Shadows in Bronze

LXXIX

I was woken by the sound of a very brisk broom.

This told me two things. Someone thought it was their duty to wake me up. And last night I did find my way home.

When you fall down in a gutter people leave you there in peace.

I groaned and grumbled a few times, to give warning I might emerge; the broom fell silent huffily. I hauled on a tunic, decided it was dirty, so covered the stains with a second one. I washed my face, rinsed my teeth and combed my hair, all without achieving any improvement in how I felt. My belt was missing and I could only find one boot. I stumbled out.

The woman who made it her business to keep my apartment in order had been working quiet miracles for some time before she started that stuff with the broom. Her familiar black eyes seared me with piercing disgust. She had done the room; next she would tackle me.

'I came to make you breakfast, but it had better be lunch!'

'Hello mother,' I said.

I sat down at the table because my legs were objecting to holding me up. I assured my mother it was good to be home, having a decent lunch prepared for me by my loving ma.

‘So you're in trouble again!' snarled my mother, undeceived by flattery.

She fed me lunch while she washed out the balcony. She had found her new bronze bucket for herself. She had also found my spoons.

‘Those are nice!'

'A nice person gave them to me.'

'Have you seen her?'

'No.'

‘Have you seen Petronius Longus?

'No.'

'What are you planning today?'

Most men who do my job have the shrewd sense to free themselves from the attentions of their curious family. What client wants to employ an informer who has to tell his mother every time he ventures out?

'Someone to find.' My strength of mind had been weakened by the lunch.

'Why are you so irritable? What do you want this poor fellow for?'

'Murder.'

'Oh well,' sighed my mother. 'There are worse things he could have done!'

I inferred that she meant things done by me.

'On second thoughts,' I muttered, washing the spoon I had eaten my lunch with, then wiping it with a cloth as I had been instructed by Helena, 'I'll go to a wineshop instead!'

I refused to admit to a hangover, but the thought of more liquor did have a vinegary effect on my insides. Belching painfully, I went to visit Petronius.

He was moping at home, still too weak to patrol the streets yet, and fretting that in his absence his deputy was obtaining too much sway among the ranks. The first thing he said was, 'Falco, why is the Palace fraud squad after you?'

Anacrites.

'Misunderstanding about my expenses-'

'Liar! He told me what commodity was named on the warrant.'

'Oh did he?'

'He tried to bribe me!'

'To do what, Petro?

'Turn you in!'

'If we're talking arrests-'

'Don't be stupid!'

'As a matter of interest, how much did he offer? Petronius grinned at me. 'Not quite enough!'

There was no chance that Petronius would ever cooperate with a Palace spy, but Anacrites must be well aware he only had to spread the whisper that there might be money in it and the next time my landlord Smaractus was sending round his rent squad, some penniless runt on an Aventine backstair would think of fingering me. Getting out of this pickle looked likely to involve personal inconvenience of some sort.

'Don't worry,' I said lamely. 'I'll sort it out.' Petronius laughed bitterly.

Arria Silvia came in to supervise us, a penalty of Petro being stuck in his own house. We talked round the subject of their journey home, my own journey, my ludicrous racehorse, and even the hunt for Pertinax, all without mentioning Helena. Only as I was taking my leave did Silvia's patience break: 'Can we assume that you know about Helena?'

'Her father informed me of the situation.'

'The situation!' echoed Silvia, in high old indignation. 'Have you seen her?

'She knows where to find me if she wants to see me.' 'Oh for heavens' sake, Falco!'

I caught Petro's eye and he said in a low voice to his wife, 'Better leave it. They have their own way of doing things-'

'Hers, you mean?' I grated at them both. 'She told you, I gather?'

'I asked her!' Silvia ranted accusingly. 'Anyone could see the girl is having a terrible time of it-'

I was afraid of that.

'Well think yourselves honoured; she never told me! Before you start condemning me, consider how I feel: there was no reason why Helena Justina should keep this to herself! And I know perfectly well why she preferred not to tell me-'

Silvia interrupted in horror, 'You think someone else is the father!'

The thought had never crossed my mind. 'That,' I stated coolly, 'would be one possibility.'

Petronius, who was very straightforward in certain respects, looked appalled. 'You never believe that!'

‘I don't know what I believe.'

I did know. What I really thought was worse.

I gave them one last glance as they stood there, both furious, and both allied against me. Then I left.

Convincing myself I might not be this baby's father was insulting to Helena and demeaning to myself. Yet it was easier than the truth: look at what I was. Look at how I lived. I could not blame her for an instant if Helena Justina refused to bear a child of mine.

She had, without me knowing it, already told me what she planned to do. She would 'deal with it'; I could still hear her saying so. That could only mean one thing.

I filled in the rest of that afternoon by accepting I had a hangover, and going home to sleep it off.