undertone. 'I'll come after lunch…'

I began to feel badly harassed. Larius was gazing seawards, so discreet it made me cringe. That inquisitive hulk Nero nosed around me shamelessly to see what was going on, dribbling down my tunic sleeve. Then the bodyguard stationed himself alongside the lady as he held up the parasol. It was a huge yellow silk affair with a trailing fringe, like a monstrous jellyfish; at the Circus she could have obstructed spectators for at least six rows behind.

Helena Justina herself stood here in her brilliant white dress and ribbons, like a light, bright, highly decorated Grace on a vase. I stepped up into the cart. I looked back. Something drove me to announce, 'By the way – I realized that sooner or later you would give me the bum's rush, but I thought you were well-mannered enough to mention it!'

'Give you the what?' The woman knew exactly what I meant.

'You could have written. No need for a full oration; 'Thanks and get lost, punk' would express the right idea. Writing 'Goodbye' would not have tired your wrist!'

Helena Justina drew herself up. 'No point, Falco! By the time I decided, you had already tripped off to Croton without a word!'

She shot me a look of spectacular distaste, dodged out from the parasol, then skipped up the steps and back into the house.

I let Larius drive. I reckoned if I tried my hands would shake.

She unsettled me. I had wanted to see her but now I had, everything about the occasion left me shifting in my seat.

Nero was plunging straight towards the olive grove, eagerly showing off how well he knew the way. Larius sat with one arm on his knee, unconsciously copying Petronius. He turned sideways to inspect me.

'You look as if you'd been poked in the ear with a broom.' 'Nothing so subtle!' I said.

'Excuse me,' Larius goaded heartlessly. 'But who was that?'

'That? Oh, her in the ribbons? The honourable Helena Justina. Father in the senate and two brothers on foreign service. Married once; one divorce. An adequate education, a passable face, plus property worth a quarter of a million in her own right-'

'Seemed a pleasant sort of woman!'

'She called me a rat.'

'Oh yes, I gathered you two were very close!' my nephew declared, with the candid, casual sarcasm he was honing to perfection nowadays.