Shadows in Bronze

XXXIII

My brain was wanting to race, and I was trying to prevent it. All the way down to the olive grove I scowled in silence. Larius whistled jauntily through his teeth.

Rather than think about Helena, I considered Caprenius Marcellus. He might not be active politically now, but he was still keenly alert. He must have known all about his son's plot while Pertinax was alive – and probably encouraged it. I bet he knew where Aufidius Crispus was too.

I wondered if Marcellus had invited Helena to visit him in order to pick her brains about developments on the official side after his son's death.

Meanwhile I had no doubt Helena had abandoned me. I could hardly believe it. Six weeks before things had been so different. Remembering, a slow, rich warmth spread into me, fixing me where I sat… And what would that smart young lady be thinking now? Whether to have a pound or two of Lucanian sausage or a great fat conical sheep's cheese from the Lactarii Mountains for her lunch. Helena had a spanking appetite; she would probably need both.

Larius and I ate our apples in the olive grove.

I prepared for a lengthy wait while the Consul dawdled through his three-hour snack and washed it down; his honour had filled himself a substantial wine flask for one old man and a wench who was, as far as I had ever found out, abstemious with drink. Marcellus looked like the kind of invalid who made the most of his convalescence.

To fill time before Helena could escape from the villa, I began another talk with Larius.

He had a better grip of the facts of life than I ever had at fourteen. Modern education must be more advanced; all I learned at school was the seven elements of rhetoric, bad Greek and simple arithmetic.

‘I'd better give you some tips on handling women, Larius.

I was devoted to women, yet cynical about my success.

Eventually we reached the point where I was imparting certain practical information, though trying to keep a heavy moral tone. Larius looked shifty and unconvinced.

‘You'll find a girl! Or more likely a girl will find you.' He was certain it was hopeless, so I spent some time trying to revive his confidence. He was a charitable soul; he heard me out patiently. 'All I ask is be sensible. As head of the family I have enough soulful orphans wanting porridge in their feeding bowls… There are ways to avoid it: holding back manfully in moments of passion, or eating garlic to put the women off. Garlic at least is supposed to be good for you! Some people swear by a sponge soaked in vinegar-'

‘What for?' Larius looked puzzled. I explained. He pulled a face as if he thought it sounded unreliable (true: due to the problem of finding a young lady who would bother to go through the procedure on request).

‘My brother Festus told me once, if you know where to go and are prepared to afford it, you can buy scabbards sewn from fine calfskin to guard delicate parts of your anatomy from disease; he swore he had one, though he never showed me. According to him, it helped prevent the arrival of curly-haired little accidents-'

'Is that right?'

‘Young Marcia's existence does argue against it; but perhaps his calfskin doings had gone to the laundry that day-'

Larius blushed. 'Any alternatives?'

‘Get too drunk. Live in a desert. Pick a girl with a conscience who gets lots of headaches-'

‘Sharp practitioners,' proclaimed a light, scathing, female voice, ‘go for senators' daughters! They give their services free, while in the event of a 'curly-haired accident' the lady is bound to know someone who knows how to procure an abortion – and if she's rich she can pay for it herself!'

Helena Justina must have let her lunch go down hiding under a tree and listening to us. Now here she came: a tall girl with a bite like Spanish mustard, whose scorn any wise informer could learn to live without. Her face was white as a shell; she had a sharp, withdrawn expression that I remembered from when I first met her, when she was dismally unhappy after her divorce.

‘Please don't get up!' Larius and I made a half-hearted attempt to raise our backsides, then fell down again. Helena sat there on the dry grass with us, managing to look rank conscious and remote. 'Who's this, Falco?'

'My sister's son Larius. His mother reckons he needs cheering up.'

She smiled at my nephew in a sweet way she had refined to smile at me. 'Hello, Larius.' She had a direct approach to young people which I could see attracted him. 'Someone should warn you, your uncle's a hypocrite!'

Larius jumped. She gave me an irritating smile. 'Well, Falco leads a dangerous life, of course: In fact one day he'll die of a brain tumour when some furious woman breaks a big stone pot on his head-'

By now Larius was looking seriously alarmed. I jerked my head and he made himself invisible.

It was no business of a senator's daughter to invade the scene when I was trying to do my duty as a substitute father.

'Lady, that was harsh!' I watched as she tore at the grass beside her, breathing furiously again.

'Was it?' She stopped torturing the fescue and turned on me. 'Do private informers come from some barbarian tribe whose gods let them fornicate without the normal risks?' Shocked at her language, I started to speak. 'Your advice to the boy,' she overruled me with some malice, 'was a complete farce!'

'Oh, that's unfair-'

'Wrong, Falco! Sponges in vinegar, Falco? Calfskin scabbards? Holding back manfully?

I experienced a surge of reminiscence that was embarrassingly physical… 'Helena Justina, what happened between us was-'

'A great mistake, Falco!'

'Well, slightly unexpected-'

'Once!' she scoffed. 'Hardly the second time.'

True.

'I'm sorry -' She heard my apology arching her strong eyebrows in a way that made me furious. I forced myself to ask, 'Is anything wrong?'

'Forget I spoke,' she answered bitterly. 'Rely on me!' There was nothing safe to say to her, but after a desperate moment I tried anyway: 'I thought you understood, you could rely on me!'

'Oh, for heavens' sake, Falco -' In her usual crisp style Helena abandoned it. 'What have you dragged me all the way out here to say?'

I leaned against a gnarl in the olive tree behind. I felt drugged; starvation perhaps.

'Enjoy your lunch? Larius and I had apples; mine was the one where a maggot had got at all the best bits first.' She was frowning, though probably not because she wished she had brought us a basket of scraps. Seeing a woman looking anxious over my appetite generally makes me relent. 'Don't worry about us… Tell me about Barnabas!'

Immediately the tension between us eased.

'I knew him of course,' Helena said at once. She must have been thinking it over while she had lunch. Her expression flooded with interest. She loved a mystery. And I always felt more cheerful when I had her to help. 'He could easily be here. He and Gnaeus often came here in summer; they kept racehorses on the farm -' It was nothing to do with me, yet it always jarred when she called her vile ex-husband by his personal name. 'What has the fool been up to, Falco? Not really murder?'

'Misguided vengeance campaign, according to the Palace, though I have stronger views! Don't ever approach him; he is much too dangerous.' She nodded: an unexpected treat. I had rarely been able to influence the lady (though, that never stopped me giving her advice). 'When you knew him, what was he like?

'Oh, I hated having him round the house; he seemed to despise me, and I thought that affected my husband's attitude. He had a dreary effect on my marriage. Even at home we never had a meal in private; Barnabas was always there. So he and my husband talked about their horses and pretty well ignored me. They went everywhere together – have you discovered why they were so close?'

'Because they grew up together?'

'It was more than that.'

'Then I don't know.'

She was looking at me so gravely I smiled at her. Once a girl strikes you as attractive, it's difficult to forget. She looked away. I felt the smile fade.

‘Barnabas had been born to a female slave on the Pertinax estate; my husband was the legitimate son of the house. They shared one father,' Helena informed me levelly.

Well, it was common enough. A man keeps slaves to serve his physical needs: all of them. Perhaps, unlike Larius, Pertinax senior had lacked an elder relative to educate his habits. More likely, when sleeping with a slave why should he care? A birth only meant one more entry in the plus column of his accounts.

'Is it important?' Helena asked me.

'Well, the facts don't alter – but they certainly make more sense.'

‘Yes. There were no other children; these two were tumbled together from infancy. My husband's mother died when he was five; I suspect no one gave him much attention after that.'

'Was there rivalry?'

'Not much. Barnabas, who was older, became very protective and Gnaeus was always ferociously loyal to him -' She poured her story out; she would go on puzzling over it for hours by herself, but she wanted to share it with me.

She stopped. I didn't speak.

She started again. 'They were as close as twins. Castor and Pollux. Little room for anybody else.'

Her mood darkened with an old sadness, regretting her wasted years. Four of them; not so much in the human span. But Helena Justina had gone into that marriage as a dutiful young girl; she had wanted to make it work. Though she finally opted for divorce, I knew her sense of failure had left permanent scars.

'Pertinax was capable of affection, Falco; Barnabas and the Consul were the two people he loved.'

'He was a fool then,' I grated before I could help it. 'There should have been three!'